Page 194 of Eldritch
Corwin lowered his gaze again as they approached the tomb, toward where the trail of gore was still apparent. “Wow, whatever it was lost quite a bit of blood.” Again, he sent a quick glance over his shoulder, before turning back toward the iron doors ahead.
His paces slowed, head slightly tipped.
He ground to a stop just short of the door and ran his finger over the soldered seam. “This was…your doing?”
Zevander strode up alongside him, and the other man flinched. “Allow me to be very clear. You speak a word of this to anyone, and I will watch you burn from the inside out.”
Corwin swallowed a gulp and lowered his hand away from the door. “Never cared for them, anyway. A whole village of child-starving bigots.” Without another word, he strode down the adjacent corridor.
Sensing movement on the other side of the door, Zevander held his torch above the crack near the floor, where a shadow flickered beneath. A faint tapping told him one of the villagers was still alive. Ignoring it, Zevander stalked after Corwin.
The end of the corridor widened at a set of wooden doors that Corwin pushed through into a vast room. Twice the size of the tomb, it was filled with stalls. An overwhelming odor of hay and shavings, beneath a slight acrid odor of ammonia, burned Zevander’s nose as he followed Corwin inside.
Puffs of white mist blew from Corwin’s mouth, and he shivered. “Always freezing on the north side of the temple.” He sailed a smile back at Zevander. “Unless that’s just you.” The smile on his face withered beneath Zevander’s apathy, and he twisted back around.
The horses paced, whinnied, and flared their nostrils, as if nervous.
“Only four left. Good God, they must’ve slaughtered the others for meat.” Corwin rushed to calm two of them, while Zevander strode toward the opposite stalls, eyeing a black gelding who paced less than the others. One that reminded him of Obsidyen back home. As he approached, Zevander could hear a sound like bone scraping on bone, and realized the horse ground its teeth, its ears pinned back.
Zevander reached out a hand, and the horse whinnied, side-stepping his reach.
“Oh, that’s Vane. The gelding who thinks he’s a stallion around the mares. Likes to bite, the moody beast. Always thought he had a little demon in him.”
“Hey, now,shhhhh.” Zevander reached out again, allowing the horse to sniff his hand, and again, the stubborn beast recoiled. As the animal turned away, Zevander ran his palm gently down the horse’s neck, then paused, sending out a warm vibration of heat.
The grinding in its jaw stopped, its ears perked up, and Zevander smirked. “That’s it.”
“Of course he likes you. Well, then, it’s settled. Vane is yours. We’ll get them tacked up.” He pointed at a doorway at the opposite end of the stall. “That’s a tunnel that leads out of the temple. Goes beneath the wall that surrounds Foxglove, so no need to fiddle with the gate. Was supposed to be an escape route for the clergy in the event of siege.”
“You’re full of useless information, aren’t you?”
Vane let out a slight whicker as Zevander brushed his hand down its forehead to its muzzle.
“I find it fascinating, actually.”
“Of course you do.”
Corwin fished out some straw from a net hanging just outside the stall and fed it to the horse he petted. “The, um…dragon bird outside. Is it safe? Or should we just remain here until civilization rebuilds itself and avoid the possibility of dying?”
“You’re not required to go. In fact, I recommend you stay.”
“I’d prefer to follow the group. I just thought the group might be inclined to not leave the highly secured temple.”
“Highly secured?” Zevander snorted at that. “Two young women managed to gain entry without breaking much of a sweat.”
“I see.” Corwin’s brows lowered. “I just assumed you blew the doors off. Okay, then. Onward.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
MAEVYTH
Zevander’s arm banded tightly around my midsection, his other hand relaxed on the reins, as the horse we rode trotted along the misty path. Despite the wintry chill in the air, my cloak had become too warm, the heat of his body leaching through the fabric at my back. High above us, Raivox disappeared into the clouds, only a faint silhouette visible, as he soared overhead.
It’d been years since I’d last traveled beyond the walls of Foxglove. Grandfather Bronwick had occasionally taken us to neighboring villages, peddling his wine, but outside of those few small excursions, I’d never left the village where I’d grown up.
The misty Hadrona River dragged itself at a snail’s pace alongside us, its steam pockets, scattered along the notoriously black banks, expelling white clouds that settled over the ground and melted the frost covering the other side of the path. Hooves clopping through the mud, the horses seemed unbothered by the hissing, each time the river belched its horrific sulfur odor.
“It’s believed that drinking the water of the Hadrona causes madness,” Corwin said from behind, as he rode his own horse,guiding one of the more nervous horses behind him. “There’s apparently a parasite in there that’s known to infect the brain.”
