The Jewel of Turmish (18 page)

“What was that?” Vhoror asked.

Tohl stopped when the sound reached his ears, and the others had stopped with him. Holding the lantern high, the mace gripped in his hand, Tohl examined the rooms that lay before them. Only the flickering shadows moved there, but he couldn’t help thinking how evil often chose to cloak itself in the raiment of night.

“It’s nothing,” Tohl said a couple of breaths later, when the sound wasn’t repeated.

He continued forward and discovered the broken door that led to the record keeper’s room.

“Someone has been here,” Effrim said.

Studying the rotted wood, Tohl said, “That could have been done days, even tendays ago.”

Effrim squatted and touched a clump of matter on the floor. His finger came away stained. “Mud. It’s fresh, and from the shape it looks bike someone tracked it in from outside.”

Despite his growing fear, Tohl stepped through the broken doorway, letting the lantern guide his way. He said a silent prayer to Eldath, asking the goddess to watch over him. The lantern light filled the small room.

No one was there.

Tohl gazed at the section of floor that hid the passageway to the secret tomb. A feeling of relief washed over him when he saw that the stone was still in place.

“The tomb hasn’t been disturbed,” Vhoror whispered. “We can go.”

“No.” Tohl’s throat felt phlegmy and thick, making him force the word out.

“Brother Tohl.” Vhoror spoke in that precise way of his that grated on the nerves. Over the years, he’d shown his skill in the way of an argument. “We have seen that the tomb has not been disturbed. Our work here is done.”

“No,” said Tohl, “we have seen that the entrance to the hidden tomb is closed, but we don’t know that Borran Kiosk’s tomb is likewise undisturbed.”

As soon as Tohl spoke the mohrg’s name, a cold, wet wind whipped through the front of the tomb and wound through the room until it reached the priests. Even protected as it

was behind glass panes, the lantern flame danced in wild abandon, and the priests’ shadows performed mad capers on the walls.

“We should leave this place,” Micahan whispered, drawing in on himself.

“After,” Tohl said, T have talked with the Quiet One.”

“You were dreaming,” Vhoror accused.

Stifling the anger that rushed to mix with the fear that filled him, Tohl said, “If I dreamed I spoke with Eldath, then I also dreamed the mohrg has been released from his prison. You have nothing to fear from such a dream, Brother Vhoror.”

Vhoror showed no shame at the rebuke. His eyes flickered with anger, and Tohl knew no matter how this night turned out that Vhoror would exact some price for the affront.

“As you wish, Brother Tohl,” Vhoror said. “It appears you’ve gotten us all up from needed sleep and seen us soaked to the skin without need.”

Tohl turned from the other priest and crossed the room to the section of false floor. He tapped the floor with his mace and it made hollow echoes on the other side. Nothing else sounded. Feeling a little better, he went to the record keeper’s desk and shoved it to one side so that he could get at a hidden place in the wall. When he had the small compartment open, he hung the mace from a strap around his wrist and removed the two hooks from within.

Returning to the false floor, Tohl handed the lantern to Effrim, laid the mace beside the stone section, and slid the hooks into place. The floor section was heavier than he remembered, but he stayed at the task until the stone lifted from the opening.

The stench of death.wafted from the secret tomb, made thicker by the storm’s humid air. Thunder cracked outside and the noise drummed into the building, echoing once again below. The noise made the secret tomb sound cavernous.

T smell blood,” Vhoror said.

Tohl took the lantern from Effrim. Both of them trembled. Tohl guided the lantern toward the yawning opening and the complete blackness beyond.

“Did you not hear me?” Vhoror demanded. T said I smell blood.”

“Yes, brother,” Tohl said, “the monster’s tomb has ever been steeped in the stink of blood.”

“It’s fresh blood,” Vhoror insisted.

Tohl thrust his arm into the hole and felt a wet coil of wind slither up his sleeve.

“At the very least,” Vhoror continued, “that scent will draw other undead to this crypt. Those foul things that cling to the remnants of the Whamite Isles at times get caught in currents and are washed up here. If they scent this, they will come.”

Tohl scanned the spiral staircase that led to the rooms below. Nothing moved on it.

“We’re priests, Brother Vhoror,” said Tohl. “If the undead come, Eldath, in her infinite wisdom, has seen fit to give us the power to turn such creatures. Perhaps we will save others who would fall prey to their untender mercies.”

“You’re being foolish.”

“I’m following my belief,” Tohl responded.

He gathered himself then stepped down into the opening. Keeping the lantern high, he followed the spiral staircase down. Effrim followed him next, and the other priests trailed after with obvious reluctance. Vhoror brought up the rear.

The spiral staircase shifted with a sudden groan and a shriek that felt like fingernails along Tohl’s spine. He stopped and wondered if the staircase was going to collapse.

“Here,” Effrim said, pointing at a section of the wall.

Tohl redirected the lantern. The beam shone on one of the support posts that had been driven into the wall. Light glanced off bright metal. The staircase had slid sideways enough to clear the bolt and reveal that it was no longer attached.

Effrim touched the bolt sticking out from the wall. He drew his finger back with a jerk, then turned it over to examine it. A thick drop of blood oozed from his fingertip. He put it in his mouth and sucked at it.

The response was a normal one, Tohl knew, but standing there in Borran Kiosk’s tomb and prison, knowing what Borran Kiosk was and what he had done, the innocent gesture seemed obscene.

“It’s sheared,” Effrim said. “Something snapped it off, and recently, or it would not be so shiny.”

The words hung heavily on all of them.

“Perhaps,” Micahan said, “with all the rains tonight there was a shifting in the earth. The rainy season makes coffins sink into the ground.”

“It’s been hundreds of years,” Vhoror protested.

“It may have been as much as a tenday ago,” Micahan said. His face looked hollow and pasty as it was lifted from the recesses of his cowl by the lantern light. “Metal takes time to rust, just as Eldath in her mercies takes time to convert.” He nodded at Tohl. “If we’re to do this, Brother, we’d be better served by getting it done. Morning will come all too early.”

“Of course,” Tohl said and took up the march down the staircase again. It quivered and quaked the whole way.

Once at the bottom of the staircase, Tohl kept the lead and guided them through the twisting passageways.

When they reached the final room, lantern light reflected from the pools of water that remained of the ice coffin. The light also reflected from the dead eyes of the boys who sat arranged against the far wall. At least, the light reflected from the eyes of those who still had them.

Astonished fear froze Tohl in the entrance to the room. Borran Kiosk was nowhere in sight.

“Eldath’s mercy be upon them,” Micahan said. He glanced up at Tohl. “We can’t leave those children here. You know what will happen to them if we leave them.”

Tohl nodded without speaking or returning the older priest’s gaze.

“They will rise,” Micahan said. “They will rise in a day or two.”

Tohl gazed at the horror before him. He remembered the stories of Borran Kiosk’s undead army and how the mohrg had raised it.

“We can’t let that happen to these children,” he said.

“They’re thieves,” Vhoror complained. “They came here and broke open this tomb. I say they got what they deserve.”

Tohl whirled on the man, his fear and anger getting the best of him. “Still your tongue, Vhoror. The mohrg has been released. Whatever these boys were before this night, they are victims now, and they will be cared for as best as Eldath has taught us to do. In my presence and in theirs, you will speak with respect.”

“Of course,” the old priest said.

“We’ve got to get the other priests,” Tohl said, gathering his splintered thoughts, gazing with helpless horror at the dead children. “We must lay these…” Words failed him.”… to rest. We must find—” He found he didn’t want to say the mohrg’s name. “We must find the creature that escaped from here.”

He gave the children a final look, said a quick prayer, and led the way back to the spiral staircase.

They made their way up, and Tohl shuddered every time the metal construction hammered against the stone wall. The sound echoed throughout the tomb. Tohl clambered through the opening. His exertions and fear wore on him, leaving his breath ragged and harsh.

He offered his hand to Micahan. The old priest struggled with the ascent. His hand felt cold and clawlike in Tohl’s grip.

Bowdiek came through next, followed by the other priests until all six of them stood in the room.

Turning, Tohl shone the lantern light on the wall with the door. The light fell over a pile of at least a dozen skulls that had been left in a haphazard stack in the doorway.

“Those weren’t there before,” Effrim said.

Tohl gazed at the skulls, unable to speak, swallowed by a sense of impending dread.

“You fools!” Vhoror exploded. “It was Borran Kiosk! He’s not gone; he’s still here!”

Something plopped into a thin pool of water in front of Tohl. The light made the dark liquid stand out against the water. Another drop joined the first, and they looked like squids spreading out their tentacles.

“The ceiling,” Effrim whispered. “Eldath have mercy on us. It’s coming from the ceiling.”

In slow motion, feeling the fear hammering away inside him, Tohl angled the lantern up.

Haarn’s knife sliced through the wolf bitch’s flanks, but he took care to cut through only the outer layer of hide and muscle. Cutting deeper would have released poisons from her body and killed what he strove to save.

“What are you doing?” Druz asked.

“I can save the wolf cubs.” Haarn placed his knife back in its boot sheath. “You killed the mother, but you didn’t kill her cubs.”

Haarn probed at the wound and prayed to Silvanus to guide his efforts. He hoped he had the knowledge to stave off death for Stonefur’s line.

“She would have killed you,” Druz said.

Unwilling to argue, Haarn concentrated on the bloody task at hand. He slipped his fingers into the wolf bitch’s body and felt for the cubs. He let his fingers rest for just an instant against the straining womb and he could feel the squirming bodies inside. He hoped they were strong enough.

Broadfoot padded closer, his shadow covering a pool of water. He stood on his hind legs, tall against the night, and watched the wolves that remained of Stonefur’s pack. Anxious and distrustful, the wolves shifted in the protection of the tree line.

Lightning shivered through the sky again, and for a moment Haarn saw the silver rain flash against the dark tan of his hands streaked with bright crimson blood.

He took a small blade he had sewn into his clothes. It was little more than a knuckle joint long, and he hoped it was up to the task.

Shoving his hand back inside the wolf corpse, Haarn traced the womb with his little finger while holding onto the little blade with his thumb and forefinger. He pressed against the tiny body with his little finger, moving it out of harm’s way as best he could.

With deft precision, Haarn slit the womb. Hot liquid spilled out over his hand, mixing with the blood already there. A moment later it gushed from the wolf bitch’s body. Druz sucked her breath in and took an involuntary step back.

The slit he’d made in the womb remained too tight to allow him to withdraw one of the cubs. Knowing time was running out, that the pups were already suffocating, he pushed his other hand into the wolf bitch’s corpse and tore the womb.

One of the small, furry bodies slid out into Haarn’s waiting hands. He felt it squirm in his grasp, strong and limp as it flexed. Breath tight in his throat, pain pounding his temples, he pulled the pup from its dead mother. He hunkered over to shield the infant from the rain and the bitter cold.

“Get my dothing,” he told Druz. “I’ve got to keep them dry.”

The warrior hesitated for a moment, as though she was going to argue, then she rose and got her own pack.

“I’ve got some blankets in here,” she said, taking one of them out.

Haarn used the tiny knife he held to slit the umbilical cord, then nicked the placenta. He tore the hole in the placenta larger and removed the pup.

“Here,” he said, and Druz took the pup without complaint and wrapped it in the blanket.

Haarn threw the placenta toward the other wolves. The membrane plopped on the ground only a few feet in front of them. One of the females dashed from the shadows, plucked the placenta from the mud with her sharp teeth,

and returned to the pack.

“What was that?” Druz asked.

“Birth sac,” Haarn said. “The females will eat it, as the birth mother usually does.”

He removed another pup and began tearing the next placenta open.

“How are you going to feed the pups?” Druz asked.

Pain hit him again so hard he thought he was going to black out. He fought his way back to consciousness, then reached for the next pup.

“The pack always cares for the young,” Haarn said as he handed over another pup and reached in for the next. “When one of the females starts carrying a litter, all of the bitches in the pack start producing milk. The pups nurse from all of them, just as all the males share in taking care of the young.”

Druz leaned in closer to Haarn, shielding the pup from the storm winds, then adding it to those already in her blanket. Haarn kept working despite the exhaustion that ate at him.

There were five cubs in all. All of them were healthy except for the last one. Somehow its umbilical cord had gotten wrapped around its neck and almost strangled it.