bitterly. The Art’s soiled by my hand. Beneath his eyes, the ancient marks seemed to glow and brighten, revealing a delicate tracery of azure that limned the doorway. The blank gray stone seemed to vanish as a sheet of impenetrable blackness ghosted into view, yawning like a tomb. But I still remember after all these years, Belgin thought, no matter how I try to forget. What does that make me?
Miltiades nodded his thanks and readied himself to enter the gate. Belgin halted him with one hand on his shoulder. “Just a moment.” Kneeling on the floor, the sharper cleared a large space on the floor and retrieved a piece of chalk from his belt pouch. He scribed a large mark, with an arrow pointing at the portal and a cryptic word beneath it. “Rings and Jacob will know which way we went, if they find this place,” he said. “Now we can go.
Ready for battle, the paladin and the sharper stepped through the blackness.
“At least the thrice-damned storm’s letting up,” muttered Rings, blundering through knee-deep sand and shattered walls of old brown stone. He’d fought his way clear of two more encounters with the ancient dead who watched the city, becoming completely disoriented in the process, but as the storm abated, the withered brown mummies had taken their rest. The dwarf didn’t consider himself superstitious or particularly sensitive to the supernatural, but he could feel the retreat of the evil presence that haunted the ruins. Whatever it was, it was content to watch for a time.
He came to a narrow intersection and considered the streets in front of him, trying to choose. “Which way now?”
“Rings!” The dwarf whirled at the shout. Staggering through the sand-choked alleyway to his left, Jacob appeared, sword in hand. The curly-haired warrior bled freely from a nasty cut high on his head and favored his left leg with an awkward limp, but his clear blue eyes showed no sign of defeat. “I thought you dead!”
“Me, too,” the dwarf answered. He raised his axe defensively, eying the human suspiciously. “You’re not Eidola in disguise, are you?”
Jacob looked up sharply, then winced. “Damn. Forgot about that. You might be Eidola, too.”
“Well, I know Fm not,” Rings growled, “But I guess you’d have no way to know if I’m telling the truth. Now, how would Belgin sort this out?” He thought a moment, and then said, “Open your gorget and show me that you don’t have a rope around your neck, and I’ll do the same.”
Jacob rolled his eyes, but he complied. Rings grunted, then undid his own collar to show that his own neck was bare. “Satisfied?” the Tyrian warrior asked.
“That’ll do. Any idea where Belgin and Miltiades are?”
“No, but I was thinking that I’d start with the last building they went into.”
Rings nodded. “They’re probably long gone, but it’s worth a look. Which way is it?”
“I thought dwarves didn’t get lost,” Jacob laughed coldly.
“Underground we don’t,” Rings snapped. “At night, in a sandstorm, in a set of ruins I’ve never seen before today, yesI can get lost.”
“The palace is straight ahead,” Jacob said. Hefting his heavy war blade again, he set off down the street, moving fast. Rings had to trot to keep up with his long-legged stride. He glowered at the human’s back, but Jacob paid him no more attention.
The Tyrian’s intuition was correct; they traveled about fifty yards down the alley and found themselves at a narrow courtyard or portico. The back side of the column-bordered palace loomed over an open space littered with broken masonry. Rings looked around nervously, but there was no more sign of the undead.
“Look here,” said Jacob. He pointed at a disordered line of shallow dimples in the sand, crossing and recrossing a small but steep drift. “Someone’s footsteps.”
“They must be fresh. The wind would’ve covered them if they’d been here long.” Rings followed the steps to a gaping dark archway
Miltiades nodded his thanks and readied himself to enter the gate. Belgin halted him with one hand on his shoulder. “Just a moment.” Kneeling on the floor, the sharper cleared a large space on the floor and retrieved a piece of chalk from his belt pouch. He scribed a large mark, with an arrow pointing at the portal and a cryptic word beneath it. “Rings and Jacob will know which way we went, if they find this place,” he said. “Now we can go.
Ready for battle, the paladin and the sharper stepped through the blackness.
“At least the thrice-damned storm’s letting up,” muttered Rings, blundering through knee-deep sand and shattered walls of old brown stone. He’d fought his way clear of two more encounters with the ancient dead who watched the city, becoming completely disoriented in the process, but as the storm abated, the withered brown mummies had taken their rest. The dwarf didn’t consider himself superstitious or particularly sensitive to the supernatural, but he could feel the retreat of the evil presence that haunted the ruins. Whatever it was, it was content to watch for a time.
He came to a narrow intersection and considered the streets in front of him, trying to choose. “Which way now?”
“Rings!” The dwarf whirled at the shout. Staggering through the sand-choked alleyway to his left, Jacob appeared, sword in hand. The curly-haired warrior bled freely from a nasty cut high on his head and favored his left leg with an awkward limp, but his clear blue eyes showed no sign of defeat. “I thought you dead!”
“Me, too,” the dwarf answered. He raised his axe defensively, eying the human suspiciously. “You’re not Eidola in disguise, are you?”
Jacob looked up sharply, then winced. “Damn. Forgot about that. You might be Eidola, too.”
“Well, I know Fm not,” Rings growled, “But I guess you’d have no way to know if I’m telling the truth. Now, how would Belgin sort this out?” He thought a moment, and then said, “Open your gorget and show me that you don’t have a rope around your neck, and I’ll do the same.”
Jacob rolled his eyes, but he complied. Rings grunted, then undid his own collar to show that his own neck was bare. “Satisfied?” the Tyrian warrior asked.
“That’ll do. Any idea where Belgin and Miltiades are?”
“No, but I was thinking that I’d start with the last building they went into.”
Rings nodded. “They’re probably long gone, but it’s worth a look. Which way is it?”
“I thought dwarves didn’t get lost,” Jacob laughed coldly.
“Underground we don’t,” Rings snapped. “At night, in a sandstorm, in a set of ruins I’ve never seen before today, yesI can get lost.”
“The palace is straight ahead,” Jacob said. Hefting his heavy war blade again, he set off down the street, moving fast. Rings had to trot to keep up with his long-legged stride. He glowered at the human’s back, but Jacob paid him no more attention.
The Tyrian’s intuition was correct; they traveled about fifty yards down the alley and found themselves at a narrow courtyard or portico. The back side of the column-bordered palace loomed over an open space littered with broken masonry. Rings looked around nervously, but there was no more sign of the undead.
“Look here,” said Jacob. He pointed at a disordered line of shallow dimples in the sand, crossing and recrossing a small but steep drift. “Someone’s footsteps.”
“They must be fresh. The wind would’ve covered them if they’d been here long.” Rings followed the steps to a gaping dark archway
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