shadow mastiff back there.' 'I found two of them myself.' Quietly he crossed an open space to reach the next wall. She could see the outline of the temple now and scanned the courtyard for movement. She joined him at the wall and he motioned toward the doorway. Four shapes prowled there, sniffing the air, padding from one shadow to the next, waiting.
They know, she thought. Where is their master, I wonder? As Quin peered around a corner, Eli heard the snap of a bowstring and saw the swift blur of an arrow just in front of Quin's face. He flinched back, and a fine scratch appeared on the bridge of his nose. An inch or two more, and the missile might have blinded him, or worse. Curling his lip and gritting his teeth, he placed a hand on his sword and took a breath. 'Stay close,' he said. He spun out in a crouch. Eli followed behind and fired in the direction of the unseen archer. She saw a dark figure disappear behind another wall, but nothing else of it before the shadow mastiffs charged from the darkness. She was startled at first when Quin drew his screaming blade and slew the closest beast, but she recovered quickly as another creature appeared in front of her. Two quick shots flew from her bow, one landing in the hound's foreleg, slowing it, and the other piercing its neck. She and Quin circled back to back as they crossed the distance to the doorway of the temple. Two more mastiffs fell to her bow and Quin had just finished off a third when a winged figure presented itself from behind a cracked column. The tip of an arrow was aimed at them from a black bow. 'Get down!' she yelled, and pushed toward the doorway. Eli fired at the figure and heard a satisfying yet ominous hiss as her shot drove home. An arrow flew high and bounced off the stone lintel above them as they ducked inside and ran down a short hallway. Eli fired a few more arrows behind them to discourage any pursuers. The hallway branched in two directions and opened into a large chamber beyond, lit with a smoldering green light. Satisfied their foes would not immediately follow, they entered cautiously to catch their breath and contemplate their next move.
Elamiz stepped from behind a wall, scowling and enraged. In his fist was the bloodied arrow he'd removed from his wing. The hunter's shot had been hasty but skilled. He could still smell her on the air, even through the strong wind and scent of old ashes all around. She was cornered, along with the stranger-the Hoarite whom Khaemil had sent him to find. He cursed the aasimar's keen vision and lingered over the bodies of his fallen pets as the rest of the hounds gathered around him. Nine still survived. A small sacrifice if the promises of the Order were kept. Elamiz cared little for Derlusk or the eastern edges of Shandolphyn's Reach. Dominion over the Savrathans would be satisfying enough-those who survived, that is. Around his wrist, Elamiz wore a cord of leather bearing a small whistle of polished onyx. Raising it to his lips, he blew three quick notes. Though too high for most ears, the mastiff pack responded immediately and encircled the temple entrance, sniffing and pawing at the ground excitedly. The faint whiff of fresh blood wafted from within the doorway. Elamiz smiled, forgetting his aching wing and relishing the taste in his mouth. Celestial blood, even that of a mixed breed, was a rare find for those of the Qurth.
The temple's high ceiling was lost beyond the light of two glowing orbs set near a crude altar. Their permanent magic still burned, long after the mage who lit them was lost to history. Quinsareth was thankful for the light, trusting their illumination better than his darkvision in this place. Curved stone pews surrounded a central column carved to resemble scales. In those rough-hewn seats were the bones of the faithful who'd come to worship whatever dark god had been courted in those hidden years. The skeletons were charred and ashy, curled in upon themselves in response to the flames that had devoured them. Not one of them lay near an exit. They had burned in their seats, unmoving save for twisting in the pain of a gruesome death.
Quinsareth moved quickly through the chamber, looking high and low, searching for their next advantage. He considered the bones briefly, taking special note of their presence, and moved to the altar. It was bare stone, a flat rock set on a dais, similar to offering rocks he'd seen in more superstitious areas of the world. Primal gods, such as the one revered in this place, rarely accepted prayers and piety alone. Absently, Quin rubbed at his shoulder where the gnoll had bitten him the day before. His shadowalk had only partly healed the wound and it had begun to bleed, seeping from under his armor and staining the edges of his cloak. Kneeling to look more closely at the stone floor, he winced as his ribs ached with the motion. He squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to ignore the pain, focusing on the task at hand. The altar was empty, and no bones of a leader lay with those of the doomed congregation. An idea began to form in his head as he examined the altar more closely. Memory guided his hands, but cynicism ruled his thoughts. Just beneath the slab, he found the edges of a raised stone set in the floor under the altar. Looking high above, he saw the bare ends of dangling chains in the darkness above. He saw that Eli had cautiously approached the central column. Noticing that the scale carvings wound upward like a serpentine tail, he followed it up. At its top was a thing from out of the strangest of dreams, of oldest times and faiths. Carved in midnight, he counted at least eighteen detailed wings, their feathers looking ready to rustle in the slightest breeze. The body of the thing was merely a vehicle to house the many wings, having no head, eyes, or mouth. Eli stood enraptured, staring in horror at the thing as if she knew its name and expected it to swoop down upon her in a fluttering mass of stone feathers. 'Where is the cage?' Her whisper echoed through the room. Her eyes never left the stone beast. The sound of clicking claws echoed from the hallway.
Instantly, Eli was torn from her reverie and nocked an arrow to her bowstring in the space of a single breath. She looked to Quin, who met her stare across the pews that separated them. He motioned with his head toward the statue of the winged creature above her. Nodding, she slung her bow over her shoulder, took the arrow between her teeth, and began to climb the snakelike tail to hide among the petrified wings.
Quin watched from the cover of the offering stone as several more of the nigh invisible hounds prowled into the chamber from both exits. He counted five on the left and four on the right. He centered his breathing and slowed his thoughts, waiting for their mysterious master to arrive. Unconsciously, he counted in his mind, ticking off a random list of the pieces of the Fate Fall. He found it strange that he was doing it, that after so many years of traveling, the game would return to him again and again. Regardless, he made good use of the memory, his hand resting on the first stone, ready to tumble it into its brethren. The rest would fall as they would, and he would not regret the sequence, whatever it might reveal. This determination above all others hovered in his mind, for regret belonged to the Ghost and the Ghost destroyed all patterns that touched it. Just yards away, he spotted the shifting shadows of the nearing hounds, baring white teeth as they rounded the edge of the sanctuary and noticed him. Their growls rumbled like hungry thunder as they smelled his blood. Their approach had been stealthier than he'd anticipated. Damn, he thought, the first stone goes to the dogs. Two arrows hissed into the growling darkness near him. One arrow cracked uselessly against the wall and the other brought a yelp of pain, causing a hound to appear. The green glow of the orbs highlighted its dark coat. Quin hoped more arrows would even the odds, but the clop of nimble hooves on stone announced Elisandrya's greater concern. She turned quickly to face the threat.
The winged creature leaped into the air, dodging Eli's reflexive shot, and fired back. The fiend's bow was now enveloped in an indigo flame, which it passed to the arrow it released. Eli ducked and the missile crumbled into a stone wing, leaving the lifelike feathers dusty and brittle in its wake. Bedlam was half drawn as Quin observed the quick exchange between Elisandrya and some sort of devilish satyr. Moving swiftly, he pressed the stone abnormality in the floor, hearing a satisfying click that confirmed his suspicions. He rolled backward and unsheathed Bedlam as the mastiffs came at him, snarling and drooling.
He leaped to his right, meeting their charge and screaming a warning, menacing with the great blade as he deftly spun among them, disrupting their organized attack. Rusted pulleys spun among the rafters overhead, the ancient beams groaning under the weight of their descending burden. The whole building shook as its long-waiting task was demanded of it again. Two massive stone slabs lowered shakily on chains that snapped and popped. Dust shook from the ceiling as the entrance was sealed by the ancient device. Squinting his eyes against a century's worth of dust, Quin realized the played stone may have been pure Luck. Squaring off against the pack, he hoped he was wrong, not wanting Luck to be played out just yet. He stabbed and slashed at the snapping hounds, wounding several but unable to land a solid blow among them. Frustrated, he edged the closing pack closer to the pews, keeping them at bay with the shrieking Bedlam. The blade's pitch had lowered in an attempt to mimic the sounds of the surrounding beasts.
It threatened them with their own growls and the sounds of gnashing teeth. He cast a quick glance at Elisandrya's battle against the pack's leader. Another of her shots missed as the fiendish satyr twirled in the air, but Quin could tell it was having trouble flying in the cramped loft of the sanctuary. It flapped its black wings furiously to stay airborne. Reaching the nearest pew, Quin leaned hard and jumped to stand on the wide stone seat. Without thinking, he'd used his left arm. He almost slipped as the pain in his ribs stabbed through his chest. One mastiff tried to take advantage of the moment and lunged in, too close. It caught Bedlam's blade through its neck as Quin
