The Ghost's Crusade

Chapter VII: Akkali

Completely ignoring the exchange between the two men on the ground, Akkali focused on searching for the trap door even though she knew it was only going to lead them all straight into more trouble.

Maybe I'll get lucky and the Inquisitor will get himself killed, she mused as her eyes scanned for out-of-place breaks in the dust lining the floors.

Though it was nice enough to think about, that particular outcome was not very likely, judging by what she had seen of his fighting skills. He was formidable, at least quick enough to make her think on her feet even when encumbered by the weight and reach of his armor. It was more intimidating than she thought it would be, coming across a worthy opponent. She could not put a number to the months since she had been involved in anything resembling a fair fight, mostly due to her going out of her way to ensure any fight was decisively unfair to her enemies.

Good thing he falls like an oak tree if I pull his roots out from beneath him. Clumsy bastard.

Any further thoughts vanished when she spotted the trap door cut into the floor directly in front of the fireplace. It was cleverly disguised and easily missed, but looking down from above she could see that the grain of the wood in the planks forming the door were running in the opposite direction to the rest of the flooring in the room. Whomever had placed the door closed last had set it down backwards.

She dropped down from the rafters and landed just in front of it, running her fingers along the seams in the floorboards to judge if there were any traps in place. A clever man would have placed a tripwire or a switch of some sort to greet the unwary with a facefull of fire or shrapnel, but obviously the person who had constructed it had relied heavily on their killing field not being dismantled. There was no such device, or at least not one connected to the door itself.

Still, there could be any number of surprises, the most annoying of which would be another killing field, waiting for them somewhere in the Shalewarrens below.

Drystan peered over her shoulder suspiciously. “That's it? Not even a smoking barrel like they left us in Gendelheim? I feel so... cheated.”

“What were you doing in Gendelheim?” Tiernan muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in disgust. “Never mind. I don't think I want to know what drove you into that middens heap.”

Ignoring them both, she seized the slat of wood that formed the door handle and yanked it skyward. The tunnels below exhaled a blast of moist, mold-tinged air right in her face and she recoiled with a sneeze. A chill ran down her spine and caused her to cringe slightly. The area beneath them smelled like a damp crypt and was as cold as the corpses that littered the tavern around them.

“Bless you,” murmured the tall Inquisitor out of habit, peering over her shoulder while obviously attempting to put as much armor between himself and her possible attacks. “Are we sure we want to go down there? Looks a little dark.”

The feral voice at the back of her mind started nagging at her again, telling her that dim, damp places were no good for Enkiri to be—predators lurked there, waiting for the weak and unwary. As she had so many times before, she forcibly ignored it and made herself focus on what was going on right in front of her own two eyes.

Like hell she was anyone's prey.

Bracing her hands on either side of the doorway she dropped down into the darkness. It was not as far as she had expected, and she landed on a pile of rags and used flour sacks which exhaled even more dusty air as she planted her feet in the center of the stack and broke her fall. Someone used the entrance often enough to make preparations for a soft landing—so they most likely had a lantern or torch hidden nearby as well. She sought it out quickly, catching the metal cage glinting dully off the candlelight seeping in from the shaft overhead, and turned up the wick so it flooded the area with an amber-orange glow.