Past the colossi, Rigel and Fish slipped into a tunnel that ran straight into the mountain. Beneath the dust were square flags of glassy black marble, each slab seven strides across. The vaults of the ceiling hung thirty feet above. Thirty paces in, the moonlight failed, and all was dark.
“Half-Mile Hall. Don’t touch the walls,” Fish warned. He held the gate orb high for light. The cerulean glow gleamed back; the walls were slick as glass.
Rigel’s eyes adjusted, and he was stunned. Half-Mile Hall was an enormous frieze that stretched as far as he could see. Carvings rose up either wall and met without seam at the arch of the ceiling.
Many types of stone and mineral were joined, intricately carved, and polished until they were flawless as porcelain. A sheen of crystal covered it all, so clear it seemed wet. Only Fish’s warning kept Rigel from reaching out to convince himself it was real.
Fish pushed in and Rigel followed. The walls told a story, and Rigel’s eyes darted along as they walked.
On the right-hand half of the hall, grand armies mustered, legions in the tens of thousands. They were clad in ancient armor, flat-mask helms like mummers wore, with round shields and spears with broad, leaf-shaped heads. Officers wore open-faced helms with plumes and carried thick, cleaver-like blades that hooked at the end.
On the left side of the hall, an army of devils marched. Fiends strode in black armor with swarms of imps underfoot. Horned generals rose three times as tall as the men man and issued commands to lumbering behemoths and formless aberrations.
The two armies marched alongside Rigel and Fish, toward the heart of High Mountain. There was some sorcery to it. The deeper Rigel looked, the more was revealed. He couldn’t tarry long to look, Fish never slowed. As they marched, Revel eyed the walls with increasing alarm.
They were scenes of war.
The stone armies met in titanic clashes. Battles raged for furlongs and ended in atrocious triumphs. The devils were always the victors. Cities were sacked, shrouded in an alabaster fog of ruin. Blood-soaked battlefields were wrought in onyx and crimson sard. Slain soldiers piled in dunes of the dead, and devils exulted over them, profane and terrible.
The friezes ran on and on, flawless for the entire length of the Half-Mile. The details overwhelmed him, the horrors he’d seen stung like salt. Who had done all this? A thousand glaziers couldn’t do it in ten lifetimes. These were not the works of men.
“Look at this,” Fish said. Rigel jolted with surprise.
Fish stopped and held the orb before a scene of wanton slaughter. In the cold cerulean light, an ape-faced behemoth rose above a shattered rampart. He scooped ten men in either hand, held one before his maw, and gobbled them like grapes. Fish squinted at the beast. He shook his head.
“These are the ones within. We were prey to them, once. Remember this, boy. The fiends may toy with you first, but you’ll be eaten just the same.”
“What war is this? I don’t recognize these heralds.”
“None of those cities exist any longer. The hall tells the first battle of Grimbalgon. Every man on the Arc fought. For every ten we sent, one survived.” Fish held up a finger.
“I know the song,” Rigel said. Bits of the “Ballad of Grimbalgon” rang in every tavern. “Why are their swords so short?”
“They’re bronze. These walls don’t tell the whole tale. We died in droves, but we won the battle. Through ultimate sacrifice, we cast off the shackles of millennia and banished the High Ones and sealed the pass. Every three hundred years, they amass a great horde, and we drive them back again. Six times we’ve been tested! The last Grimbalgon will come soon. Survive here, and your son might have the honor to fight in the final battle.”
Rigel looked at the hills of dead men who’d fought devils without steel. One in ten.
“We’re almost there. Come,” Fish said.
The air grew cold and wet as they traversed the horrible hall, and a distant hiss grew louder with every step. Rigel could hear running water now. At the end of the hall, someone had tried to brick off the corridor.
They spent some effort; the wall was near ten feet thick. But others had come along and broken the seal. They’d left their tools behind. Rigel found a prybar and a pickax head that had rusted away to almost nothing.
Fish climbed onto the rubble and stooped to get through. A damp, cool wind blew through the hole. Rigel climbed after him. They dropped down into a smooth obsidian pipe, some twenty feet tall and forty paces long. The hiss became a roar.
Rubble from the hole had fallen over an onyx band that ran round the pipe. It was inlaid with silver sigils, each as big as Rigel’s hand. Fish toed a broken brick aside and peered at the marks. Rigel could make no sense of them. The lines seemed to shift at the edge of his vision.
“What do they say?” Rigel asked, but Fish only shook his head. He led them toward the sound of falling water. Another onyx ring marked the far edge of the obsidian corridor. Past it was a heavy band of bronze. Fish stepped over it, drawn by a glitter in the darkness.
Rigel and Fish stood at the entrance to a roaring octagon. Inside, every surface was slick and silvery as a sardine’s sides. The little light reflected madly in every direction. Somewhere in the dark was a waterfall.
Fish stepped into the chamber. Without warning, the orb flared to life. All was bathed in blue. They winced, but the sorcerous light seemed to shine through their eyelids. When the glare faded, Rigel gasped.
“There’s a fortune here!”
The domed grotto was tiled with silver mirrors. Every inch was dripping wet, a billion beads of water trembling and twinkling in the orblight. The floor was a radiating mosaic of ogee drop tiles.
At the base of the wall, they became diamonds, and as they rose toward the dome, they elongated into xiphoid shards. Rigel’s eyes followed the pattern up the wall, and then he squawked in fear. A giant face loomed above them! He clutched his dagger, but Fish only snorted.
“Steel yourself, there’s worse within.”
The faces were gargoyles, with wide-open mouths large enough to swallow Rigel whole. Each face hung above a channel. At the center of the grotto a diamond-shaped island rose between the channels.
A crowned colossus stood on the island, green with verdigris. Its face was a blank mask. Set into the crown were eight ruby eyes, each bigger than Rigel’s head. The colossus stood some sixty feet tall. With an arm as thick as a tree trunk, he bore the weight of the grotto ceiling.
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Past the colossus, water gushed from the mouths of three gargoyles. Columns of mist rose from the channels and beaded on everything. Between each set of faces was a pathway, with a tall gate sealed by a circle of bronze.
Only the way they’d come was open. Bridges spanned from the landing before each gate to the brass colossus at the center aisle. A ruby eye faced each gate.
Fish’s eyes darted from one gate to the next, and his face creased with a deep frown. Rigel bent low and tried to pry one of the shining tiles free with the point of his dagger.
“Leave it. Don’t go grabbing every bauble like some empty-headed starling.”
Stung by the rebuke, Rigel tucked his dagger away.
“This is a pittance. The real treasure is inside. Let me think a moment, boy. I must recall the way.”
It was Rigel’s turn to frown. Fish’s jaw worked from side to side as his gray eyes scanned the seven gates of the grotto. Rigel looked over the room, past the dazzle to the decrepitude.
Once, bridges connected the eight landings. All were shattered. Two of the bridges to the center isle had fallen, the others in a sorry state. Out of larcenous habit, Rigel wondered if he could make the leap to another landing.
He’d sprung across plenty of alleys. The channels were wide, a twenty-foot jump. It was possible, but there was a good chance he’d slip on the slick tiles and plunge into the channel below.
“Fish?”
“Damn the lake.” Fish shook his head.
They moved to the bridge at the edge of the landing. Rigel peered over the edge. Forty feet below, a swift underground river ran. The sides of their bridge had broken off and fallen into the channel. Only the keystone arch remained. It barely wide enough for one man walk across.
“Someone broke the bridge,” Fish muttered, barely audible against the din.
“Can we cross?” Rigel asked, eying the narrow span.
“I’ll go first. Get back up there in the tunnel and wait. Don’t enter the room until I come back for you.”
Rigel’s face flashed with alarm.
“I’m not staying here in the dark!”
Fish pointed at the colossus. The atlas was a flawless pillar of strength, green muscles bearing the roof with no sign of strain.
“Here is all-seeing Thenanthen, Lord of the Gates. I must deal. Remember! They lie! Falsehood made flesh, every one of them. No matter what he says, stay in the tunnel until I come back for you. His gaze is death!”
Rigel waited in the dark as Fish crept over the narrow arch. The mariner stood before the telamon with the gate orb held high. His upraised fist barely reached the knob of the titan’s ankle. Rigel held his breath.
“THENANTHEN!” Fish shouted above the roar of the torrents. The room was still. “THENANTHEN!” Fish cried again. “THENANTHEN!”
With the third utterance, the giant creaked and pinged. Mist swam and swirled above the verdigris skin. The statue grew brighter until its skin glowed, and water boiled off in a column of shrieking steam. Fish staggered backward with a hand before his eyes. Intense heat rose in rainbow waves until the whole statue gleamed and grew molten. The chamber filled with red-orange light like a forge. The Gate Orb was a tiny spark before the living ingot.
Rigel’s mouth hung wide in terror. Any second, he expected a foot of burning brass to crush Fish like an ant. But Fish stood his ground.
“THENANTHEN! AWAKEN!”
There was a great groan of stonework. The four gushing gargoyle mouths sputtered to silence, and the pings and squeals of hot metal dominated the grotto. At his back, Rigel heard cries echo down the Half-Mile Hall. He turned and saw a glimmer of light through the broken wall. Bounty hunters!
“FISH! They’re coming!” Rigel cried out. Fish gave no sign he’d heard.
The crown’s ruby eye closest to Fish flared to light, and scathing light filled the grotto.
“FOOL!”
The word boomed all around the chamber, issuing from eight gargoyle mouths. Curtains of rain fell, shook free by the giant’s voice. Rigel and Fish blinked through the glare and beheld the cold and empty face of Thenanthen. Sparks leapt from his burning gaze. The silver tiles caught the light and sent brilliant beams blasting through the chamber.
“WHO DARES ENTER THE RAPAXORIS?” Thenanthen demanded.
“Open the gate!” Fish called up. His neck craned all the way back.
Rigel could barely hear Fish through the ringing in his ears. The burning eye fell upon the tiny man at the feet of the colossus. Wisps of steam rose from Fish’s soaked skin and the tiles at his feet at the touch of the giant’s gaze.
“THE GATES ARE SEALED! NONE MAY ENTER! NONE MAY LEAVE! BEGONE!” the giant roared. Thenanthen spoke Lhaza with a curious accent, like a priest performing spring rites. Fish held the orb high.
“I hold the key! Open the gate!”
Thenanthen glared on. The lapels of Fish’s deerskin jacket smoldered. He grimaced in pain. Rigel glanced back into the tunnel; the silver light was close now. At the hole, four pale faces bobbed in the dark. Rigel slid the dagger from his belt.
“WHICH GATE?” Thenanthen demanded. The brass face was impassive, but Rigel heard mirth in the roar of the gargoyle chorus. Fish’s hair smoked, and his knees buckled. Thenanthen's hateful gaze beat on him like a hundred fists, stronger every second.
“THE EIGHTH GATE!” Fish screamed.
“SO BE IT!”
The ruby eye grew dim, and Fish fell to his knees. The giant’s skin lost its luster and darkened. The grotto rang with creaks and tings as Thenanthen hardened back into a statue. A great rumbling filled the room.
“HALT!”
The shout echoed through the tunnel and jolted Rigel. He knew that voice! The dagger-flinging nobleman had followed them through high water and into Hell.
Revel was just ten paces away when Rigel bolted, Fish’s warning be damned. The young thief shot across the slippery tiles and never faltered. He’d fled across many a rain-slick roof back home in Tinkerton.
Revel had no such savoir-faire. Three steps in, he pitched onto the grotto floor with a crash like a split cymbal. Rigel reached the bridge and crept onto the span with care. It was a long way down.
He kept his eyes up and saw Fish struggle to rise at the feet of Thenanthen. The mariner’s skin was a scalded red, sewn with pain from the sentinel’s gaze.
“Hold them!” Fish rasped, too hurt to fight. Rigel turned back and found Revel was at the other side of the bridge with his sword drawn.
“The bridge won’t hold us both!” Rigel lied.
Revel ignored him and advanced onto the span. Lhaz steel shone in his armored grip. Rigel hoped the bridge would drop, but the stones bore them both. An orb of light shot through the tunnel and flew into the grotto. A million silver rays exploded in every direction.
Rigel winced at glare. Keenly, he remembered Fish’s dictate. Never fight! But Fish never anticipated this. Rigel raised the stolen dagger.
“Stop! Don’t come any closer!” Rigel shouted. Behind Revel, the other hunters rushed into the grotto. The blonde sorceress was first, followed by Sters the Hook, and then inexplicably, Yellowhat. They all moved toward the span.
Revel edged closer, unafraid of the little blade. He was close enough to lunge. Rigel had nowhere to go. Revel hesitated, just as he had in the tower. Running a child through was too much for him.
“You’ve lost. Put the dagger on the ground and back away. Don’t make me kill you.” The sound of Revel’s voice made the scar on Rigel’s shoulder throb.
Rigel held the dagger high, in the same bad grip Fish had warned him against. His hand dipped into his pocket. A smirk tugged at the side of Revel’s mouth. He bit.
“HA!” Revel cried suddenly, seeking to startle Rigel. He swung to disarm and played right into Rigel’s ruse. The thief dipped under his swing and flung a fistful of fine black sand into Revel’s eyes.
“AH!”
Revel cried out and swung at the space where Rigel was. Rigel rolled under the strike and crashed into Revel’s ankles. Caught in the momentum of his swing, Revel overbalanced and pitched over the side of the span. It was a forty-foot fall. His scream cut out as he crashed into the river.
“Revel!” El Sha La cried.
The silver light flashed as she lost concentration. Sters was on the span. He loomed over Rigel, hook in hand.
“Sad day for you,” said Sters the Hook. He raised his deck hook high and brought it down with all his might.
There was nowhere to go and no time to think. Rigel rolled aside an instant ahead of the hook. He heard steel crack against stone as he slipped off the span. Air whistled past his ears as he fell, cold water swallowed him, then all was dark.