‘Here they come,’ Mason uttered.
A great litter was carried aloft by a herd of rhinos, their great heads tossing as they strained under the weight. It was like a carriage without wheels, and had been carved to look like an enormous orc skull. The outside was painted gold so that it shone fiercely beneath the blazing sun. It stood nearly as tall as the monolith Ebony was perched on, but it was impossible to see anything more than darkness from within.
An escort of orcs surrounded it, larger specimens than any Fletcher had seen before. Their skin was splashed with red war-paint, coupled with stripes of yellow along their chests and faces. Each was armed with a macana and wore a quiver of javelins on their backs. Jade stone-plating covered their chests, elbows and knees, ceremonial armour that shone bright green in the sunlight.
‘They must be the albino orc’s bodyguards,’ Fletcher whispered. ‘He has to be inside that carriage.’
‘If Lovett sent Lysander to take him out …’ Cress said, gripping Fletcher’s arm.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Mason muttered. ‘If the legions of orcs around us won’t put you off, look behind ’em.’
There was another group of orcs at the rearguard of the parade, wearing enormous headdresses of gaudy feathers. They were clad in nothing but bone jewellery, just a belt of human skulls protecting their modesty. Most had ritualistic scarification on their bodies and face, while others had thick plugs through their noses and ears. Despite their fearsome appearance, it was not this that marked them out from the rest.
‘They’re shamans,’ Sylva breathed.
Demons walked beside the orcs, monstrous creatures of every kind. Some Fletcher had no trouble recognising: Felids, Lycans and even a Minotaur. But others he only knew from his lessons at Vocans or the illustrations in Baker’s journal.
The two Nanaues were the most fearsome. Like Felids, they shambled along with the posture of a jungle ape, but that was where the similarity ended. Their species were as close to sharks as Minotaurs were to bulls, with great gaping mouths filled with razor teeth, a large fin cresting each of their spines and swishing, rudder-like tails.
‘Level nine,’ Jeffrey whispered, his finger brushing along their outline. ‘I wouldn’t mind dissecting one of those.’
Three Onis lumbered beside the shamans, matching them in size and form. Fletcher might have confused them with orcs, were it not for the giant horns erupting from their foreheads and their hunched-over gait. Their skin was a stark crimson red, and they snapped bestially at the crowds, with overdeveloped fangs. Though they looked humanoid, Fletcher knew them to be less intelligent than an average Mite.
The largest of all was a Phantaur, an enormous, two-legged elephant standing at nine feet tall, with great flapping ears, a grasping trunk and serrated tusks as long as its heavily muscled arms. Smaller demons scampered and buzzed around its feet, but the distance was too great to identify them.
‘Nobody has ever captured a Phantaur before to know what level they are, but I reckon that big bugger must be a level twenty at least,’ Jeffrey theorised.
‘So much for orc demons being weaker.’ Rory shuddered, holding Malachi close so that the Mite could see. ‘They must keep their strong demons back, only send their low-level specimens against us. Just think, half of Hominum is watching this. No one’s going to volunteer for the military after seeing them!’
‘Speakin’ of, we need to get the ’ell outta here, before they come in,’ Mason hissed, crawling to the doorway and poking his head outside. ‘The coast’s clear, for now.’
‘Move Ebony further back before she’s recognised by a shaman,’ Malik ordered Verity, grabbing his pack. ‘We must find somewhere to hide, deeper in the pyramid. The jungles aren’t safe and neither is this room.’
‘Agreed,’ Fletcher said, prodding Othello and Atilla awake. ‘But leave Ebony outside. We need eyes on what’s happening.’
Othello stretched and yawned, then froze as he caught sight of Verity’s tablet, the parade emblazoned across its front.
‘What did I miss?’ he groaned.
39
They descended into the gloom as soon as they were packed, their footsteps echoing softly around them. The slim rectangle of light from the back entrance shrunk as they walked deeper into the bowels of the pyramid, until it was little more than a glimmer of light. Ignatius and Tosk led the way, while Athena rode on Fletcher’s shoulders, giving him the sight he needed through the darkness. Meanwhile, Caliban, Lysander and Sacharissa followed at the rear, watching the back entrance for movement.
There was a thud and a groan from ahead.
‘Ow,’ Seraph said, and Fletcher could see he had collapsed on the ground in front of him. ‘There’s a wall here.’