The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(87)
Ignatius licked Seraph’s face in sympathy, eliciting another groan.
‘Screw it.’ Verity flared a wyrdlight into existence. ‘If there are demons guarding this place, they’re going to hear us, light or no light. At least this way we can see them coming.’
More wyrdlights erupted, until the walls were lit with ethereal blue light. As the gloom rushed away, Fletcher saw that Seraph had walked into the wall at the end of the corridor. Two identical paths diverged on either side, narrower and more dusty.
‘We need to split up,’ Malik stated, sending a pair of wyrdlights down both passageways. The path curved back towards the centre of the pyramid, out of sight.
‘Verity, Mason and I shall go to the left with you, Fletcher,’ Malik murmured, stepping into the east corridor. ‘Penelope and Rufus, go with Seraph’s team on the right.’
‘Who said you make the rules?’ Atilla growled, throwing his arm around Othello’s shoulders. ‘I’d rather stick together.’
‘Realistically, we’re not going to find a hiding place for all of us in one spot,’ Malik replied, raising his palms in peace. ‘Splitting up is inevitable.’
‘Malik’s right,’ Fletcher said. ‘The map says there’s a passage to the caves somewhere in here – right, Mason? Do you know where?’
‘It’s just what I ’eard,’ Mason said, scratching his head. ‘Never been allowed in ’ere, just the caves. Only ever seen a passage from the caves to the pyramid, but dunno where it comes out.’
‘We have a better chance of finding it if we spread out,’ Seraph said, propelling Atilla down the passage on the right. ‘Remember, the pyramid isn’t the target. The caves beneath it are.’
‘We’ll see you on the other side,’ Genevieve said, tossing Azura into the air to scout ahead. ‘Come on, Rory.’
Sacharissa whined and nudged Fletcher’s arm, forced to go with Seraph’s group. ‘We made it, Arcturus,’ Fletcher whispered. The Canid gave Fletcher a playful headbutt to the chest, then pattered after her team.
Rufus paused beside Fletcher as he followed Penelope down the other passageway.
‘Fletcher,’ the noble said, gripping Fletcher’s wrist. ‘If you reach the caves before us, save my mother first. Please.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Fletcher replied, though he avoided Rufus’s eyes. His heart went out to Lady Cavendish, but in Fletcher’s mind the goblin eggs were the real threat. Every one destroyed was one fewer goblin sent against Hominum.
‘Thank you,’ Rufus whispered. ‘I would be forever in your debt.’
Then he was gone, jogging after the others.
Just as he began to move, Fletcher was slammed against the wall. Caliban had barged him aside, stooping so that his horns didn’t scrape the ceiling.
‘Looks like Rook isn’t missing you.’ Othello winked, following.
The next passageway was as long as the last corridor had been, but it ended far less abruptly. After a few minutes of walking, the passage opened up, revealing an antechamber as large as the summoning room at Vocans.
Stranger still, the place was full of sacks, some of which had burst, scattering freshly picked yellow flower petals haphazardly throughout the room. The petals lay upon a thick layer of dust which coated the floor of the room, disturbed only around the edges, where whoever had brought the sacks had walked by.
‘What is this place?’ Othello asked. The dwarf sent wyrdlights skimming around the room, darting into the corners until the entire chamber was lit. They revealed hieroglyphs and etched scenes on the walls, all of which were painted in fading dyes.
‘Can you read these?’ Fletcher asked Jeffrey, who was already busy copying them into his notebook.
‘No,’ he murmured, his fingers tracing along the symbols. ‘I don’t think even the orcs could. This is ancient stuff here. A culture predating theirs by millennia.’
‘You’re saying orcs didn’t build this place?’ Verity said, not looking up from her tablet.
‘I have no idea,’ Jeffrey said, his pencil scribbling back and forth across the pages. ‘There are pictures of orcs on the walls, so I would think they did. But these hieroglyphs are in an entirely different language. Whichever civilisation built this place, they died out a long time ago. That would explain the difference in size and architecture of the ziggurats that surround the pyramid. No wonder it’s so important to the orcs, I bet they think this place was built by their ancestor-gods.’
Fletcher examined the hieroglyphs closest to him. The symbols depicted the jungle’s animals and plants, a sort of alphabet based on the natural world. They bore no resemblance to the orc runes that he had seen on Ignatius’s summoning scroll, which were formed from jagged lines and dots.
It was impossible to decipher their meaning, so he turned his attention to the sacks of petals by his feet. After Jeffrey’s warnings of the jungle plants he avoided touching them, but a deep sniff revealed them to smell similar to tobacco, with an alcoholic tinge. What the petals of a plant like that were doing within the pyramid was a mystery.
‘Guys, I think you need to take a look at this,’ Verity said, looking up from her scrying stone with wide eyes. ‘They’ve reached the pyramid.’
So they had. The tablet showed the skull-shaped palanquin being lowered, the rhinos kneeling before the great stairs. Fletcher also noticed drums had begun to beat again – even this deep into the pyramid the dull thump could be heard, as if the ancient building had a pulse of its own.