CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE—THE BLADE DANCER
Frowning, Shiro wondered why Jessamine wanted him to move north as far as he could. But he had no time to think as he jumped, dodging the sword strike of the undead warrior that rushed him.
In a quick reversal he lunged forward and came down with blade, taking the thing’s arm off. The zombie’s sword clattered to the dirt. He turned to move north and cut two more warriors down, one of them alive and screaming as blood gouted from his neck wound. Shiro finished him off.
In the rush of battle, the sudden shock of seeing a dying man issuing so much blood had little effect on him, for Shiro’s heart already beat like a drum inside his chest.
“Raz!” he shouted. “The walls! There are more—“ He smacked a shaft out of the air that would have pierced his heart. “There are more archers!”
“Yes! Yes!” Razul called back. “I am going!” He bellowed a battle cry and Shiro heard body parts falling to the ground.
Staying clear of Debaku who had his hands full, Shiro jumped up the steps and sprinted across the tiles, deeper into the temple.
The battle outside raged as Razul and Debaku fought like whirlwinds—each of the two top-tier adventurers fighting as though they were fifty men.
Whatever reason Shiro was required to come in here for, Jessamine needed to be quick. Even top-tier adventurers could be overrun with hordes of warm bodies eager to die. In their case some of the bodies were cold, but the thought was the same. Please hurry! he conveyed.
Amusement came back.
“I do not find this funny,” he growled aloud as his bare footfalls echoed off the walls. Jafa must have been cut down, because Shiro hadn’t seen him in a long time. Even so, there were more of the Scorpions he could save.
Had he been asked a month ago if he would be saving Scorpions from Darius’ army, he would have cocked his head with incredulity.
As the samurai entered, he crossed a junction where massive braziers burned. This structure was not an enclosed space, but rather a second courtyard, the walls climbing high into the air, much higher than the portico.
At the center was a pool of clear water and fountains. As the battle outside was hard to hear, the gentle trickle of water sounded all around him as thunder in the sky rumbled. There was a large obelisk at the center of the pool with a Yamu figure sitting atop it, his legs hanging over the edge and his arms perched atop rests in the chair, as if the obelisk were only a massive throne of might and splendor.
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There were Yamu worshipers at the pools. Many of them were women. They looked up and shouted, scurrying away from Shiro as he strode into the courtyard. His skin was bloodied and his eyes were probably as wild as a beast gone feral. Their slaves trailed after them, keeping a slow pace at the back of the train to protect their masters.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Jessamine said, her voice disembodied. “Like a conquering god, Shiro.”
“No.”
She laughed.
“Well?” he asked. “I am here now.”
“Mmm,” she noised, her tone silk and honey. “Very good, my love.”
“What do you want me to do?”
There was no response from the insolent jinni. Shiro gritted his teeth and glanced about. The temple courtyard was empty now, but Shiro knew guards would be coming in moments. That the worshipers thought they could stay in here without being bothered was a testament to their arrogance and disdain for outsiders.
Jessamine appeared in a swirl of luminescence and she glided through the air high above. The rooftops.
She was between Shiro and the courtyard walls, so he could not see her here.
It mattered not.
The tendrils led in another direction, just at the base of the temple, down into…
Jessamine’s eyes widened.
Is that a hole in the ground? With teeth?!
She sighed. “How tiring…”
The Blade Dancer summoned her sword, Harfala, the magic upon it glinting with golden power as she put her hands together. She made as if she were diving into deep water and jumped.
Jessamine flipped in the air but came down foot first, one leg raised so her heel touched the side of her knee. The tip of her upturned slipper landed softly, as a jinni ever must. With both of her feet now solidly on the ground, she glanced about the murky walls. They seemed to pulse with life.
This place was indeed evil.
The jinni stepped further in, each of her footfalls wet and sticky. She glanced down, her heart rising as she tilted her chin back up and away from the sight.
There was a lot of blood in this place.
She was standing on a stone slab with intricate scrollwork trailing the edges of the large disc. It was only now that she noticed the dead bodies nestled up about the walls.
A bone chilling shriek erupted ahead and she gasped, her eyes wide as her heart started beating faster.
That’s when she saw it.
The black jewels spread cross the stone walkway. They had just lit up as tendrils of magic zigzagged up the shaft and into the sky above.
Walking further forward, she put a hand to her breast to still her beating heart and calm her apprehensions.
Jessamine narrowed her eyes.
The walkway moved through narrow opening in the fleshy wall and she came into the next chamber where she found a Yamu, his eyes bright green encircled with red irises. He glanced up from the kneeling slave at his feet. There were dozens of them, many dead. Some bowed, muttering exultations in desperation as they prayed and worshiped this evil being.
As she looked at him, he put his clawed hand over the kneeling slave’s head and invoked some dark magic with his rasping, guttural words. The slave shuttered and screamed, his eyes exploding with blood and bright magic as the stones all around him on the circular platform lit, sending tendrils across the path and up into the sky.
Jessamine decided the Yamu beastman had to die. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.”
The Yamu straightened his powerful back. Jessamine rushed forward with all the magical energy of the Blade Dancer—her feet a hand’s width above the floor as she shot across the bloodied walkway as if she were no heavier than a mere feather on the wind, her sword held behind her parallel with her slanted body, its golden streams of magic trailing in wisps.
The Yamu tensed for their clash.