It would have been tempting to run across the hall straight to the altar, upon which a number of interesting objects glittered invitingly, but I was no amateur at this game. Instead, I crept down the stairs, testing each step for signs that it might be a pressure switch and keeping my eyes and ears peeled for any hints of trap triggers.
I made it down onto the floor, and again I tested the stone tiles. Finally confident that I found myself in a trap-less space, I decided to go call the others. Perhaps it did make sense for what seemed to be the heart of the temple to not house anything that might risk destroying these priceless works of religious art: better to have powerful booby traps on the way down only. As I went back up, I was reassured that I’d cleared both the temple and the entire way there of all dangers. I wondered what the gang would have to say about my discovery.
Cranton was in complete awe of the main chamber, while Rami was overcome with an almost religious fervor. She dropped to her knees in front of the altar and said a prayer to Xayon.
“This is indeed—or rather, it was—the Great Temple of Xayon,” she said when she stood up. “This place was only spoken of in legend… I never dreamed I’d see it with my own eyes. Here I am, though. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you for this, Vance.”
I winked. “We’ll have a chat about that when this is all over. Now, let’s check out what’s on the altar. Those objects have to be items connected to Xayon.”
“There is one thing the legends mention about this temple, though,” Rami said warily. “The statues that line the hall are called Sentinels. It is said that they can come to life.”
“Then we probably shouldn’t touch them,” I said, “and we definitely shouldn’t—oh, shit!”
Behind Rami, I saw Cranton prying an ornate dagger out of one of the statues’ hands. It was a life-sized statue of what looked like an enjarta assassin.
“Cranton!” I yelled. “What the hell did I tell you about touching shiny things in crypts?!”
“I just wanted a nice dagger like yours,” he said, looking sheepish, the dagger now in his hands. “I’ll, uh, put it back.”
I was furious, but what had just been done could not be undone, and all we could do was try to deal with the consequences.
“Maybe the legends were wrong,” Rami said hopefully. “Maybe the Sentinels are just lifeless statues, unable to do anything except look menacing. Maybe—”
A puff of dust shot out from the statue’s empty hand, and its fingers started to move. Cranton looked up at the statue in terror, his crossed eyes almost popping out of their sockets.
“Oh, shit,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have done that… I really, really shouldn’t have done that…”
Another puff of dust shot out of the statue’s shoulder joint, and then its arm began to move. Two more little clouds of dust burst from its ankles, then a rain of dust fell on Cranton as the statue’s eyes opened. Its eyes were plain white, like the rest of it, but they glowed with a bright light, as if the marble was transparent and a fire was burning just behind the thin layer of stone in each of its eye sockets.
“This is not good, this is really, really not good, no, nope, not good at all,” Cranton whimpered as the statue raised one of its legs from its plinth and jumped off it, landing on the stone floor with an impact that rippled through the room.
“Cranton, get the hell out of there before that thing snaps you like a twig!” I yelled as I sprinted across the chamber. Unfortunately, Cranton was rooted to the spot with fear.
More puffs of dust began erupting from the other statues’ joints as they too started coming to life. Cranton had said it all: this was not good, nope, not good at all.
The statue of the assassin stared with its glowing eyes at Cranton and cocked its arm for a punch. A blow from a stone fist like that would be like getting smashed in the face with a mace, and I wasn’t about to let Cranton’s head get caved in like an overripe pumpkin. I dived and tackled Cranton just as the statue’s fist tore through the air where his head had been a split second earlier.
We hit the ground hard, but I managed to come up out of the roll and spring to my feet, with Grave Oath in my hand as I positioned myself between Cranton and the statue. He, meanwhile, lay on the ground gasping for breath; the tackle had knocked the air out of his lungs, and he wasn’t someone who was used to taking hits—of the physical kind, at least.
“Shit, how the hell do I fight a fucking statue?” I muttered to myself as the Sentinel stomped toward me. “It’s not as if I carry a damn hammer and chisel around with me!”
The statue took a swing at my head with its stone fist. It was a clumsy blow, and the Sentinel wasn’t able to move nearly as quickly as a living warrior. But what it lacked in speed it made up for in power. I ducked under the right hook and darted up under it, shooting Grave Oath up in a stabbing attack that would have driven the blade through a man’s head via the flesh under his chin.
It was a lethal blow, guaranteed—except that it was useless against an enemy made entirely of marble. Grave Oath’s point glanced harmlessly off the stone, and all I could do was dive and roll to the side, evading a hammer-fist blow the statue drove down toward my head, as I cursed under my breath at the possible damage to my precious weapon. But I had to finish the job. I aimed a cut at the statue’s knee, which, again, would
