Part 7 (1/2)

'Much more than that. They open and close doors at the back of the temple.'

Yron raised his eyebrows. 'Really? I think you'd better show me that.'

Erys led the captain around the statue into a short corridor. It was dark but for light spilling out from two open doorways.

'Both of these opened while we were in here, and a third closed,' said Erys. 'We thought it was a trap at first but Stenys is convinced it's the lights pa.s.sing across particular areas of the statue. We'll monitor it.'

Yron glanced into one of the rooms. It was a shrine of sorts. A carved figure sat in an alcove surrounded by incense sticks. A few parchments lay stacked on a low table. A single cus.h.i.+on was propped against the back wall.

'Anything of interest here?'

Erys shook his head. 'I don't think so but we'll take everything anyway. There are some more likely papers next door but we'll have to wait for the real prize.'

Yron stared at him blankly.

'There must be a dozen rooms at least,' the mage explained. 'And we don't know when they'll open.'

Yron snorted. 'Then let's take the walls down. I'm not waiting here a day longer than I have to. I'm being eaten alive. And some of them out there won't last. You've seen the fever.'

'I know.' Erys nodded. 'And we'll do everything we can. But there's something you don't understand. Come and see.'

He led Yron back through the temple to the doors. Ben-Foran had wandered back outside to organise something.

'Here,' said Erys, indicating the stone lintel and the pillars that had once housed the doors. 'Notice anything interesting?'

Yron gave the elaborate carvings and engravings on the stonework a cursory glance and rubbed a hand across the smooth insides where the door frame had sat flush. He shrugged.

'Well, it doesn't seem too damaged.'

'Captain, it isn't damaged at all. I mean, there aren't even any scorch marks. Not here, not anywhere on the temple stone. I know that ward was focussed out but even so . . .'

'Meaning?'

'It's why we were so long earlier. We've probed the structure. Every stone in this temple is bound to every other by a force we can't fathom. It's magic of some sort, but ancient. Really ancient. The only thing not bound in is the statue they built this place round - presumably because it's marble.'

'So you're saying it's strong, is that it?'

'Oh, it's much more than strong,' said Erys. 'If you scratch away the lichen and plant growth on the outside, it hardly even looks old. For one thing, I don't think any spell or tool we've got can do the job. And for another, if by some mischance we did damage the structure, the binding magic would snap any hole shut. Rather violently.'

'Terrific,' muttered Yron. 'Welcome to your new home.' He scratched at his arms, feeling the lumps of the insect bites. He faced the mage. 'Right, I want you two to examine every parchment you find immediately each of these b.l.o.o.d.y doors opens. Finding a text on repelling insects would go down very well right now.'

Erys chuckled. 'We'll do what we can. Unfortunately, much of it's in an ancient elven dialect we can't read.'

'Well, this gets better,' said Yron dryly. 'How will you know when you've found what Dystran wants?'

'We won't,' he said. 'Not necessarily anyway, though we expect to recognise enough to help us. But we're still taking pretty much everything that's not nailed down. Just in case.'

Yron looked for a sign that Erys was joking. He plainly wasn't. The captain nodded.

'Right, I'll catch up with you later. Let me know about anything else you find.' He switched his attention outside. 'Ben! Get your a.r.s.e over here!'

'Sir!' The new lieutenant jogged up.

'Right. Here's what I want. Log every cut, blister and infected bite. List every man with the fever. Give it all to Stenys to work through. Next, I need eight of the fittest to go back to the camp and bring back enough canvas to cover this entrance and set up a stores tent. They are also to bring shovels, wood axes and picks and I want as much food as they can load onto the pack animals, a.s.suming the stupid things are still alive. They have a remarkably developed instinct for uncovering danger.

'Anyway. The camp guard and the mage are to stay there, look after the sick and the rest of the kit. If that dimwit girl can keep any of them alive, it would be a real bonus. I want the eight back here by midnight so they'd better get a move on. Meanwhile, you mark out pitching and s.h.i.+t-hole areas, organise a firewood party and set a ring of four fires around this entrance. I don't want anything unwelcome disturbing my sleep. Looks like we could be here for a while. All clear?'

Ben-Foran nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

'Good. I'll be inside exercising my rank privilege and watching you all get hot and tired. We'll all sleep in there tonight but anyone p.i.s.sing in the pool gets staked out for the jaguars. Oh, and Ben, remind the firewood party to wear gloves and be careful where they're putting their hands. If it moves when you pick it up, it isn't a stick.'

Ben-Foran grinned. 'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Now get to it. The light'll fade quickly.' Yron turned and strode back into the glorious cool of the temple. 'Dear G.o.ds, what did I do to land this dog's a.r.s.e of a command?'

Chapter 8.

Erienne felt sick. The nausea spread through her whole body and made her head swim. It knotted her stomach and quivered in her limbs. The blood was pounding in her neck so hard she thought it would burst through her skin. She reached out a pale and shaking hand towards the door handle then let it drop, having to lean on the frame to steady herself. She wasn't sure whether this was fear or hate. Probably it was a mixture of the two. And she could let them see neither.

She gathered her strength, grasped the door handle and pushed open the door, stepping inside before her mind forced her body to run.

'Erienne, how delightful to see you at last.'

And there they were, the two of them, sat in deep, fabric-upholstered chairs, their legs propped up on cus.h.i.+oned footstools. They looked frail and old and a sickness had disfigured their skin but their eyes burned bright. They should both be dead. Like her daughter. Yet here they were, greeting her like a grandchild, which to them she probably was.

'This is not a social call,' said Erienne, hardening her voice. 'I will not exchange pleasantries with those who orchestrated the murder of my daughter.'

'We grieve for your loss-' began Myriell.

'Don't you dare!' Erienne's shout caused them both to flinch. She felt tears well up but refused to let her sorrow get the better of her.

'Don't ever tell me you grieve. Dear G.o.ds drowning, but it was you who let her die. And you didn't have to.'

'We felt-'

'You didn't have to,' repeated Erienne deliberately. 'You panicked when the Dordovans attacked. I could have saved her. You should have trusted The Raven and you should have trusted me. But you didn't.'

Two seasons she had been waiting to say these words. Two seasons where bottomless grief and gut-wrenching loathing had robbed her of the strength to face them as she wanted to. The nausea eased and the nerves steadied. She felt in control of herself.

'But you would have died doing so,' said Myriell.

'To die for my daughter would have been the greatest honour of my life. I'm her mother. What the h.e.l.l else would you expect of me?'

Erienne moved further into the room. The door to the kitchen opened but her scowl sent Nerane scurrying back.