Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1) (8 page)

“Just one deadbolt in the center. No other bolts, or lines that would trip alarms or traps. No keyhole or latch outside, either.”

She moved to the side of the left hand door, took out a leather cone, held it to her ear and pressed the wide end against the stone. She moved up the height of the door where it met the jamb, tapping with the hilt of her dagger. Then she repeated the procedure on the right side.

“The bolt is a bar. It goes all the way out on the left, but not the right,” she announced, “so, there might be a catch of some kind…” she started to feel and tap along the cliff wall to the left of the door. “A way in for those who knew…”

Trilisean paused. She turned to face Conn with a dazzling smile. Wordlessly she beckoned him over, then as he approached, with a flourish like a conjuror revealing a feat to his audience, indicated a point on the cliff face.

A faint crack described a perfect circle eight inches in diameter, made visible by lichen which grew following the fissure.

“Five minutes with your senses can save you an hour with a crowbar and sledge,” she said.

“So you're saying we can unbar the door by pressing this circle?”

“I am,” she replied. “Or, we could wrestle a crowbar between the doors and bang away until we dislodged the bar, waking anyone within a mile, like our esteemed predecessors did.”

“Which begs the question, who reset the thing if prior burglars opened it?”

“No idea. But it's a good thing I thought to bring a skilled swordsman, now, isn't it?”

“I know I am deeply comforted by that fact.”

“I live to comfort.”

She took up a position by the circle. “Stand away from the opening, just in case.”

Conn obliged. Trilisean pressed on the stone. After a moment's resistance, it sunk into the wall. She felt rather than heard a grating vibration as the bar slid along its track. The doors swung inwards a fraction of an inch.

Conn stood to one side and pushed the left hand door open a bit with the butt of his spear. When the gap was wide enough, Trilisean slipped through, glided to one side and stood ready. Conn pushed the door open further and stepped in, on guard for any threat.

As Trilisean's lamp flared into life, she gasped at the chamber.

Twenty feet on a side, the walls were polished smooth as glass. Murals of men and beasts and combinations thereof, worshiping and sacrificing captives beneath a starry sky were inlaid in gold and silver and burning copper. Polished gems winked in the eyes of gods or monsters and in the constellations above. Columns carved in scaled serpentine spirals leapt from the corners and along the walls to the vaulted ceiling thirty feet above.

Her jaw dropped in reverent awe.

Conn was too preoccupied with the fresh corpse lying near the far wall.

He touched her arm and indicated the body with a jerk of his head.

She tore her gaze from the decoration, scanning the area. Wealth was wealth, but business was business.

From a distance, the body showed no overt signs of violence. No dismemberment, no pool of blood, no axe standing out from its chest. The corpse lay on its back, limbs sprawled out wide, eyes open and staring sightlessly at the glittering mosaic on the ceiling.

Trilisean played the beam of her lantern over the body and then swept it across the floor and walls. Nothing sinister appeared. The body lay near a large door, heavily inlaid with jewels and precious metals in the form of a rearing dragon. She began to approach slowly, scanning the floor before carefully placing each foot, alert for shifting of the polished stone beneath her soft-soled boots or of the catch of an unseen tripwire.

Conn followed, his spear extended before him. He was a swordsman by preference, but a spear was useful in such an environment, both as a pole to probe the darkness and a weapon at need.

Trilisean reached the body, knelt and searched the area around it. A sack of tools lay scattered, as though dropped then rummaged through. She picked up something small, looked at it, then examined the corpse itself. The body was cold, but had not begun to rot. There were no obvious wounds. She looked carefully at the hands, then looked at the door.

“Ah,” she said.

“What?”

“The lock is trapped.”

She held up a lock pick. The steel was stained near the end. Dark bluish purple, surrounded by a halo of rainbow hue, as though the metal had been held in a flame. She then lifted the dead man's right hand, showing the scorch marks on it.

“So what happened?” asked Conn.

“He put this pick in the lock, and then he got a shock. He was probably the same one who made the crowbar scratches on the outside door.”

“How'd he get shocked?”

“Energy is built up in this lock, so that when a pick, or the wrong key, or even the right key without disarming the trap, is put in, it delivers that energy to whoever's holding it. Like lightning, but much smaller.”

“How does the energy build up?”

She shrugged. “Sorcery. Mechanics. No idea. But I've seen the effect before.”

“And you can get around it?”

She just smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“So what's the plan?” he asked.

“The energy takes time to build up. How long depends on the trap. Could be minutes, hours, days, no idea. He's been down for a day or two, so the trap is probably reset.” She unrolled her tool kit and began digging.

“So now what?”

“We have to set it off again.”

“You're going to set off the trap?”

She shook her head. “Our late friend is.”

Conn stood watch as Trilisean first ransacked the dead man's pockets, producing a few silver marks and yet another copy of the map. She swore under her breath, wondering again how many were out there. The man's tools were inferior to hers, and she ignored the shortsword at his belt.

Trilisean then examined the door with her lantern and lens, taking care not to touch handle or fastenings. She found nothing untoward, not that she expected to, having already detected one trap, but a girl could never be too careful.

She took a length of string from her kit, tied one end to a projecting detail in the relief on the door, then laid it out to reach the keyhole and tied the dead man's lockpick at that point. She then took a coil of fine wire and tied it from the suspended lockpick to the corpse's hand.

“The trap won't discharge into thin air,” she explained to Conn. “A living thing needs to be touching the lockpick for it to go off.”

“He's not exactly a living thing anymore.”

She shrugged. “He's still a man, still made out of flesh. It'll work. He'll just get a posthumous lesson in trap disarming.”

“And if there were no obliging corpse laying about?”

“There are ways around that. A good sized bowl of salt water will work if you find yourself short on corpses.” As she spoke she lined the lockpick up with the keyhole, sure to keep it well clear of the hole while she worked.

“Salt water?” he wondered. “Why would that work?”

She shrugged again. “Sweat is salty. So are tears. And blood. Maybe that's what draws the magic. Now hush for a moment.” She knelt behind the suspended lockpick, drew it back, then let it swing forward on its string.

As it entered the keyhole, there was a spark and the corpse twitched.

Trilisean quickly passed her hand near the body, then the wire, then the lockpick. When nothing happened, she slid her own picks in and began deftly working them in the keyhole, feeling for the tumblers. Conn, remembering she was unsure how long until the trap rearmed, made a point not to distract her.

After a brief eternity, she felt the bolt slide away and let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding. She flashed a sign to Conn, got to her feet, and thrust open the door.

Conn stepped swiftly through, moving to the left, back to the wall, spear before him. Trilisean darted through to the right.

They found themselves in a wide passageway lined with statues.

The hallway was maybe fifty feet long and ten wide, of smooth, polished stone, ending at another massive stone door. Pedestals lined each wall. Atop each was a statue of a monster, or perhaps a god, or a man in an elaborate mask. The form was manlike, but the head of each was huge and fierce and reptilian. Some of the figures wore elaborate robes, some ornate armor, some were garbed only in shells and feathers. Many had details picked out in gems or precious metal.

Trilisean scanned the hallway, then approached the nearest statue. This one was carved clad in a cape and headdress of feathers, with a necklace of shells and bones. In its clawed right hand it held a stone dagger aloft, in its left a bowl. There was little ornamentation, save for smooth amber stones fitted for eyes.

She compared this to the others. They were clearly sculpted by different artists, the style varied greatly from one to another, and the ones at the nearer end of the passage seemed both cruder and more worn than those further on. As they moved down the corridor, the carving became cleaner and more detailed, the garb more elaborate, and more and costlier accents appeared.

“It looks like the busts of ancestors in some Baron's great hall,” she murmured.

Conn agreed. A series of similar figures carved over generations. But generations of what? Were these depictions of patron deities, or, he shuddered to think, of the inhabitants of this temple themselves?

They crept down the passageway. Trilisean paused to inspect the door at the far end, then unlocked and opened it. She stepped lightly through, followed by Conn.

They found themselves in a hallway which wrapped around an open central well a hundred feet across. The wall behind them extended in both directions, and contained several doors. On the opposite side was a balustrade, beyond which they could see a large open area through which rose huge columns, stretching to the vaulted ceiling above. The columns were carved with serpentine designs coiling about them, as though huge snakes climbed toward the unseen sky. The detail was painstaking, each scale carefully rendered, the illusion only broken by the colored veins of ore in the stone which ran uninterrupted through the reptilian forms.

Conn took a step toward the railing and peered over. The space below was a vast cathedral, row upon row of stone benches facing an altar behind which stood a huge statue of a being somewhere between man and god and dragon, accented and detailed in gems and precious metals.

Trilisean looked over, raised an eyebrow, and whistled under her breath.

“I don't think we could get that back to your pawnbroker friend,” Conn whispered. “Not in one trip anyway.”

She replied with a wry smirk. “See how big your cut is, you keep that attitude.”

There was no immediately obvious way down into the temple proper, so Trilisean moved to the nearest door. It was smaller than those through which they had already passed, and less ornate, with some complex serpentine bas relief carved in the stone, but no ornamentation. She gave it a quick glance, then paused.

“Problem?”

“I'm not the first to try this door,” she frowned.

“Led you on with its coy, innocent looks, did it?”

“There are scratches around the lock,” she ignored him, “and at the jamb.” She completed her examination with her tools, then opened it.

They glided through the door in long practiced concert and found themselves in a richly appointed bedchamber. Trilisean opened her lantern and paused, reverently exulting in the reflected glory of the rich appointments.

The chamber was large, dominated by a vast, canopied bed, covered in faded silks, heavy with embroidery. To one side of the chamber was a bath of marble, set into the floor, jars of costly oils on its edge, a copper boiler beyond it. A gilt encrusted wardrobe and huge, gold framed mirror stood on the opposite wall. The walls, the ceiling and even the floor were inlaid with fantastic scenes in silver, gold and copper. The whole room was littered with knickknacks and decoration worth more than Conn had earned in a dozen years in the Free Companies or Trilisean had stolen in the same time.

Once the shock of the scope of wealth in the room passed, they noticed the age and decay. The tub was dry, stained with mineral scale, as though the water had evaporated slowly. The perfumes and oils were congealed in their crystal stoppered vials. The hangings and bedclothes were faded and worn. This chamber had been vacant for long years.

It had also been violated. Clothes were scattered across the floor, tables overturned, riches strewn about.

“Vaigh,” she muttered.

“Hmm?”

“I'll bet that sorry excuse for a thief got this far, ransacked this chamber, and took off with what he could carry.”

“Shocking.”

She tossed her head angrily. “This is different. There's no art to
this.
” Her gesture took in the pillaged room. “He just swept loot into a sack. I saw things he brought to Fayl. He stepped on things in here worth twice what he carried away. His kind really gives thieves a bad name.”

“Well, what's the plan now?” he asked.

She shook her head, pulling a bag from her pack. She moved carefully around the room, picking up a few loose gems and pieces of discarded jewelry. She rolled those up carefully, then examined the walls slowly, painstakingly. A trace of her grin returned as she searched the wall behind the tub.