Authors: Robert J. Crane
Next time I get the bright idea to run an expedition that involves a sunken temple, someone should stab me repeatedly in the head
, he thought, the water forcing him to blink his eyes.
I think Vara would do that rather gladly
. His eyes burned just a little, as if he’d held them open far too long. Straining to see ahead through the passage, he could make out shapes in the murk, faint lines that blurred as though he were looking through his own tears.
He swam forward as the passage disappeared ahead. He emerged from the tight hallway to find himself in a wide, open chamber. His eyes strained to take in the whole thing. It was a little smaller than the Sanctuary foyer, complete with statuary that stretched from floor to ceiling. He estimated the height of the building would have been something approaching three floors. The statue resting squarely in the middle of the room was familiar to him: Ashea, the Goddess of Water. There was a darkness below, something his vision couldn’t quite penetrate, and he realized it was a bed of seaweed, growing out of the bottom of the temple.
He saw motion in the murk, something rising from the field of green seaweed that waved in the currents of water like grass swaying on the Plains of Perdamun. Heads were moving, followed by long necks, snakes ascending out of the seaweed. They swayed out of time with the vegetation around them, at least eight of them by Cyrus’s count, lining up with their eyes squarely on him.
He floated there, feeling the sword in his hand as he pondered how to go about it.
This wasn’t part of the deal
. There was a pounding in his head, a desire to have this over with so he could leave this magic behind and draw a breath on the surface. He longed for it, for the open sky and the boat he knew waited far, far above and out of the temple.
The sooner I go through them, the sooner I can get out of here.
He darted forward, using his legs to churn through the water in powerful strokes. He was aided by the mystical power of his sword, Praelior, which augmented his strength and speed. Even with the increased resistance of the water, it still made him fast.
He came at the first snake and sliced through the water with his sword. It dodged back, avoiding his motion, mouth open as though it were hissing at him.
Two more of them came at him, and Cyrus tried to backpedal but found his coordination off in the water. One caught his left arm mid-bicep, and he felt the sting of its teeth. Blood clouded the water as he brought the sword around and buried it in the neck of the thing. He barely got it back around in time to catch the other one in the throat.
Two down. Six to go
. He would have sighed, but the water made it impossible.
Where’s my army when I need them?
He spun in the water, scissoring his legs to push him back out of range. Four of the snakes waved in the seaweed ahead, waiting for him to get closer.
It has got to be down in the grass, dammit
.
Somewhere. No more water expeditions; the Realm of Purgatory and that gods-damned eel are bad enough, but this is just intolerable
.
Also, where is my army?
He knew they were somewhere above, but he’d gotten separated from the expedition while chasing one of the Mler, a fish-like creature, one of hundreds that were the guardians of this temple.
Other than these snakes, that is
.
The servants of Ashea align against us, we plunderers of their birthright.
Cyrus dodged the attack of another snake, this one barreling at him with mouth open.
That one was coming for my throat; they’re plainly serious about keeping whatever is down there safe.
He rolled in the water, spinning himself over and feeling the turbulence in the water at his maneuver. Bubbles rushed all around him as he threw his sword arm forward just in time to catch another of the snakes on the sharp tip.
Three down. Five more, now
.
He pushed himself forward, dipping low into the grass. The snake closest to him tried to adjust but was already out of position. Cyrus went low and churned through the water, landing a strike that neatly cut it in half. He grinned and looked back at his foe, but the grin didn’t last more than a second.
Liberated from the ground, the snake was oozing blood from its stump, but it was moving through the water unrestrained, now.
Aw, shit. Now I’ve got a mobile enemy instead of a tethered one!
Cyrus swam upward, toward the top of the chamber, removing himself from the threat of the last four snakes in the seaweed. They snapped at him impotently as he dodged away. The last snake followed, moving more slowly than an eel, but pursuing nonetheless.
Cy reached the top of the chamber and caught himself on the stone top of the pyramid. He see could the other snakes far below, resting in the shadow of the massive statue.
First things first
.
The snake came at him, and he launched himself off the wall at it. It dodged surprisingly fast.
It’s holding out on me, faking me out!
He felt the pain in his left hand as it caught him on the wrist with a fang, then it darted away before he could counter.
Next time remind me to bring a shield
. A thin line of blood seeped into the water from his wound.
Oh, right, I’m not doing this again
.
The snake readjusted, hanging in the water a few feet away from him. It was coiled, blood clouding the water from its wound and his.
Cyrus threw himself forward and sliced Praelior horizontally. The sword dug into the foot-thick snake and cut through, even with the reduced speed of Cyrus’s swing. Blood clouded the water, blinding Cyrus momentarily.
He turned his head, trying to confirm that he’d killed it.
It’d be just my luck if I hadn’t.
He swam out of the cloud and saw the snake writhing, cut in half. It fell to the seabed below, just outside of the field of its brethren, and then remained still.
Four down. Halfway home
.
He churned the water as he swam now, racing down at the ones that remained without preamble. The steady, burning pain of the bites from his other foes was nagging at him, but minor compared to countless other pains he’d felt before. He went straight at the nearest snake, saw it coil, waiting for him.
It struck, nearly too fast for him. He threw his sword up just in time and positioned it perfectly. The snake ran its head at him as he raised the blade, catching it just under the jaw and sending the head spiraling away into the seabed.
Cyrus flashed a grin at the next snake.
Let’s see if your timing is any better.
It lunged at him, and he caught it a little further down, severing the head along with a foot of neck; it thrashed ineffectually against the water, unable to gain any sort of momentum from its movement. It fell in a wash of red blood back into the seaweed bed.
Six down
. Cyrus let himself smile, feeling the confidence return.
Two to go. And now I know how to deal with them.
He turned to go after the remaining two snakes but found them already coming at him. Their bodies were lengthening, withdrawing from the seabed, and he realized with a start that they were either growing much larger or they had never truly been tethered to the ground. As one of the tails swished free of the green, dancing seaweed, he realized that it was the latter.
Shit
.
Cursing the damned things for their fakery, he threw himself into an immediate sideways roll through the water as one of them came at him head-on. He dealt it a glancing blow as it shot past, enough to cloud the waters a little more.
The second struck him from underneath seconds after he’d finished his roll. The disorientation worked against him, vision impaired by bubbles, and the snake buried a two-inch set of teeth in his ribs, anchoring itself to his side..
Cyrus brought Praelior down and lopped the head neatly off the creature. The body fell back into the seaweed, but the fangs remained tightly clenched on his side, a searing agony rolling through him even as the water there turned dark with his blood.
Son of a bitch
. He grimaced, trying to focus on the last of them. He turned in the water and caught a flash of motion. It was around him, a coil spiraling out a couple feet away from his face. He started to raise Praelior to deal with it, but it was too late.
The snake closed the coil tight in an instant, wrapping around him and trapping his sword down at his side. Cyrus tensed, feeling his bones and ligaments resist as the snake began to squeeze. Together, they fell back toward the seaweed below.
Cyrus felt the world turn upside down as they took a slow, drifting path to the bottom of the temple’s chamber. The squeeze tightened, and he flexed his muscles to resist the force of the snake’s enclosure. It darted at him and buried its teeth in his scalp after Cyrus dodged his head to the side at the last moment.
Better the scalp than the neck
, he reasoned. He could feel the teeth, halted by bone, slide across his skull with a grinding pain, ripping the skin and hair from his head.
He worked at his sword, trying to move it up into position, but it was trapped, the snake coiled around his upper body to pin his forearm in place, leaving just enough space between coils for it to jut out impotently.
How the hell did I get into this situation? Damnable water, slowing me down. I’m used to being faster than my foes
.
He felt the popping of his joints as the snake squeezed tighter, and there was an unbearable pain at his ear as the snake ripped into it.
Recrimination later, killing first.
But as an aside, leaving your army to chase a fleeing Mler? Dumb. Really dumb, Cyrus.
He reacted to the popping sound of his shoulder leaving the joint by twisting his hand as far up as it could go and poking the tip of Praelior as sharply up as he could. There was a faint cracking sound as one of the teeth of the snake found purchase in his skull and his world went red. He stabbed harder and felt the grip of the mouth on his head tighten.
Dumb. Worthy of every insult Vara ever leveled your way
.
Reaching the limits of his ability to push, he forced the blade a little further up with his fingertips, pushing it to the maximum distance his digits allowed. Something gave, and he felt the snake loosen just a hair, even as his skull cracked in his ears and his vision clouded with blood.
Well, of course, it couldn’t just get better; it had to get worse as well …
He pushed up on the coil securing his arm and wriggled free of it. He pulled his blade out, and the water grew even redder. He pulled his sword and shoved it up, aiming blindly over his head. He felt the impact of his thrust, felt the snake’s mouth slacken its grip on him, and he pushed it free. Feeling woozy, he pulled a fang out from behind his ear where it had broken the skin and the bone.
I may pass out. Need to find the Sanctuary army before that happens. But first …
He dropped the corpse of the snake. It did not even flail as it fell down into the seabed, brown skin disappearing under green grasses. He swam down, down to the base of the massive stone statue of Ashea, and sent her a single-fingered gesture of insult.
Here’s what I think of your water-dwelling worshippers, and if I could make Bellarum’s own brand of war on them, I damned well would.
His skull seared with agony, alternating between sharp, knife-like pains and a low, throbbing one. He pushed aside the pain like he pushed aside the seaweed as he descended, looking for something, hoping it was here …
Ah!
His eyes caught sight of it in the shadow of Ashea’s garish figurine. It was a chest, the wood dark and shadowed to his eyes. In truth, he would not have seen it without the spell Ryin Ayend had cast upon him that allowed his vision in this dark place.
It is only that and the breathing spell that allow me to tread these waters at all. And in the future, I would be wiser to remember that and remain only in places that require no magic, especially when it comes to fighting battles.
He reached the treasure chest and laid a hand upon it. The wood was slimy, as if it had been under the water for decades—which he knew it had. He fumbled with the lock and found it unwilling to give. Sighing an unbreathed sigh, he jammed the tip of Praelior into the chest and pried it open. The locking mechanism broke with an unheard sound, and he forced the wet wood lid up and stared down into the darkness of the chest.
The key.
Cyrus clutched the ornate metal object in his hand, his eyes following the twists and curves of it. It looked like someone had taken a string and knotted it in a bizarre attempt to imitate a key.
This will gain us access to the treasure of the Mler, to things lost to the memory of men.
He turned his eyes up toward Ashea and the entrance to the chamber.
Now all we need do is to pacify the Mler
.
But first … I need my army.
He kicked off the sandy bottom of the seaweed bed, ignoring the still-aching pain in his head. A healer’s spell would be a welcome remedy. He felt the seaweed kiss him goodbye, tendrils drifting across his arms and chest as he swam upward past Ashea’s lean and haunting face toward the square hole at the top of the temple.
Hard to believe this place was built in such a way. Why construct a temple on the surface and then sink it to the bottom of the sea? Truly, the Ancients had wonders at their command.
He entered the passage above and felt the constraint of the four walls around him, the tightening fear of the confined space creeping in on him. He swam along to an intersection and wondered which direction to go. He looked for signs of passage, trying to remember which way he had come. He had last seen the Mler he was chasing in an intersection like this, but they all looked damnably similar.
He swam right on a whim, clutching Praelior in anticipation of trouble. When he rounded the next corner, he found the corridor ahead as bare as the one he’d just left. It stretched off into the dark distance past the limits of his vision.
This place is monstrous, a labyrinth.
He looked back and realized that he could no longer see the intersection from whence he had just come. A stir of unease grew within him.
This could be … difficult.