“Look now, thieves!” Haldrych Ameldan laughed. “Your tomb awaits!”

“Oh shit,” Wurhi swore.

“Bloody piss,” Merrick swore.

A mountain rose ahead - a fang to the rest of the range’s duller teeth. Many fires flickered upon its snow-dusted sides - their lines of smoke leaning in the wind. At the road’s end rose a wooden palisade that sported grisly trophies: animal heads impaled on spikes and skeletal remains bound together and left to hang free.

Roar.

A great river passed between the mountains to sweep beneath the tall summit, swallowed by some hidden cavern in the earth. Where it came out, Wurhi could not see.

Rattle.

The wind dusted the dead bones in frost and carried the rusty scent of ichor on the air. Beyond the palisade yawned what appeared to be the mountain’s mouth: a cavern opening immense enough to swallow a herd of elephants, and with stalactites hanging like stony fangs poised to grind all beneath into oblivion.

Black robed figures - wrapped further in furs - patrolled atop the walls.

“I would gaze on the sky while you can.” Haldrych grinned, caressing the Eye of Radiin. “You’ll not see it again while flesh yet still clings to your bones!” He paused at some unknown amusement. “Or perhaps you might…once. But not in the way you wish-”

Bang!

A ham-sized fist struck the wagon.

“Will you be silent, pup!” Berard whirled about, his lips pulled back in a snarl. Merrick winced. Wurhi recoiled.

Haldrych gaped. “What do you mean? I am merely-”

“Squawking the entire morning with a big stupid grin on your face!” His eyes dropped to the red jewel, burning in resentment. “Have some respect! Do you know how many brothers we lost? How many lie dead to get that little bauble around your neck? Would that it was a noose instead!”

The young man cowered, but his blonde companion spurred his horse forward. “Berard, we were protecting an acolyte of our pack! He had been dishonoured and our brothers knew the risk!”

“Knew the risk?” Berard gave a nasty smile. “You’ve got a bad sense of humour. What we knew was that there would be one little lamb to grab amongst a herd.” His eyes grew distant. “There was nothing said about two of the most vicious warriors I’ve ever bloody seen! And sorcerers too! And let’s not forget about two Vestulai! That was a bad hunt, Adelmar, and it’s his fault!” He jabbed an accusing finger toward Haldrych. The young poet dropped back further behind the wagon.

“Berard, the only two to blame are the thieves-” The merchant’s son pointed to Wurhi and Merrick. “-and their vile friends. And is it not the will of Lycundar that the weak fall so that the strong thrive? Is that not his law?”

“Weak!? You walk our brothers into the maw of the abyss and then you call them weak!?” The giant snarled. “When all you did was stand outside!?”

“On your order!” Adelmar bit back.

“An order that saved your life and the life of your irresponsible little whelp of a frie-”

“That’s enough!” the wiry man barked. He whirled about with fury in his eyes.

Berard and Adelmar fell quiet. The driver looked between them, making a noise of disgust. “Is this what passes for Lycundar’s chosen these days? Wolves that bite and blame each other when a hunt goes ill!? And in front of lambs? Honour our brothers by cleaving to each other!”

Both men withered like scolded boys caught brawling by their father. “Sorry, hunt-leader,” they muttered.

The driver snorted. “We will see what the Sacred Alpha decides. Bring the thieves to the pits while I deliver an account to him.” He looked to the captives with a snarl. “I’ll see if he won’t let me feed them to my pets.”

Sacred alpha? Pits? Pets?

Wurhi’s trembling worsened, but she fought to keep her nerve and wits.

Now in grim silence, the procession passed through the palisade and the Zabyallan tried not to stare at the bones hanging over the gateway. Masked men paused on the grounds and upon the wall.

“So few have returned…” a close one muttered

Wurhi doubted they needed them. She counted at least half a hundred here.

Rumble.

The wagon came to a halt.

With tremendous strength, Berard unbent the bars binding the thieves to release them from the wagon, then rebent the bronze so tightly that their wrists near cracked. Grimacing from pain, they were pushed into the cavern at blade point.

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The air changed as Wurhi stepped into the stony abyss, feeling as though she had crossed a portal to some dread underworld. Wind died, leaving a slight warmth but also a foul staleness. The cavern reached so deep into the mountain she could not see its end.

Voices chanted within - echoing words rolling through a labyrinth of branching side-tunnels interlinked by paths and scaffolds. She heard the river rushing beneath their feet: its roar formed an accompaniment to the chanting as though a great monster burrowed beneath the earth. She bit her lip.

This was no hidden shrine where a few folk could gather to sacrifice goats and birds. This was a fortress capable of holding an army of devils. She could well imagine hundreds of the lupine beasts stalking through hidden caverns with burning eyes.

Black-robed men weaved through side tunnels bearing lanterns to light the endless dark within the heart of stone.

Wurhi cringed.

The musk of predators and stench of blood emanated from each rock. Mustering every bit of will, she fought hard not to surrender to blind panic.

“That’s far enough,” the hunt-leader ordered a halt. He turned on them grimly. “You have now witnessed the futility of escape. This mountain is ours. This valley ours. You do not know where you are in these mountains.” He leaned forward, looking each of them in the eye. “And we have your scents. Think on this before you try anything foolish.”

He glanced over their shoulders. “Blind them.”

A bag came down over Wurhi’s head.

She knew better than to fight. Instead, she focused on memorizing where they were led. She counted every step and every turn as they sloped downward into the bowels of the earth. All the while, the chanting never faded - resonating through passages and burrowing into her ears. Several times they were halted and spun about before a hand would push them forward. She lost track of direction, but still had her nose.

She focused on scents. The changes. The growing staleness as they descended. Soon, she smelled the sour rank of unwashed bodies. Filth. Spoiled food.

And beasts.

A massive hand dragged her to a halt. “I want you to see something,” Berard’s voice growled.

The bags were torn free.

Wurhi blinked, her eyes adjusting to the gloom.

She gasped.

A cavern spanned before her - the ceiling towering high overhead. Murky light suffused the chamber, provided by a set of natural shafts that grasped for the world above. They were narrow enough to trap a fox, but provided air and dim illumination.

Pits lined the floor - each covered by a grate of logs tied with cord and sealed with massive stones weighing down their edges. Wurhi’s blood ran cold.

No locks to pick. No bonds to untie.

“Down there. Look.” Berard grabbed her and Merrick’s heads, forcing their gazes toward the hollow nearest their feet.

It took a breath for her to comprehend what she saw.

She screamed.

As did Merrick.

Three beasts sullenly paced the pit below, their leonine bodies gliding with powerful muscle coated in tawny fur. Each matched the size of a small horse, and crimson manes covered their heads.

Their tails - curled and twitching in sinuous motion - were those of scorpions.

Thorns suffused the length of their ebon carapaces, terminating in curved stings as long and deadly as any dagger. Viscous liquid shone on their points, and Wurhi knew too well the horrors such a substance could work.

Those south of the Sea of Gods knew to fear scorpions. Yellow and gold devils - no larger than one’s little finger - would crawl into fields, houses and beds to wait, seemingly out of nothing more than malice. A single sting was deadly.

One of her playmates of childhood had taken a strike to the foot. In some nightmares, she still heard his wails. Death refused to come for him for days, waiting patiently for his screams, weeping and retching to melt into a twitching, hideous silence.

Cough.

One beast cleared its rumbling gullet - a strangely human sound - and slowly looked up.

She gasped in horror.

These beasts had the faces of men. The coarse features of an evil old man framed feline eyes that sparked with malicious intellect. One snarled, its mouth parting far too wide, revealing curved lion’s teeth.

Wurhi tried to step back, but her captor held her in place.

“These are the pets of the hunt-leader,” Berard said through a nasty grin. “Raised from cubs to be man eaters.” He chuckled. “Not that it took much: these are beasts born with a taste for blood. The Sacred Alpha will have you thrown into the arena with them, I’m sure of it. What do you think will happen to you? Hmmm? Try to guess with me!” He grinned nastily. “Chewed to death? Flesh torn by claws? Poison? Doesn’t matter, I suppose. You’ll be dead all the same.”

His face clouded. “Just like my brothers.”

He shoved them forward.

“Get a pit open!” he roared.

Two gaunt slaves, clad only in stained loincloths, shambled forward and heaved aside several stones around a pit. Together, they lifted the wooden grate.

“Oh the hells with this!” Merrick swore. He twisted from Berard’s grip and tried to dodge around the larger man.

Whoosh! Crack!

A meaty backhand sent the thief sprawling and groaning to the stone.

With a mighty heave, the giant untwisted the bronze confining his wrists and kicked the Hawk into the pit. He looked to Wurhi. “You going to try something stupid too?”

The Zabyallan shook her head rapidly.

“Good.” He untwisted the bronze from her hands. “In you go.”

Crack!

The blow struck her in the back, sending her careening into the hollow with a cry. She groaned as she hit straw over densely packed earth. Mildew and rot wafted into the air, stinging her nostrils.

Chitter!

Rats rushed from the straw and she recoiled, scampering away until she hit a wall with her back. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

“Well look at that! You have friends!” Berard laughed.

She sat on the filthy straw, hugging her knees while the grate and stones were replaced.

“But don’t bother getting comfortable! You won’t be staying long!”

His uproarious laughter echoed as he left them alone. Wurhi of Zabyalla continued to sit in a tight ball, her teeth gritted and her eyes squeezed shut.

Her mind threatened collapse.

A night ago she had lodged in a palace. Now, it was a squalid hole in the earth.

A night ago she had made love to a handsome warrior-woman on a bed as soft as a cloud. Now, her only companion was a man who tried to kill her.

A night ago she had more wealth than she had ever had in all her years. Now, it was reduced to a single torn tunic.

And worst, a night ago stout companions had risked their hides to save her.

Now, she was alone. All by her own doing.

Her jaw clenched. Hot tears sprang to her eyes. Even when Kashta had betrayed her - leaving her indebted to The Maw - she had her wits and her freedom to bet.

Now? She had nothing.

Her body trembled violently.

She cursed the name of Haldrych Ameldan. She cursed The Eye of Radiin. She cursed these vile wolf-devils.

Yet, most of all?

A choked sob escaped her throat.

She cursed herself.