He was grateful she was there. “Thank you. Let us see what danger awaits us then.”
Erasmus studied the panels by the archway, running his fingers along the edge. “There are no hinges. The door swings inward.”
“Any locks?” Annon asked.
“None that I can see. We push it, by the look of it.”
Annon took a deep breath, mopping his sweaty face on his sleeve. “Nizeera, any sound of pursuit?”
The cat went back down the tunnel, ears pointed and still. Nothing.
Annon approached the door to shove it open, but Erasmus caught him. “Better not to be standing in the way when it opens. We should open it from the edge where the hinges likely are. Could be rigged with darts or bolts. You never know.”
“Good thinking,” Annon said. They separated, Annon and Nizeera on one side, Khiara and Erasmus on the other.
Together, they pushed on the edge of the door. It swung open with little effort, the hinges oiled and soundless. As the door opened, the room beyond was suddenly lit by smokeless glass stands, the same as the kind used in Kenatos to light the streets at night. The stands were taller than a man, and the cavern beyond broad and wide. There were enough poles to illuminate the entire chamber, revealing its vastness as well as stalactites and stalagmites, protruding from the ceiling and floor, interspersed through the room. There were statues throughout as well, stone carvings of men and women in various poses and positions. In the vastness of the high ceiling, they could hear the flapping and fluttering of wings. Annon supposed they were bats. Pockmarks and crevices showed various entrances and exits in the room. It would take some time to search them all.
Not bats, Nizeera thought. I sense beings here. Spirit beings.
It is the lights, Annon thought in return. There are spirits trapped in them. It is the same in Kenatos.
They entered the high chamber, walking amidst the interesting columns of light as well as the jutting crags of rock. With the interspersed obstructions, it made it difficult to see the walls. Annon was wary and walked cautiously as a result, studying the floor, the light columns, glancing up at the pockmarked ceiling. The sound of fluttering wings whispered through the room.
Nizeera prowled again, tail lashing in vexation. Erasmus glanced from side to side, trying to take in the scene. Khiara walked last.
Suddenly the flapping of wings sounded from behind, swooping down on them. Khiara gave a cry of warning and spun around, swinging her long staff from one side and struck something heavily plumed and solid, sending it careening into one of the stone sculptures nearby. The creature hissed in pain and aggravation, a mass of scales and wings and—
“Don’t look at it!” Erasmus roared.
Annon glanced at the Preachán, his eyes wide with terror. Erasmus stared away, looking at the ground. “The statues! They aren’t carvings. They are people, turned to stone. These creatures have magic that will turn us to stone! Out! We must get out!”
The flapping of wings sounded like an avalanche from above. From his side vision, Annon saw dozens of the plumed avian creatures dropping down from the pockmarked ceilings, rushing down at them in a frenzy. He shut his eyes, his heart quailing in panic, and the creatures attacked him savagely. He held up his arms to ward off the attack and felt talons ripping at his skin, beaks snapping into his flesh, shredding his robes. One landed on his back, gashing the back of his head with its hooked beak. Cries of pain from the others erupted all around.
Annon’s emotions went wild with desperation. He summoned the fireblood, spraying the flames everywhere above him, and the bird-creatures squawked in pain and rage. Some flopped to the ground, their bodies burned and smoking. Annon tried to get clear and ran into a statue, striking sparks in his eyes. He reached back and grabbed the plumage of the bird creature on his back and hurled it away.
Erasmus and Khiara cried out in pain as they fought back the savage things clawing and pecking at them. Look at us! the creatures seemed to be saying. Look!
It took all of Annon’s mental will not to open his eyes. He heard the sound of wings and dropped low. Nizeera screamed in fury, swatting at the ones assailing her. Annon felt the rake of the talons again, this time on his back. He flipped around, wind-milling his arms to dislodge them. Blood oozed from the razor wounds in his skin. Pain lanced throughout his body. The cuts stung tremendously and he realized with dread that the room was full of their victims, all in poses of warding and defense.
Fury engulfed him and he sent another sheet of fire blazing into the ranks of the creatures, reducing them to ash in a sweep of his arms. What were these creatures? He struggled to search his memory for any Druidecht lore that would help. Calcatrix. A Vaettir word. Was there another word, in another language then? His memory, sharp as a knife’s blade, remembered. His Druidecht studies referred to these creatures with a warning—for out of the serpent’s root shall come forth a Cockatrice, and his fruit shall be a fiery flying serpent.