Ghost Wounds, Episode 14a
“We’re not going to burn anything down,” you tell Rhazion. “There’s a secret way into the Imperial Citadel, and we’ll cut through the Tombs of the Magi to get there. Then we’ll find Croanna before she gets her hands on the Emperor, kill her, and get Lucan back.”
When you say it like that, you can almost make yourself believe it.
Rhazion scowls. “The Tombs of the Magi have been abandoned since the Fourth Empire, Countess. They’re incredibly dangerous.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
No one does, and you lead the way through the silent catacombs. The city of Malarae is thousands of years old, and Emperor after Emperor has expanded the catacombs until a maze of tombs, crypts, and galleries lie hidden beneath the streets. Fortunately, the Ghosts have used the catacombs to move in secret since the fall of the Second Empire, and you know how to read the secret maps and directional glyphs scribed into the walls.
Soon you arrive at the Tombs of the Magi, Niches line the walls, and in the niches stand massive leaden sarcophagi, the lids cast in the likeness of stern-faced magi in ornate robes. You feel the presence of sorcerous power in the air, sharp and electric, radiating from the lead sarcophagi, and from sigils carved upon the marble floor. Protective wards, no doubt, design to main and kill any tomb robbers.
Silence hangs over the Tombs of the Magi, but a different sort of silence. An expectant one, almost, as if something is watching you.
“Don’t step on any of those symbols,” you say. “And don’t even touch any of the sarcophagi.”
Moresti shudders and spits through his forked fingers. “Evil spirits live in the sarcophagi, Moresti thinks.”
“Superstition,” says Noraster.
“Actually, the mercenary has a point,” says Rhazion. You see his hands are raised in the beginnings of a spell, his eyes narrowed with caution. “These tombs are from the Fourth Empire. Necromancy was still legal in then, and that the magi of the era…ah, indulged. So the magi were always interred in leaden sarcophagi, to keep their remaining arcane energies from…unintentional destructive discharge.”
“And to keep them from rising again?” you say.
Rhazion swallows. “From time to time, yes.”
“Evil spirits,” repeats Moresti. “The magi, all of them are…” He uses a specific Szaldic term for a man who enjoys unnatural acts of congress with sheep, and Rhazion gives him a sour look.
You resume walking, the others following. The passage turns, and opens into a large vaulted crypt. One massive leaden sarcophagus rests upon a stone dais, its sides carved with ornate sigils and reliefs. No doubt this is the tomb of an ancient high magus, or a long-dead First Magus. Dead bodies in chain mail lie across the gleaming marble floor, blood pooling beneath them.
Fresh blood? There was a battle, down here?
The air crawls and crackles with the presence of powerful sorcery.
“Countess,” says Rhazion, his voice urgent. “We should leave. Now. I think I know what this chamber is. And if…”
You turn to answer him, and see Lucan, and almost scream.
Lucan’s lying slumped against one of the pillars, covered in blood. His right eye is missing, and so is his sword hand. An intricate bronze chain, like a more elaborate version of the mindreaver bracelet, wraps around his left wrist, shackling him to the pillar. His chest shudders with faint, wheezing breath, and he looks only a few moments away from death.
“Lucan,” you say, “oh, gods, Lucan.”
Rage fills your heart like a torrent of molten iron. If Croanna did this to him, she’s going to pay, you’re going to make her scream as no has ever screamed before…
Lucan shudders, and his good eye widens as it fixes on you.
“Caina,” he says, and there’s a reedy note of fear in his voice that you’ve never heard there before. “Oh, thank the gods. Get…get me out of here, please, before she comes back to finish me.”
Sorry, there are no polls available at the moment.