Krondor : Tear of the Gods (Riftwar Legacy Book 3)

“What is that?”

 

 

Solon whispered, “It looks like a temple, albeit more of a pit of black madness, and unless I’m mistaken these are archives.”

 

They were entering another vast chamber, full of floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with rolled parchments and ancient leather-bound tomes. Above them, a series of suspended walkways vanished into the gloom. Light from an occasional torch broke the darkness of the room, while sconces in the wall and torch-brackets on the shelves themselves remained empty. James observed, “If they used it, it would be better lit. Those torches are placed only to help people navigate through this vault.”

 

They were warned of someone’s approach by the sound of boots upon stone, and James led them away from the lights, behind some shelves. Peeking between scrolls piled upon the shelves, they saw a small company of goblins hurry by.

 

After the goblins had vanished, James said, “Well, now we know those raiders were not just coming down from the mountains.”

 

“What are goblins doing here?” asked Kendaric.

 

“Establishing a base, I’ll wager,” said Solon. “This temple is huge and must have barracks. The goblins must be there.”

 

James waited for a moment, and said, “What I don’t understand is how all the recent troubles in Krondor fit in with this, now?”

 

“Maybe they don’t,” observed Jazhara. “From what you told me, there is a connection between this Crawler and his plans to take over the underground in Krondor, and whoever is behind this attempt to steal the Tear of the Gods, but it may be they are partial allies, nothing more.”

 

James said, “I wonder if I’ll ever plumb the depths of this mystery.” He looked ahead into the gloom. “Come along,” he whispered.

 

They moved cautiously and at one point paused for James to get his bearings. Two lights showed in opposition to one another, at right angles to the path of their march, and James tried to establish his bearings, knowing that what they sought was almost certain to be in the deepest part of the temple, far below the surface of the earth and sea.

 

Jazhara read the spine of a text and whispered, “Merciful gods above!”

 

“What?” asked Solon.

 

Pointing to a tome, she said, “That text is Keshian, but ancient. If I read it correctly, this is a most powerful, black volume on necromancy.”

 

James said, “That fits with everything else we’ve seen so far.”

 

Kendaric said, “I’m just a poor wrecker. What is it about necromancy that so disturbs the rest of you priests and magicians?”

 

It was Solon who answered. “There is a basic order to the universe, and there are limits to power, or at least there should be. Those who deal in the essences of life and who flout death violate the most fundamental tenets of that order. Or are you too thick to understand that?”

 

“I was just asking,” said Kendaric, his voice approaching a whine. He touched the binding and said, “Nice cover.”

 

Jazhara said, “It’s human skin.”

 

Kendaric pulled his hand away as if he had touched a hot iron.

 

“Come on,” said James. They moved deeper into the temple.

 

 

 

 

 

Time passed and they continued to wend their way through the stone halls. Several times they paused while James scouted ahead. They heard others in the vast temple, and at times were forced to hide, but they managed to avoid contact and kept moving.

 

An hour after entering the temple, they reached a vast, long hall with a gigantic statue at the far end, a heroic figure seated upon a throne. When they reached the base of the statue, they stared up. It rose two stories into the air above them.

 

The figure was apparently human, with broad shoulders and powerful arms as it sat there in a position of repose. Sandaled feet of carved stone poked out from under the hem of a floor-length robe.

 

“Look,” said Kendaric. “Look at the face.” The entire face of the statue had been chipped away.

 

“Why has it been defaced like that?”

 

Jazhara spoke softly. “As a ward against the evil that it represents.”

 

“Who is it?” asked Kendaric. “Which god?” Solon put a hand gently upon Kendaric’s shoulder. “You will never know, and for that give thanks.” James motioned for them to continue.

 

 

 

 

 

James stopped and smelled the air. He held up his hand.

 

“What?” whispered Kendaric.

 

Solon moved forward and whispered, “Can’t you smell it?”

 

“I can smell something,” said Kendaric. “What is it?”

 

“Goblins,” said James.

 

He held up his hand to indicate that they should stay put, then he knelt and duckwalked toward an open door. He moved smoothly onto his stomach for the final four feet and wriggled forward to peer into the room.

 

Raymond E. Feist's books