Mercy led the way, between the carved sandstone columns and into the temple interior. An acolyte screamed, blood sprayed across the stone floor and the slaughter began in earnest. Our squad leader hacking and slashing with his longsword, face impassive and eyes empty of feeling.

Behind him, Dancer spun and twirled between the columns that held up the temple’s domed ceiling. Rapier in one hand, and poniard in the other, he moved with a grace that was almost mesmerising as he cut down the temple guards.

I came next, hanging back with Gentle beside me, the hulking giant of a man holding his double-headed hammer in his large hands. A temple guard screamed a war cry and ran at me, obsidian tipped spear thrusting my way.

The spear shaft was shattered with a nonchalant swing of the hammer, and Gentle changed its direction mid-swing, bringing the hammer crashing into the side of the guard’s head before he had even reacted to the loss of his spear.

Blood sprayed across my face and I grimaced, turning away from the violence as I pulled a square of white linen from a pocket of my coat and dabbed at the blood on my skin. Nimble flashed a nasty grin at me as she passed, flintlock raised in her left hand and short sword in her right.

The acrid stink of gunpowder filled the air along with a cloud of smoke as she fired, the lead ball striking an acolyte just below the eye and sending him to the ground. I shook my head and stepped over the boy’s body as I moved around the edge of the chamber to the sealed copper doors at the rear.

Gentle stayed beside me, a silent guardian who killed two more guards before I passed the altar and reached those doors. He turned his back to me, keeping watch as I put the screams of the dying out of my mind and focused on those doors.

For a thousand years, they had stood, guarding the chamber beyond. Upon their surface a story was carved in intricate detail, depicting the history and showing, for those who could read those pictograms, what was behind those doors.

Silence settled inside the temple as Mercy moved from body to body, stabbing each with his sword to ensure they were dead and proving his nickname as he ended the suffering of those who were merely wounded with a quick thrust of his blade.

“Dancer, watch the door,” Mercy ordered, pulling his blade from the final body and looking around. “Nimble, Gentle, check the priest’s quarters.”

“Aye.” Nimble finished reloading her pistol and holstered it, though she kept her sword to hand. “Come on then, big man.”

Gentle grunted in reply but followed after her as she led the way deeper into the temple interior. Mercy sheathed his sword and stomped across to where I crouched before the doors.

“Well?”

I tilted my head, eyes tracing the myriad lines of sparkling light that crisscrossed the doors. To my altered vision, they popped and fizzed on the air, while one and all, they ended up on the heavy stone seal that sat at the centre of the doorway, holding the two doors closed.

“Old magic,” I muttered, not looking up at him as I concentrated on those doors. “Difficult.”

“Just difficult or impossible?” He glanced back over his shoulder to where Dancer waited beside the door, peering out into the chaos of battle beyond. “We need to know, Grim.”

I scowled as he uttered the ridiculous nickname that they had bestowed upon me when I joined their company but kept my silence. The names were a tradition upon joining and any who fought against a given name would find one far worse bestowed soon after.

“Difficult,” I repeated, feeling the heat against my chest as I drew on the power stone that hung around my neck.

Mercy backed away, with raised hands as I began to mutter, low, beneath my breath. The words barely audible even to my ears. The fingers of my right hand moved, dancing around in the air as I wove spells of protection around my left hand, layer upon layer of them.

Sweat beaded my skin, running down my neck and beneath the collar of my linen shirt. It was not brought on by the interminable heat, nor the fire and fury of the fight, but from the strain upon me as those magics grew heavier.

My arm trembled, the sparkling hues of the spell weavings dragging at my arm as they piled one upon another. Still, it was not enough, I was sure of it, but time was short and there was only so much I could bear.

“Red and Stone are coming this way with a squad behind them,” Dancer called, his voice as light as his feet.

“God’s curse those fucks!” Mercy snarled. “C’mon, Grim. Now or not at all.”

I almost snapped back at him but instead, I held my breath and thrust out my left arm. An explosion of light burst from my hand as it connected with the protective magics over the doors, and pain shot through me like lightning from the gods themselves.

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A snarl formed on my face, sweat dripped into my eyes and sound faded before the roaring in my ears as the skin of my arm began to burn. I pushed harder, with all my strength against that barrier and watched as my protective magics withered before that ancient art.

I raised my right hand, fingers moving in an intricate movement as I teased and touched those vibrant lines of sparkling colour. A line twisted here, then a mere touch of another that set off a vibration that had the line fluttering against two others.

My fingers moved, hand turning as I caressed a node where four lines met. A stroke of the next line, and a jiggle of a purple hue line that fizzed and popped with the barest touch, and I began to speak.

The stink of burning flesh was all around me, pain ripping through me as my skin blistered and cracked, the forces held back by my ever diminishing spells of protection wreaking havoc on me. A scream echoed through the temple and I realised it was mine as light exploded, bathing the chamber in a radiance that could make a god weep.

Then all went dark.

Stone was screaming obscenities at Mercy as Nimble slapped my cheek and I blinked bleary eyes, trying to clear my vision as consciousness returned. Gentle stood over me, his hammer held in both hands before him, while Red muttered and cursed beneath his breath as he wrapped a white linen cloth around my ruined arm.

“Not sure what foolishness you were trying, lad,” he muttered, voice low so that only Nimble and I could hear. “Captain’s not best pleased.”

I eyed the old healer and grimaced at that. Considering that the captain was rarely a man of good humour, for him to be described in such a manner could mean any number of things. Though, from the way Mercy was growling back at Stone, I was confident he would take most of the captain’s ire.

“Did it work?” I asked, craning my neck to look past the healer.

There on the floor, broken into three pieces, was the stone seal on the tomb. I laughed, and immediately winced as a fresh wave of pain hit me. Red muttered some more, his voice muffled by the mass of red hair that covered his face.

“Done,” he said, leaning back and stroking that voluminous red beard that had given him his name. “You’re well enough for the captain to kill you if he so pleases.”

“Good to know.”

Nimble snickered beside me, though I noted her hands remained near her weapons, and her dark eyes were empty of humour.

Stone was a man of limited stature with broad shoulders that gave him the appearance of being as wide as he was tall. A man filled with resentment that he’d always need to look up at those he considered beneath him, his anger ever bubbled close to the surface.

Just then, one thick finger was being jabbed at Mercy’s chest, leaving small dents in the polished metal breastplate. Mercy, for all his faults, was not a man to be intimidated easily and he was more than happy to shout curses right back at the other mercenary.

“Things are getting out of hand,” I said, to no one in particular and was not surprised by the lack of reply from any of my companions.

“Enough.”

Just that, one word and spoken in a tone of such quiet authority that everyone in the room immediately stopped speaking and turned towards the door.

Captain Pleasant was not an imposing man, at least no more so than any of the other in our band of cutthroats and scoundrels. But, there was something in his face, a rage burning behind his eyes, that immediately cowed those he looked upon.

His dark-grey coat was torn and blood seeped through a bandage hastily applied to his shoulder, while blood that was most assuredly not his covered his right arm to the elbow. Unlike many of the captains of the mercenary companies, he led from the front and his sword drank deep.

The captain’s left hand rested on the polished wooden hilt of a flintlock that had been holstered beside another on his belt and from the stern countenance of that hard face, I could well imagine he was looking for a reason to draw it.

“Mercy, report.”

“Aye, Captain.” All bluster had gone from the man, though he stood straight-backed with his head high. “We cleared this building and found the sealed doors. Was my thinking that the savages had hidden their treasures behind them so I had the squad-mage see to opening it.”

“Lie,” whispered Red, though he seemed disinclined to accuse openly. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he met mine and he winked.

“What were your orders?”

Mercy swallowed hard, his over large adam’s apple bobbing like a fishing float on a pond. “Ah, we was to secure the warehouses in the eastern district, sir.”

“Are we in the eastern district?”

“No, sir.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“The natives and colonial regulars were clashing, Captain,” Nimble said, raising her voice as she stepped out from behind Gentle. “We were forced to detour around them, as per your orders not to get in their way.”

“And that detour brought you here?” Captain Pleasant didn’t take his eyes from Mercy as he tilted his head towards Nimble, the only indication that he was listening to her.

“Aye, Captain.”

“Interesting.” His tone indicated it was anything but. “Feather, what say you?”

“I say there’s other ways closer than this to get to them warehouses, Captain.” Feather, smiled as she enjoyed the way Mercy’s skin paled. She had one of her many daggers in her hand that she tossed into the air, letting it spin before catching it. “Could wonder if they didn’t have reason to come here, sir.”

The armed men behind him had their weapons drawn and I was painfully aware that ours were sheathed. Though I had the small advantage of being sheltered by the impressive bulk of Gentle, I was certain that it would not be enough to save me should the captain give the order.

“Perhaps,” I suggested, as the Captain kept his considered gaze upon my hapless squad mate. “We should open the doors and see what is contained within before deciding on whether orders were not followed.”

Captain Pleasant turned his attention away from Mercy for the first time since entering the temple and instead bestowed the full weight of his gaze upon me. I had a sudden itch in the small of my back and the almost overwhelming desire to duck back out of sight.

“Feather, open it.”

She sneered at being given the order but didn’t argue as she gestured for two of the squad to follow her. They marched across the stone floor, their heavy footsteps echoing off the walls. Feather gestured again and the two men each grabbed at the slight gap between the copper doors, fingers gripping the edges as they pulled.

A rush of air swept through the room bringing with it the stench of age and death. I coughed and turned my face away, which is how I missed the creature as it leapt from the tomb and tore apart the two men as though they were made of paper.

Shocked silence filled the temple for a taut moment and then the screaming began.