Well, I think you left your mace and buckler attached to Jet s saddle, Aoth said. I understand you still have your magic, but even so, stick with me.
Yes, Captain, she replied, smiling.
At first, they didn t find anything but a dead, rotting owl possibly killed by a stray burst of the same malignancy that had slain the hathrans, the fox, and the sacred tree. But then Aoth oriented on a low, dark spot amid a tangle of roots, with a snow-covered hump in the ground behind it.
That s a hole, he said. And the lump behind it is some sort of old monument. See where the stonework shows through the overgrowth and the snow?
No, Cera said, but I m sure you do. Did something climb out of the hole or crawl into it?
That I can t tell. Any chance I can convince you to stay up here?
What do you think? She whispered a prayer and moved her hand in an arc. A golden glimmer ran through her yellow glove. When she entered the dark, the leather would shine with captured sunlight.
Stay close, then, Aoth said. He lowered himself onto his belly and squirmed through the curtain of roots. In another moment, his voice came back to her. I ve found some stairs, he called.
When Cera crawled through the roots, she saw steep, narrow steps descending into darkness beyond the reach of her conjured glow. Chunks of stone and bits of dirt littered the upper risers. Once, she surmised, a slab had capped the top of the stairway, perhaps covered with earth to keep it hidden. But something possibly simply the weight of time, or the slow insistence of the growing roots had broken it.
Ready? asked Aoth, keeping his voice low.
If you are, she replied.
Keeping his spear level, he headed downward. She followed.
The steps brought them to a place where one stone passage curved away to the right, its counterpart curved to the left, and a third one extended straight ahead. Rows of square slabs studded the wall, each graven with hieroglyphs that Cera couldn t read. But in some places, there were no such stoppers, just empty holes revealing sockets the approximate size and shape of coffins.
It s a tomb, Cera said.
I think so, said Aoth. An old one, though whether Nar, Raumathari, or something else, I don t know. Watch out for guardians and traps.
She did, but as it turned out, she needn t have bothered. If the dead had ever had a sentry, it had deserted its post or crumbled to dust along ago. Likewise, if there had ever been contrivances to drop an intruder into a pit or to pop a blade stabbing out of the wall, the mechanisms had stiffened and corroded into immobility.
The place turned out to be laid out in a circle, with two straight passages crossing in the center like the spokes of a wheel. At that hub, a sarcophagus carved with the form of a sleeping man in scale armor and an odd jagged crown reposed on a pedestal.
Aoth looked it over, then shrugged. If it s been opened recently, I can t tell it, he said.
So what do we have? Cera asked. Anything?
Not as far as I can see, he replied. There s nothing down here, and no way out except the way we came in. On top of that, we have to assume that the witches and the oak spirit knew the tomb was here and weren t worried about it. So by all indications, it had nothing to do with the attack.
Then let s go back up and see if anybody else has found anything, she said.
Good idea, he replied, starting toward the passage that ran back to the staircase. Suddenly he pivoted.
Her heart beat quicker, and she looked where he was peering.
What? she called.
He pointed with the spear. There, he said.
Three small vertical grooves had been carved above the arch that led to one of the other straight corridors. Glad that Aoth hadn t spotted a pouncing specter or something similar, Cera sighed and asked, What about them?
He shook his head. I don t know, he replied. But every other bit of carving we ve seen has been on either a slab or the sarcophagus there. These are the only marks on a plain patch of wall.
That is funny, she said. But you said yourself we don t even know who built this tomb. We certainly don t know what their traditions were. And we explored that passage the same as the others. There was nothing different about it.
True enough, he replied. Let s get out of here.
By the time they had crawled back out into the winter sunlight, the Storm of Vengeance had landed, and Mangan and Bez stood by the huts and the dead hathrans conferring with Dulsaer, Jhesrhi, and Vandar. With the snow crunching beneath his boots, Aoth brushed more of it off his chest and tramped to join the parley. Cera hurried after him.
Can t you wizards reveal the trail? the Iron Lord growled.
Jhesrhi shifted her grip on her new staff, a length of brass, graven with runes and octagonal in cross section. I can try, she said, but it will take me awhile, and I can t promise results. That kind of magic isn t my specialty.
Nor mine, said Bez, nor that of any mage aboard my ship. We re war wizards, not diviners.
If sorcery is of no use, Dulsaer said, pulling the wings of his leather fleece-lined cape together against the cold, then let s try thinking. The enemy likely moved and attacked by night. But it isn t night now, and they d be reckless indeed to wander around in open country in the daylight. Where could they hide?
Mangan frowned. The Ashenwood s the obvious place, he said. It s nearby, and a haunt for trolls and ettercaps, among other things.
From what I understand, the half-elf said, it s also dense enough that a band of warriors might reasonably hope to conceal themselves there. Thayan marauders, perhaps. He glanced in Aoth s direction.
Interesting notion, Aoth replied. Have you worked out how such raiders would stay hidden marching hundreds of miles north from the Gorge of Gauros?
Dulsaer scowled. I concede that a Thayan war party is only one possibility, he said. My point is this: My men and I can search for the enemy from the air. The fact that the branches have dropped their leaves should help considerably. He turned to Mangan. We ll find the killers, Highness, and punish them as they deserve.
Bez nodded. Naturally, the Storm will participate, too.
You ll discover, the Aglarondan said, that one skyship can t cover ground the way twenty griffonriders can.
Maybe so, the sellsword said, smiling, but at least I know I can count on you Aglarondans to summon me for the actual fighting. I mean, considering that His Highness is riding aboard my vessel. You surely aren t planning to attack without involving him.
Of course not, Dulsaer snapped.
Let s move out, Mangan said, and in another moment, Dulsaer and Bez were both bellowing commands. The other Aglarondans led their screeching griffons to spots where gaps in the branches overhead would make it easy to ascend. Several sellswords scrambled to collect the bodies of the hathrans and even the fox. The rest trotted for their ship.
Vandar rounded on Aoth and Jhesrhi. What are you waiting for? he asked. Call another wind.
Aoth shook his head. No need, he said. We re not going.
Vandar gaped at him. Why not? he asked.
Is it something to do with the tomb? Cera asked.
The markings?
Maybe, said Aoth. At that moment, a cloud blew across the face of the sun, and in the sudden dimness, his luminous blue eyes seemed to flare brighter. Maybe not. But I have a hunch or two. Everyone wonders how the killers departed without leaving a trail. But what if there s no trail because somehow, some way, they never left?
And we missed seeing them? Jhesrhi asked.
Is that possible with your truesight?
Even I don t see everything, said Aoth.
Anyway, ask yourself, what s the point of defiling a place of power?
Maybe just to spoil it for people you hate, Cera said. But sometimes to taint the power for use in a darker
