thought about why the priest had not summoned anyone else to help him. The odds were that this priest was either a powerful fighter and could whip him with one hand, or he was one of the few priests gifted with powerful magic. Sensing the latter was the more likely scenario, Hugh knew that going deeper into the priest’s lair was a bad idea and decided to make a break for it. He calculated the odds of getting caught versus the odds of escaping long enough to cast his spell. Then he dismissed the odds; after all, he really had no other choice.
Hugh slid his wormwood stick from his pocket and then he jammed it in the side of the priest’s head, hoping to stun him long enough to make it out the temple door. The moment wood struck bone, Hugh turned and ran as fast as he could toward the exit, his pouches and pockets flapping. He mentally recited the incantation that he would veritably shout should he make it safely to the exit. He sensed freedom as he reached the door and then-
-fell flat on his face, locked again. Tears rolled down his cheeks as rough, but invisible, hands picked him up and lifted him from the ground. Slowly, inexorably, he drifted across the sanctuary toward the staircase, hopes dashed. This spell was much stronger than the last, leaving him barely enough control to breathe. He was able to glimpse, with some satisfaction, that the priest was still in a crumpled heap near the alter, blood dripping from his temple.
Down the tight spiral staircase he floated, in the firm and unyielding clutches of the unseen. Hugh knew now that the end was near, and it was going to end badly. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this and he cursed himself for a coward for not thinking of it earlier; the dagger concealed in his belt was going to be his only way out now.
After what seemed an eternity on the tight spiral staircase, he arrived at the bottom. And here was something Hugh had never imagined he would see in a temple of Qra’z. In a Smiter shrine to some foul demon, maybe. But a temple of the Golden Dragon god? Never.
Five cages just tall enough for a man to stand, but not wide enough for a man to sit, were positioned around the room. In each was the corpse of a man, eyes large and black and vacant. Among them he noticed his contact, Regari Gnocco, an operative who hailed from Lower Arnathian Plains. The man was definitely dead by the look in his eyes, yet he could not help but notice a subtle twitching movement of the hands. He would have sighed, had he been able, and instead let out a ragged breath through his involuntarily clenched teeth. This was definitely going to end badly.
This room was adorned with tapestries and paintings as above, yet the subject matter of these paintings was far different from what was above. The tapestries showed shining warriors with golden skin and golden armor stepping from shimmering portals, which Hugh assumed led from the heavens. These must be the mysterious Cjii, the immortal race of people blessed with powerful magic that served the Golden Dragon god. Much was written of them in legends and myths but the position of the church was always one of ignorance to their supposed existence.
Two altars stood side by side at the opposite end of the room. Above each altar were sculptures of blood red dragons with eyes of gold, not the golden dragons favored by Qra’z. The rest of the room was decorated with dragon’s heads, long razor-like dragon’s claws, and sinister weapons and tools with various hooks and blades and spikes.
Hugh had studied much of the arcane world and knew what he was seeing in this chamber. It was spelled out in the tapestries that decorated the walls. Invisible hands laid him upon a large stone altar and draped a crimson and gold cloth over his body. He never saw who or what was responsible for depositing him there and assumed that the priests of Qra’z were in league with something dreadful and nefarious. He forced his mind to continue his
Hugh slid his wormwood stick from his pocket and then he jammed it in the side of the priest’s head, hoping to stun him long enough to make it out the temple door. The moment wood struck bone, Hugh turned and ran as fast as he could toward the exit, his pouches and pockets flapping. He mentally recited the incantation that he would veritably shout should he make it safely to the exit. He sensed freedom as he reached the door and then-
-fell flat on his face, locked again. Tears rolled down his cheeks as rough, but invisible, hands picked him up and lifted him from the ground. Slowly, inexorably, he drifted across the sanctuary toward the staircase, hopes dashed. This spell was much stronger than the last, leaving him barely enough control to breathe. He was able to glimpse, with some satisfaction, that the priest was still in a crumpled heap near the alter, blood dripping from his temple.
Down the tight spiral staircase he floated, in the firm and unyielding clutches of the unseen. Hugh knew now that the end was near, and it was going to end badly. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this and he cursed himself for a coward for not thinking of it earlier; the dagger concealed in his belt was going to be his only way out now.
After what seemed an eternity on the tight spiral staircase, he arrived at the bottom. And here was something Hugh had never imagined he would see in a temple of Qra’z. In a Smiter shrine to some foul demon, maybe. But a temple of the Golden Dragon god? Never.
Five cages just tall enough for a man to stand, but not wide enough for a man to sit, were positioned around the room. In each was the corpse of a man, eyes large and black and vacant. Among them he noticed his contact, Regari Gnocco, an operative who hailed from Lower Arnathian Plains. The man was definitely dead by the look in his eyes, yet he could not help but notice a subtle twitching movement of the hands. He would have sighed, had he been able, and instead let out a ragged breath through his involuntarily clenched teeth. This was definitely going to end badly.
This room was adorned with tapestries and paintings as above, yet the subject matter of these paintings was far different from what was above. The tapestries showed shining warriors with golden skin and golden armor stepping from shimmering portals, which Hugh assumed led from the heavens. These must be the mysterious Cjii, the immortal race of people blessed with powerful magic that served the Golden Dragon god. Much was written of them in legends and myths but the position of the church was always one of ignorance to their supposed existence.
Two altars stood side by side at the opposite end of the room. Above each altar were sculptures of blood red dragons with eyes of gold, not the golden dragons favored by Qra’z. The rest of the room was decorated with dragon’s heads, long razor-like dragon’s claws, and sinister weapons and tools with various hooks and blades and spikes.
Hugh had studied much of the arcane world and knew what he was seeing in this chamber. It was spelled out in the tapestries that decorated the walls. Invisible hands laid him upon a large stone altar and draped a crimson and gold cloth over his body. He never saw who or what was responsible for depositing him there and assumed that the priests of Qra’z were in league with something dreadful and nefarious. He forced his mind to continue his
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