—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The end of the tunnel trail concluded at a set of massive stone doors hung on iron brackets. A series of tiles covered the ground in front of it, revealing patterns of dusty footprints showing frequent traffic. Torches were suspended in sconces on the wall, their flames blazing away the dark. Annon stared at the doors, his stomach churning with nervousness. Were the torches always lit or was it a sign that their arrival was expected?
Khiara brushed away her dark hair, cocking her head as she examined the stone doors. Nizeera approached the edge of the tiles and dropped her muzzle close, sniffing the air.
Erasmus scratched the back of his neck, mulling over the scene. “The doors open toward us,” he whispered. “Do you see the crossbar over there?”
Annon stared and noticed it. “Strange. Why do you think the lock is on this side?”
Khiara stepped forward. “To trap inside whatever is in there. I don’t like the feel of this place. There is ancient magic at work here.” She rested on her long staff, staring ahead and squinting with a look of revulsion and worry.
“Test the tiles,” Annon suggested. “They may be trapped.”
Khiara approached and nudged the first tile with the butt of her staff. She tested several, pushing hard against them. She shook her head.
“Do you have the Cockatrice?” Annon asked Erasmus, who patted his travel pack and watched as the creature inside thrashed. He kept a sturdy grip. “Good. Khiara, you pull the door ajar. Erasmus, let loose the straps and fling in the pack. I’m suspecting there are Rikes inside. Maybe it can do some damage to them first. Ready?”
Khiara advanced to the doors with a surefooted grace. She reached the first and grasped the thick iron handle. She nodded to Erasmus, who approached next and unslung his pack. He readied the straps and stood by the edge.
Annon advanced as well, thinking the words to tame fire in his mind. His stomach squirmed with dread. It seemed as if they had been buried beneath the mountain for days. Nizeera, can you hear anything?
The doors are too thick. Nothing comes from behind.
Stay near me.
She brushed against his leg. Annon took a deep breath, steadying himself. Then he gave a curt nod to Khiara.
The Vaettir woman yanked against the door. It groaned with weight, swinging slowly on its thick hinges. It opened into a room beyond lit with greenish light. The smell of strong incense wafted toward them, fouling the air with its musty smell. Erasmus flung the pack into the room, where it landed with a thud. The Cockatrice fluttered free and let out a vicious shriek of rage, its wings flapping aggressively.
Annon stared at the floor, controlling his vision.
Cries of alarm came from inside the room.
“What is that thing?”
“Don’t look at it!”
“Roth! Over there! Roth!”
A brazier toppled over, sending a plume of flame that immediately extinguished. Cries of fear and terror sounded as the men inside were caught unaware.
“Shut the door!” Annon called. “Grab the crossbar!”
Erasmus fetched it while Khiara and Annon shoved hard at the door. The Preachán slid the iron bar in place as the first attempt to flee struck the stone door on the other side. The iron crossbar rattled in place. They all stepped back, preparing for attack. The hinges groaned and the door shifted, but it did not open. Annon’s nerves were as taut as bowstrings. He ground his teeth, fingers tingling with buds of flame. He stared at the door. It shuddered again, the muffled sound of screams inside. Erasmus stared coldly at the doors, his expression grim. Khiara sighed.
The shuddering of the door ceased.
Annon made them wait. Nothing happened. No sound came from the stone doors. The torches sputtered, startling them. Erasmus grunted in surprise, rubbing his arm nervously. Nizeera was tense as well, hackles bristling. What lay beyond?
The effort of drawing on the fireblood was wearying him. Annon nodded to Erasmus finally and motioned for him to remove the crossbar.
“Pull,” he whispered, preparing himself to go in first as a leader should. Nizeera was crouched at his heels, shoulder muscles bunching.
Erasmus and Khiara pulled on the door handles, causing them to groan. Sweat streaked down Annon’s back. He marched forward, ready to enter the room and face whatever horrors lay beyond. If the Cockatrice had survived, he was ready to reduce it to ash. As the crack in the door parted, he saw the statue of a man, face turned back to the room, his arms frozen in the motion of pushing on the door. Two other statues were there as well, both turning to look back into the room. All three were made of stone.