The skittering sound of many legged beasts greeted Ishkinil as she descended down the uneven stone steps. Pale light from the torch she held aloft flickered across the rough cut walls of the tunnel she followed, her head bent low, for it had been designed for those of a lesser stature than hers.
The steps led down, into a high vaulted chamber and the flames of her torch reflected in many beady eyes around the chamber, eyes that disappeared as a flow of rodents scattered in all directions, seeking shelter in still darker corners and hidden burrows.
The dark haired woman steppe out into the vault, moving with the smooth, cautious steps of one on alert, the white bone sword Dirgesinger held at the ready before her, pale eyes seeking out any signs of danger. Her black cloak clung to her, as dark as the shadows that lung to the vault itself, an darker still, for it seemed to draw in the light, to absorb it.
As she reached the middle of the vault, beneath the highest point of the roof above, where arched supports met, she stopped. There she slowly turned around studying intently all parts of the chamber. Webs clung thick in the corners, or where strung out between the pillars that climbed to the lofty heights of the chamber above. Beyond the now fled rodents, there were no signs of any other living thing.
A clatter of boots came down the steps, and a young man tumbled forth into the chamber, to join Ishkinil. He was short, and slender, his dark hair cropped short, and dark beard trimmed and oiled and curled. Thin of face, his dark eyes were a mix of curiosity and apprehension. His clothes seemed out of place in the dusty, web filled chamber, for they were those designed for court and not exploring ancient chambers. His shirt, of a rich, dark blue, was edged with gold and silver thread, and more such thread embroidered patterns of running lions upon the sleeves and breast. Crimson trousers were tucked into soft, black boots, and he carried a silvered blade in hand, yet reluctant he appeared to wield it, ill at ease, as if he had little skill in its use, or even a desire to hold it.
“This appears to be the place we seek,” he said, voice nervous, loud in the confined space. His eyes shifted about as he studied the web shrouded walls of the chamber, never still.
“It is where we were led, Anubarak,” Ishkinil responded. “It is where we are meant to be.”
“And yet there is naught here to be seen. I had expected more.” The young man stepped forward, towards the far wall from the entrance by which they had arrived. With his sword he prodded at the wall, brushing aside the curtain of webs that lay upon it, A spider, one the size of a hand, dropped from the webs onto the blade of his sword. With a startled, almost high pitched, curse, he shook it loose and jumped back. The spider scurried away on silent feet, to disappear once more into the webs.
“Cursed beasts,” he said, still stepping back further, to rejoin Ishkinil.
“Dangerous too,” Ishkinil told him, a grim smile upon her face. “The beasts of spider-haunted Khuza Tal are not to be taken lightly, for most potent is their venom, far more than one would expect from creatures of their size. It is said in dark magics their venom is steeped, most sought after by assassins and poisoners for its potency.”
Anubarak shuddered, drawing closer to the tall warrior woman. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a flicker of movement. He span about with a hasty cry, slashing his sword wildly through the air.
Ishkinil rested a hand lightly upon his sword arm. “Careful,” she said. “It does little good to be jumping at shadows and spiders. A wary eye and a steady nerve shall see you through safe, yet if it is not to be so, then Enkurgil shall receive you into his embrace.”
Anubarak's sword wavered at her words and he cast a quick glance aside at her. She showed no nerves or fear, only cold steel in her eyes and a set of her face that spoke of fierce resolve. “It is well for you to say,” he told her, “As one who knows Death's touch so well, but for those of us less blessed, his is one not to welcome yet, not when there is long life still ahead, and much to see and experience yet.”
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A touch of a smile seemed to touch her lips for but a moment, and then was gone. “Not all is as seen,” she replied, “And not all mysteries can be made out. Yet here we shall dscover those that we can.”
“What, then is your plan?”
“Many vaulted are the chambers beneath Khurza Tal, yet here is one that stands alone, where all others are connected. Why would that be? No, there is more to be seen here than yet we have discovered.”
She made her way to the wall before her, thrusting her torch into the webs. They curled and shrivelled up before the flames, and spiders scurried out of her way, ignored by the grim faced woman. When at last they were gone, webs and spiders, the wall stood bare before her. Anubarak crept up behind her, to peer around at what she had found.
The wall had once, long before, been painted with a vivid mural, but now the colours were faded and the paint flaked so that only parts of it stood out enough to make out. What could be seen was a procession of beings marching across the mural, ones not human, for they were too tall for that, limbs too long and misshapen, and the heads that they bore were bestial in nature, snouted and hairy. They were clad in robes of many colours, and carried in their hands bows and swords.
“The Shahadi,” Ishkinil observed, distaste showing on her face. “Well was it that this place was hidden.”
“For what ends?”
“Few there are who would treat with those who would traffic with the Shahadi, for evil were their ways, and evil they did spread.”
“Evil is all around us,” Anubarak observed, “Yet seldom is it hidden.”
“Aye, that is so,” Ishkinil agreed. “The tyrants lord over the cities and perpetrate great evil in their lust for power and wealth, and yet they are but babes compared to the Shahadi. It was they who brought sorcery into being, who learnt the means to fuel it through the suffering of others. Long has it been since they walked the world , and the lands have changed greatly since their day.”
A glimmer of a frown touched her brow as she looked at the mural, and she touched the tip of her sword to one part if it, to one of the Shahadi in the middle of the procession. “This one differs,” she said, Dirgesinger resting lightly upon the one she indicated, and Anubarak could see it was much as she had said. While the others carried with them swords and bows, this one had a sword but no bow. Instead he carried an orb, one of a bronzed colour.
“It does not appear to be painted on like the rest of the mural,” Anuabarak said.
A smile curled for a moment upon Ishkinl's lips. “No, it is not. It is set into the wall itself.” An orb of bronze had been attached to the wall, to appear as part of the mural. Using her sword, she pressed against the metal orb and it sunk into the wall. For but a moment it appeared to them that it did nothing but then they heard, beyond the wall, a grinding sound and the wall shuddered. Dust and webs fell and the wall began to sink into the floor, slow and methodical, the grinding growing louder. Rats fled from their hiding places at the sound of it. Anubarak bit back a sudden curse as one scurried across his foot but Ishkinil paid them no mind. The wall descended until it was at the level of her head and then ground to a halt, leaving a wide gap above it to the roof. They could not see beyond yet, only that there was an opening leading into a darkened area.
“It would appear that the mechanism has not survived long ages well,” Ishkinil stated. “Once it would have dropped to the floor, but no more. We shall have to climb over.”
“Is that wise?” Anubarak inquired. “We know not what manner of things may lurk within.”
“And nor shall we unless we ourselves look.” She slid home her sword into its scabbard and handed the torch to Anubarak. Thus done, she gripped the top of the receded wall and pulled herself up in one swift, easy motion, swinging over the top to straddle it. She looked into the darkness beyond, seeking out any obvious signs of trouble.
“The torch,” she said, and Anubarak extended it up to her. Taking it, she held it out into the dark before her, into the void that lay beyond. A tunnel extended out from the vault, inclined in a downwards slope though she could not make out more than that. “It would appear that all is clear for now,” she announced. Once more she extended a hand down to Anubarak. The young man took it and found himself hauled upwards, scrambling over the top of the wall. He dropped down to the other side, half gasping for breath at the unexpected swiftness of it.
Silently Ishkinil dropped down alongside him, landing on pantherish feet. Her face were set and her eyes gleamed in the torchlight. Dirgesinger whispered clear of its scabbard with a longing hunger, held steady before her. “Now to see what lies within the spider-haunted vaults of Khurza Tal,” she said and started to stride downwards into the shadowed depths.