A whisper of air brushed against his face. Something hulking loomed. His mouth was dry with terror. His legs could not move. What had he done? They had trusted him and now he had led them to their death. The Fear Liath had slain all of Kiranrao’s men. Somehow the Romani leader had survived. Annon’s knees strained with pain as they shook. They were going to die. They were going to be brutally murdered, their blood soaking the stones of the cave.
No! he screamed at himself. He tried to muster the words that summoned fire and could not remember them. His memory was blank. But how could that be? He had the Dryad’s kiss. He should be able to remember everything. Confusion warped his sense of space.
“Annon?” Khiara whispered, her voice choked with fear.
“Forward,” he said huskily. He pulled on Erasmus’s arm but he did not move. He pulled harder. “Come.”
A breath of wind came from his left. The darkness was consuming him. He wanted to tear his hand free and run. His breath came in ragged gasps.
“Forward!” Annon said again, pulling. Erasmus balked. Annon’s arms shook. He could see nothing. White motes began to flicker in his blank vision. His eyes were starved for colors. He felt Erasmus sinking behind him, heard him gibber with fear.
He pulled tenaciously on Erasmus’s hand, bringing him back to his feet. When he had faced the waterfall of the Fear Liath before, movement had helped break the grip of the creature’s magic. Perhaps it was sleeping? Annon pulled again and forced Erasmus to follow. He took another step. Then another. The blackness engulfed him on all sides, numbing his mind. Which way should they walk? Which way lay the beast?
Sweat stung Annon’s eyes. He tugged on his limp cargo again, drawing Erasmus and Khiara on. Suddenly, in the darkness ahead, two specks began to glow, as if a demon had suddenly awakened. The specks enlarged, revealing two molten eyes. The presence of shadow and night intensified, hurling at Annon with dread. The eyes bored into his. He froze in his tracks, watching the eyes, waiting for a snarl to follow. They had awakened the Fear Liath. He held his breath.
Nothing happened. He stared at the creature, waiting for a snort of breath to precede the claws.
Light.
It took several long moments to realize that he could see. The Fear Liath’s glowing eyes could be seen. Did it mean that the darkness could be dispelled?
“There it is!” Erasmus whispered in a choking voice. “Ahead! See it?”
Annon shook his hand loose of Erasmus’s. Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas.
His hands glowed blue, breaking the iron grip of the darkness. The light began to expand as he summoned the licking flames to his palms. The darkness cringed and darted away, revealing a massive stone boulder ahead. Carved into the front of the boulder was the face of some creature, huge blackened face and narrow-slit eyes that burned with heat and malevolence.
The truth caused a gasp of relief. There was no Fear Liath, only its image. A coal-black smudge carved into a boulder. Somehow it channeled the creature’s power. Yet it was a deception after all. Annon strode forward, examining the rough basalt surface. It was taller than a man, oddly lumped and misshapen. Only the creature’s face had been blasted into the rock—and its eyes. The terror was passing. Annon turned and saw his friends, staring at him in dismay and shock. He motioned for them to advance. Slowly, hesitantly, they did. Courage began to replace fear. Nizeera was prowling low, chin barely brushing the surface of the ground as she came, ears flat, fur bristling.
Annon touched the basalt and it responded to the fireblood. A glowing aura shimmered where his hand touched. The light from the eyes winked out.
Glancing around the room, Annon saw another archway on the far end of the cave. Finding it in the dark would have been tedious.
“Come,” Annon bid them, walking confidently toward the next trap the Arch-Rike had created for them.
The tunnels twisted endlessly, branching off like a maze that befuddled even Erasmus. Fortunately, Nizeera was with them. As they approached a cavern that branched different ways and they were unsure which path to take, Nizeera came forward and tested the air, breathing in the scent. Always one path had a more human smell than the others and her senses brought them that way easily. Each room and chamber brought an increase in confidence from the perils they had faced. But time was running short and they knew they needed to hurry. Lukias would revive and start wriggling free from his bonds. Once he succeeded, he would open the doors and the Rikes would enter. They certainly had the means to bypass the traps, and so each delay caused the worry to gnaw deeper inside Annon.
He was not sure how deep they were beneath the mountain, but the trail led them eventually to another bronze-shod door. It had a rounded top fixed beneath another archway. The columns on each side were flat with rectangular reliefs carved into them, around six panels high. Chiseled into the stone above the door was the single word: Calcatrix.
Annon stared at the word, for it was not familiar. “Is it Vaettir?” he asked Khiara.
She nodded. “It means ‘trackers.’ Someone who hunts.”
He was grateful she was there. “Thank you. Let us see what danger awaits us then.”