8. THE SURINEDA MAP
Talis leapt out of the way and tumbled down the dusty stairs. He regained his footing, and Talis and Mara wound their way around to the bottom. He could hear the sorcerer’s laughter chasing after them.
“Oh good, a game of hide and seek…I always love a good game,” the sorcerer said, his shrill and booming voice echoing down the stairwell.
Instead of going through the door leading out to the streets, Mara jumped back, shrieking, trapped as a female sorcerer entered from the bottom. Talis shoved the woman’s back and she went sprawling onto a vase filled with peacock feathers.
“Down here.” Mara shot into a dimly lit corridor that led to the temple crypts. Why weren’t the sorcerers attacking them? And who was this master that was trying to capture them?
Up ahead Talis could see eerie shadows dancing from the magical blue lights mounted on the walls. The crypts. The place of burial for thousands of departed wizards of the Order of the Dawn. Mara stopped at the bottom, and a luminescent face, the Door-Guardian, hovered in the air in front of a black iron and wooden door.
“Who goes there?”
“Mara Lei, of House Lei.” Mara pointed at Talis. “And Talis Storm, of House Storm. We seek refuge and safety inside the crypts.”
“Refuge?”
“As in now!” Mara shouted. “We’re being chased.”
The guardian looked perplexed, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “How strange…trouble here inside the temple?”
Footsteps rapped on the stone steps behind them, and voices chuckled fitfully. “Where have the little mice scurried off to? A game of hide-and-seek in the dungeons? Come back, little ones, our Master only wants to talk to you.”
“I said let us in,” boomed Mara. “Our lives are in danger.”
As Mara pushed at the door, the portal bowed and blew golden dust towards the door, illuminating the black iron on the surface, revealing a complicated geometric pattern of overlapping triangles and circles. The shapes moved and finally came together, then the door went click and opened.
They rushed inside and pounded down a stone ramp that led into a vast gloomy room, faintly lit by floating candles that spilled out orange light. Shadows flickered across grotesque faces, hundreds of stone figures, standing as guardians over the countless crypts of the fallen masters of the Order. Throughout the crypts, Talis could see countless silvery spider webs tangling the air. The smell of mold and dust and embalming fluid pressed heavily like a choking hand.
Instead of the door slamming shut behind them, the voices following them got louder. “Of course we’re allowed to enter,” a sorcerer yelled. “No, no, we’re not chasing them. Yes, we’re friends. Be a good guardian and let us pass, now will you?”
Talis and Mara ducked behind a crypt statue and stared back at the door. They were going to take them away from Naru, Talis had heard stories like this. Dark sorcerers stealing children and raising them to study their nefarious arts.
“Only royals and members of the Order may enter,” the guardian said. “You’re uninvited guests.”
The door attempted to swing shut, but one of the sorcerers summoned a meaty hand the size of a man, blocking the door from closing. The giant fingers flexed, snapping the door hinges.
“No,” the guardian shouted, “you’re not allowed to do that!”
“As if you can do anything about it,” mumbled the red-haired sorcerer. He stepped inside the crypt. “Such flimsy magic here in Naru. One wonders why the Master allowed this pathetic city to remain neutral.”
The other sorcerer, a tall, spindly woman in a silver robe, cast a spell, illuminating the crypts in a garish white light. “Do remain diligent, Calasar, these children must have some power if the Master has sent us after them.”
“Mice? Oh little mice?” Calasar said, “A bit of cheese, a bit of bread, a bit of red from your bloody head…”
“Don’t scare them,” the woman whispered. Then loudly, “We’re not here to hurt you.”
“Are we really only collectors then? While the others are marauding the city, setting fire, sizzling innocent pets with lightning bolts, we’re stuck down in all this gloom looking for a stupid boy?”
A boy? Talis thought. Why were they looking for him? He pointed towards a mausoleum far off in the corner. Mara nodded, following as they stalked away from the sorcerers. The white light disappeared and Talis stopped, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Instead of voices, they heard only the lonely hiss of steam from an air vent. They crept along, staring at carvings of bulls and eagles and lions along the stone walls of the mausoleum.
At the base, he looked up and read the inscription: Master Baribariso, Legendary Wielder of the Kalashi Sword, Undefeated in Battle, Yet Defeated by Old Age…
“I’ve heard of him,” Mara whispered, tracing her fingers over a carving of a lion with long fangs.
“Champion from an age past. Do we dare hide inside?”
“This is a place of refuge.”
“Mice chattering away…so easy to find you.” Calasar lifted his fingers and aimed at Talis. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
“He has a bad temperament,” the woman said, “you’d best do as he says.”
“Leave us alone…” Mara thrust her dagger out.
The sorcerers broke into laughter, wide smiles stretching across their faces, as if they were in pain.
“You expect us to be scared of a little mouse with a dagger?” Calasar said.
Talis tried to remember what he’d done to cast the fire spell. If he could only cast it again. He raised his hands towards Calasar, then stopped. Calasar had a long, nasty scar that stretched across his face. When he grinned, it was more like a snarl. Talis knew he didn’t stand a chance of defeating them.
“If you’re thinking of casting a spell, beware,” the woman said. “He’ll make it very painful for you. You’ll stay alive, and yet Master Calasar has an amazing knack for delivering excruciating pain, especially to the toenails and fingernails. Imagine! An electrical spell that only inflicts pain to the tips of your fingers and to your stubby little mouse toes. Simply genius.”
Mara lowered her dagger in defeat, casting a wary glance at Calasar.
“I won’t hurt him.” Calasar grabbed Talis by the wrist. In a flash of brilliant light, Calasar summoned a dark and shimmering magical portal. “Inside you go. Tell your friend goodbye, for it’s likely the last time you’ll ever see her.”
“No!” Mara shouted, and grasped the blue amulet hanging from her neck. “Hear me, Goddess Nestria, my plea is simple and my heart pure. Prevent these dark ones from taking my friend.”
Calasar turned and laughed. “The little mouse begs to the Goddess of the Sky? As if Nestria would ever hear a mouse’s plea? Sooner Zagros would take you-”
At the name of the Lord of the Underworld, low rumblings and hissings were heard throughout the crypts, as if all the dead masters of the Order complained in unison. A rushing wind struck their faces, a hot wind, smelling of pine and storm. Dust also came, blasting their eyes, and Talis fell to his knees, pinching his eyes together, trying to make tears to clear his vision. But the wind only increased, striking so fiercely the stones of the mausoleum made an awful splintering crack.
“Who dares violate my house of rest?” a high, nasally voice boomed. Talis could hear a loud stirring inside the mausoleum, as if the champion was waking from a long slumber.
“It sounds as if the Goddess has heard this little mouse’s plea after all,” Mara said.
“The dead obey Calasar,” the woman said. “He’s mastered the shadow and the necrotic arts.”
“Including one such as I?” A shriveled, pasty mess of a man stumbled out of the mausoleum, wearing a ringmail coat and leggings of some dull silver alloy. He coughed and vile dust spewed from his lungs, the stench of spoiled flesh and organs. He lifted a curved blade with great difficulty, and stared along its damaged edge. Sighing, the man growled a deep growl, as if angry at his condition. Soon the withered and dried flesh under his skin wiggled to life, filling his body with youth once more. His bald flaky scalp turned ruddy and chestnut hair grew down to his
