Where was his horse? His mount must have wandered away looking for the choicest sprouts among the greenish ophiolite that formed the primary characteristic of the terrain around him. He called to it with a distinctive whistle it would always respond to. Nothing. Then another terrified scream broke the serenity of the still mountains again, this time sounding desperate and hopeless from somewhere not far above him. Those were not the screams of an animal with a hoof stuck in a furrow. If the screams were coming from his horse, it was in mortal danger, maybe beyond his help. A chill streak of fear raced along his spine. Akakios scrambled up the rock-strewn slope using his staff to keep from slipping and sliding on smaller stones with his deformed foot trailing in his rush. Cresting the ridge on all fours, he could see down into a shallow ravine that held a pool fed by a fresh spring surrounded by an expanse of green grass and tender foliage. Akakios mind took in the beautiful landscape, although it might as well have been the hot geysers of hell, for his focus was riveted on the terrible scene unfolding before him. His horse, with the meat of its hindquarters, ripped away, struggled to run with only the use of its front legs. The poor beast was leaving a bloody trail through the vibrant green grass in its panic to escape its attackers. Akakios knew immediately that it was a hopeless flight.

They took a sharp turn, and the passage abruptly ended at a reinforced wooden door. Ninedinni pushed through the unbarred door and into a circular room dominated by what appeared to be a bottomless pit. Namzu stopped beside the First Lukur at the edge and stared down into blackness. He could not see the bottom, but the sides of it were smooth and its opening was at least twice as wide as he was tall. “Why are we here?” he asked. Without looking at him, she assumed a somber tone. “There is a door at the bottom of this shaft that leads to a room. You will find your answers there.” “I don’t see a way to go down. How deep is it?” “Let’s find out.” Namzu felt the pressure of a hand on his back, and his feet slipped over the edge. He flailed his arms to stop from falling forward, but it wasn’t enough. Over the side he plunged screaming into the blackness.

There was no thought, only instinct. Drystan quickly side-stepped the charge and circled around while Sir Murhalt regained his direction. Approaching more cautiously this time, the two Knights traded strikes on shield and blade as they circled. Drystan was impressed by the strength of Sir Murhalt’s attacks, and he knew he would tire quickly if he continued trading blows with the large brute. Sir Blevin had assessed his opponent well, this Knight’s skill was to batter his opponent with relentless force just as he had expected. Drystan fought men like this in the past and knew how predictable they were. No imagination. Well enough of this, he thought. Spinning around his opponent, Drystan landed a blow behind Sir Murhalt’s thigh breaking the straps on his greaves. Clanking against his leg as he moved, the loose armor distracted the Eriu Knight, and he paused in his assault. Knowing that was his moment, Drystan pushed forward on the other Knights shield, spun to his left and connected his blade with his opponents forcefully. A sharp ping echoed from the force of the blow, and to Drystan’s dismay the top third of his sword broke away and bounced off into the sand.

Khulani turned to face the open end of the cul-de-sac. He could see nothing in the darkness, but he could sense something coming closer. Whatever it was, it knew they were there and gave the impression that it was tasting their fear in the air. At least, Khulani was afraid. It came slowly closer, and he realized there were others that came with it. Khulani thought he could hear a faint dragging sound, as if it were pulling itself along the ground, and the slow patter of sandaled feet. Then it was close enough that he knew it was an animal . . . of sorts. He could feel the cold, dispassionate need to kill from it—not driven by rage or hunger—and nothing else. Khulani could not even determine what type of animal it was. He waited with the others, spear clutched tightly in his hands. From somewhere in the city came the concussion of an explosion followed by faint screams. From another direction, closer than the last, he was startled by the crackle of lightning. He stared ahead, waiting for what he knew was coming and was surprised to see a lone man wearing a white shendyt and nemes step from the darkness. He appeared to be a priest. “Bear witness to the earthly incarnation of our lord, Apep! Your sacrifice will be your salvation in the land of the dead!” From the darkness, a massive head with fangs as long as Khulani’s spear shot over the priest and toward Munatas. It smashed into an invisible barrier of air, which deflected it toward one of the low two-story buildings forming the cul-de-sac. A brief scream rent the air when its uncoiling body crushed the priest in its fluid advance. Behind it came several more priests carrying clubs and daggers, running with the eager intent to use them.