“I don’t know. I never saw any of them again. I guess that means none of them became …” She faltered, and leaned heavily against the metal grating that fronted the cell. When she raised her head, crimson tears were trickling down her cheeks.
“There’s no telling what other atrocities were committed in here,” she said, between clenched teeth. “The vampires, those spell-casting zombies—they could have done anything to them.”
“Can you find the place where the vampires were kept?” asked Tarrel.
“I think so,” Brey said. Then she turned to the inquisitive with a resolute expression. “I want to know what else was done here. I want the world to know. I want you to give my father every scrap of evidence. He should know what happened to me—to all of us.”
Tarrel said nothing. Brey led the way out of the cell. “It was down this passage,” she said.
Tarrel eyed the cracks in the walls nervously but followed her. They came to the doorway she had seen before; the heavy wooden door lay on the ground, torn off its hinges by some unknown force.
The vaulted ceiling had partially collapsed, and one side of the chamber was strewn with rubble. The stepped dais was still in the center of the room, but a stone slab had come down on Wultram’s sarcophagus, breaking it in two. The coffins in the surviving niches looked intact.
“Think anyone’s home?” asked Mordan, eyeing the coffins cautiously.
“No,” said Brey. “Once Wultram was destroyed, I’m sure the others got out of here as fast as they could, just like I did.” But she still flipped the lids open, one by one. Tarrel was sketching a map of the chamber, and making notes here and there.
They left and explored the rest of the complex. The barracks area was deserted, but there was plenty of evidence that the Vedykar Lancers had once been quartered there. A huge banner hung askew on the wall, bearing their insignia, and in the adjoining stable-block they found the Lancers’ badge on several abandoned pieces of tack, as well as branded into the hides of two dead horses. The broad ramp leading from the underground stables to the surface was choked by rubble and impassable.
“What’s behind here?” asked Mordan, indicating a pair of double doors that they had passed several times, but not opened. Brey seemed to be avoiding them.
“That’s the temple,” she said. “On the other side of it are the staff quarters, I think. But I don’t know if the thing they summoned is still in there.”
Tarrel put his ear to one of the doors. “It all sounds quiet,” he said after a moment. “Do you think it would have stayed in there when it has all the Mournland to choose from?”
“I’m not sure it could get all the way through the gate,” Brey said. “It might still be on the other side, waiting for someone to come within reach.”
“One way to find out,” said Mordan, opening one of the doors before Brey could protest.
The temple area was devastated. The wreckage of the orrery was strewn about the chamber, scattered among the undecomposed bodies of those who had died defending their master from the hellish tendrils of the beast. The altar was shattered, reduced to a heap of fragments as fine as river gravel. There was no sign of the magical gate, and all was quiet. Tarrel began sketching again, stooping now and again to pick up something.
“This one’s still alive!”
Brey and Tarrel looked round sharply at Mordan’s cry.
“Impossible!” Brey declared. “It’s been years …”
Mordan was bending over a small mound of corpses. An arm poked out of the mound, its fingers twitching and clutching at the empty air.
“Be careful!” Brey warned, but it was too late. Mordan grabbed the arm and gave a mighty tug—only to fall over backward as the severed limb came out of the charnel heap more easily than he expected. On the other end of the arm, instead of a body, was a creature the size of a large dog, chewing on the exposed muscle and tendon and making the fingers twitch. It was as surprised as Mordan was, and landed on his chest with a thump, snarling down into his face.
Apart from its size, the creature was more like a rat than a dog—although it wasn’t very much like a rat. Its long tail was hairless, but its elongated jaws held a double row of sharp, conical teeth. Bony spines erupted all along its back and from the joints of its four limbs, and a crimson mane on its shoulders contrasted with its black, greasy fur. Blood and spittle dripped onto Mordan’s face as it growled.
Mordan slid his left arm beneath its jaw and pushed up, forcing the thing’s jaws shut and preventing it from biting. With his right hand, he reached for the dagger in his belt. He had almost reached it when Brey strode over and dealt the beast a savage kick. It flew across the room, hitting a wall with a sickening crunch and a yelp of pain. Then it ran off into the darkness.
“There’s nothing alive here,” Brey said, pulling Mordan to his feet. “At least, nothing human.”
Tarrel had reached the door behind the altar—the door through which Dravuliel had entered at the start of the disastrous ritual.
