Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1) (10 page)

The creature rose from its cold bed, moving lethargically on leaden limbs and guided by a sluggish mind. Something was wrong. As cold and slow as its thoughts were, of that it was sure. It walked to a cupboard and opened the gold inlaid doors of beaten copper. Numb fingers closed on a vial of carved crystal, breaking the wax seal around the stopper. Calling up an incantation from the foggy depths of its consciousness, it drank the contents.

The Avatar of Hrisst felt the hot breath of the Great One fill his lungs and spread like fire through his veins, all lethargy and weariness falling from him. He exulted in the burning kiss of his deity, letting the fire spread over him for a moment before concentrating on what he must do.

The Avatar seated himself on a sacred circle traced in gold and copper on the marble floor. He opened his mind, now agile, to take in the whole of the temple, extending his awareness throughout the edifice.

The doors had been breached and traps had been sprung. That was expected. The defenses were reset without his needing to fully awaken. There was no great threat from small interlopers, no need to disturb the rest of the Great One. But then, as he let his awareness run to the depths of the Holy place, he stopped, shocked.

The Eye! The Eye was stolen! Holiest of all the relics of Hrisst, in the hands of unbelievers. For a moment, the audacity of the crime held the Avatar paralyzed. How was such a violation possible?

He steadied himself, casting his awareness out to the Eye. Contact came swiftly. The relic must still be in the temple. He allowed himself to feel relief and gave thanks to the Great One, both that the relic was close and for the honor to be the one to retrieve it. He concentrated on the orb, let his mind see through it as he had trained for so long ago.

An image came to him of two figures slinking through the darkened temple. He almost laughed in relief as he saw what they were. Two of the soft, frail creatures. The prey creatures. The slave race. The race suitable only for sacrifice and unskilled labor.

He smiled. They could not know the power with which they meddled. Their small minds were simply dazzled by the shiny orb. He stood and breathed deep. For this he would assume the simplest, but most fearsome aspect of Hrisst, at least to the weak, diminished apes he would face.

He chanted, channeling the power entrusted to him by his god. The form of the Avatar expanded, his muscles swelling, his jaw lengthening to a fearsome maw. He strode to a cabinet and took down an ornate set of armor, breastplate, greaves and helmet of steel, inlaid with gold. He then fastened a curved sword to his waist on a chain of brass links and took down a heavy axe from it pegs, then settled a great steel shield on his arm. He stalked out of the chamber, intent on recovering the relic and meting out punishment to the worms who dared sully this holy ground.

* * *

Conn and Trilisean moved quickly out the way they had come, but not so rapidly as to let down their guard. The many seemingly dead torchiers were all alight now, sending shadows playing along the carven reliefs and striking highlights from the inset metals and gems. Removing the great jewel had set something in motion, and they balanced their desire to be away from that something with their wariness not to be caught running blindly from it.

They reached the spot where the door had closed on them. Trilisean explored the wall with eyes and fingertips for a moment then swore.

“I can't find anything.”

“Maybe there’s no way to open it from here,” Conn said.

“Maybe not,” she said. “But that's the way we know. Anything else is guesswork.”

“Better to guess and move than stand and be caught,” said the mercenary. “Come on!” He started toward the great hall. “There has to be a way for worshipers to get in, so there has to be a way out,” he reasoned.

“That seems likely,” she agreed, her eyes flicking about for signs of danger.

They stopped before the entrance to the great hall, peering around the doorway. It appeared empty, a huge brazier on the dais before the idol sending shadows dancing through the vast space. They looked through the benches and the forest of irregularly placed, serpentine columns, seeking an exit.

“There,” the thief breathed. “The back wall, to the left. In the deeper shadow. There's a stairway there, leading up.”

The warrior nodded. He saw no such staircase, but her word was good enough for him. The woman could count the change in a man's purse at fifty yards in a dark alley. As far as whether it was the exit, it led up, and up was good. They had to find a way back to the surface.

Trilisean glided around the doorframe, paused for a moment in the shadow of the great serpent god to listen and wait, then moved silently onwards, keeping to the edge of the hall. Conn followed a few paces behind, stopping when she did, his ears and eyes straining for any threat.

They had covered perhaps three lengths out of five to the staircase when the pair froze. A clinking of metal on metal sounded from an arched doorway on the opposite wall. The thief crouched behind a bench and the warrior flattened himself behind a massive column.

Conn listened as the sounds of a man walking in armor sounded in the hall. Trilisean quietly pulled a mirror from her pouch and used it to peer around the bench. What she saw made her eyes widen. Conn stole a glance around the column.

A huge creature stalked directly toward them. It was man shaped, mostly, but covered in scales where its skin could be seen. It wore a breastplate over a mail shirt and an ornate helmet. Its head was reptilian, jaws extending forward in a frightening parody of a smile. Its unblinking eyes burned with an amber light. It bore a steel shield on its left arm, and a heavy axe in its clawed right hand. The armor was elaborately decorated, the steel breastplate inlaid with a fiery dragon in copper. The helm was fashioned with a dragon atop it, its wings folded down to protect the sides of the beast's head. The thing walked toward the hiding pair, obviously aware of their location.

Conn flexed his fingers and wrist, then quietly slid his sword from its scabbard. He grasped his targe in his left hand, readying himself for the fight. There was little point running if the thing knew they were there, less if it knew the layout of the temple.

Trilisean looked at Conn and nodded, reaching the same conclusion. She dropped a sphere into the cup of her sling.

The warrior spun out from his hiding place, his shield before him, sword at the ready and shouted. “Come on, you reptile! Let's see what color your blood is!”

The creature sprang forward, landing lightly on a pew, brandishing its axe. It moved far more fluidly and deftly than Conn had expected in so large an opponent. It stood head and shoulders taller than he. It also put itself in a beautiful position to have a leg hacked out from under it.

A missile sped from the shadows and exploded into a white cloud against the thing's head. Conn darted forward, hoping to land a blow while it was distracted, but it leapt back off the bench and shook its head before darting around the cloud to swing its massive weapon at the Aeransman's head.

Conn pulled up and deflected the blow with his shield. He felt the impact from his shoulder to his stinging fingers. Nuad help him if he caught a blow on his body. Heavy as that axe was, it would shatter bones even through armor.

Joke’s on him,
thought Conn
. I'm not wearing armor
.

The mercenary took a step back, waiting for his opponent to move. As fast as the creature was, the weight of that axe would make him vulnerable to a quick counter. Assuming it didn't kill him with its initial stroke.

Conn circled way from the door, drawing the things attention. It leapt after him, pursuing single-mindedly. A flash from the shadows indicated a thrown dagger, but the beast seemed to sense the move before it was made, and casually batted the weapon aside.

How did it do that?
He wondered.
No way it could have seen that.
The beast must have a way to detect its enemies. While that was not a pleasant thought, it was a useful one. No point in the thief hanging around to strike from hiding if the thing couldn't be surprised.

“Get out!” Conn shouted. “I need you to clear the doors of traps and locks. I'll deal with this great oaf and be right behind you.”

Trilisean hesitated, a second dagger poised.

“Do it!”

She turned and sped away.

Now,
he thought, sizing up his massive foe,
we'll see if I learned anything in all these years.

* * *

The Avatar of Hrisst kept his gaze on the one before him. The other one, the one with the Eye, had run off. Good. He kept a tiny fragment of his awareness on the Sacred Orb. He could track that one down after he destroyed the first. If nothing else, the naked ape was brave, trying to buy time for its accomplice. The Avatar smiled. The blood of heroes tasted so much better than that of cowards.

He sprang forward, whipping his axe at the head of the being so arrogant as to disturb the rest of Hrisst's incarnation on this plane.

* * *

Damn, that thing moves fast!
Flashed through Conn's mind as he dodged the blow. The strength it took to move such a heavy weapon so quickly was frightening. He observed the second cut, parrying it at an angle with his shield as he backed away.

The follow up cut was faster than it had any right to be, but still slow by the standards of a trained duelist. And the thing kept advancing, hacking back and forth like a mad woodcutter. He could use that.

Conn anticipated the next cut. For all that they were fast, they were predictable. He took a half step back, then thrust in behind the blow, his point tearing into the thing's right arm.

The warrior felt as though he'd stabbed a mighty oak. The creature's hide was tough. Instead of sinking deep into muscle and sinew, the sword gouged a shallow cut from wrist to elbow.

Worse even than that, flames spouted from the wound in place of blood. Liquid fire – like oil from a shattered lantern – ran from the cut. A few drops struck the mercenary's sleeve and he swore, beating the flames out against his leather jerkin.

In so doing, he nearly missed the next blow, blocking at too flat an angle. A piece of the shield was shorn off, a sizeable splinter striking him in the forehead.

Blinking the stars from his eyes, Conn circled, keeping away from the great smashing strokes of the axe. He got himself between the exit and his foe, and began to back away but without much real hope. He couldn't retreat forever. He'd trip or come up against a wall or a column or closed door or just tire out.

He reached the foot of the stairs, then cut at the thing's exposed knee, purely out of reflex. This time, the burst of fire caught on his shield and stuck like pitch. It was too much to hope the wound would slow the beast much. The thing's scaly hide was like armor.

He swore. How could he fight a thing like this? The blasted creature was leaving itself wide open with its great, hacking strokes. It would be so easy to nick and cut it until it tired, if it weren't for its skin, and even so, a good stout thrust should get through, but how could he drive steel into a creature and not get any blood on him?

He backed up a few steps, slapping aside another blow with his shield. The leather-faced targe was smouldering and becoming uncomfortably hot. He couldn't hold onto it much longer, but he feared what would happen if he dropped it.

He felt his anger and frustration rising as his left hand began to blister. He had fought armed warriors with a homemade spear when he was thirteen years old. Had spent four years on the run, hunted through field and forest and never been caught. Stood against impossible odds and never been beaten. He refused to admit that this thing, without grace or skill or finesse would be his undoing. But how was he supposed to fight something where shedding its blood could kill him?

His first thought was that this thing was best fought with a bow. Or by somebody else. He regretted the loss of his spear. A blow with the butt end could be deadly, and wouldn't spill much blood. Even using the point would give him enough extra reach that he might be safe.

Unable to bear the heat any longer, he flung the flaming shield at the head of his foe. The beast was surprised and only partly blocked it. The missile slammed into its helm and knocked its head back. Conn almost drove his point into the exposed throat, but stopped, fearing the torrent of fire that would spring from the severed vessels.

A thought suddenly struck him. He leapt back two more steps and tore off the clasp of his cloak as the thing recovered. He took the garment in his left hand.

The beast lumbered onward. Even if it had seen the tactic before, no flimsy cloth was going to put aside that axe. It struck viciously at the mercenary's left leg, exposed on a lower step.

Conn snapped his knee up out of the path of the weapon, then hurled his cloak at the thing's head, thrusting his sword behind it. The creature looked up as the cloak descended, tried to deflect the garment with its own shield, but the cloth folded over him, blinding him to the mercenary's sword thrust.

Conn drove his point through the cloak and felt his blade strike the tough scales, felt the moment of resistance, then a yielding as the strength of his thrust behind the sharp steel point parted the creature's hide.