The Watcher's Stone

Chapter 12: Temple of Hatmehyt/Catacombs of the Fathers

Lara looked towards the small plot of land surrounded by farms. A boarded up entrance was sandwiched between two crumbled pylons overgrown with vines and vegetation, backed by a small growth of palm trees and brush. Signage over the boards forbade trespassing and warned of the dangers of unstable structures within. The silt had been cleared out, revealing small steps leading down to the sealed entrance. This had to be the unfinished excavation of Hatmehyt's dedicated temple.

Parking the jeep, she climbed out and trudged over to the entrance below ground level. She briefly examined the sign which was written in Arabic and beneath, English, before she kicked in the boards sealing the entrance.

She pulled at the few pieces sticking in their way and proceeded through, raising her flashlight to eye level.

The front area, what once used to be a courtyard and was buried beneath sand, was now mostly excavated from back when the dig still had funding. Flimsy work lights on stands had been erected and abandoned, no longer hooked up to electricity. The walls were decorated with hieroglyphs, reliefs, and paintings of scenes, all carefully brushed free of dirt. Lara continued on to the hypostyle hall with its columns of support pillars in rows. Here were the first branching rooms – a mamisi and a small chapel dedicated to Horus-the-child, who with Banebdjedet and Hatmehyt made up the 'Mendesian Triad'.

The entryway to the offering room was above the floor below, meaning she would have to jump down. The height wasn't so great she'd injure herself, but Lara judged the distance and wasn't sure she'd be able to exit the same way, at least not on her own. If Kurtis had joined her, he'd be able to boost her jump.

Maybe you shouldn't have suggested you split up if you wanted him here, she lectured herself. But she was glad to be on her own again. Though she had been enjoying Kurtis' companionship, ultimately she preferred working alone. They'd be able to cover more ground in less time this way as well, and it wasn't as though Kurtis was still recovering from his fight with Boaz and needed her help.

She dropped down into the offering room and came upon a statue puzzle like the one in Banebdjedet's temple. After solving it, the door swung upon with a loud creak from disuse and sand and dust sprinkled down over her. Lara covered her head and coughed.

A sound came from behind her and she drew her pistols, aiming behind her. But she saw nothing. A chill swept over her from the opened door. The darkness within seemed to beckon her, at once both welcoming and insidious.

She could die in there. She could die anywhere. A fact she had nearly forgotten until two years ago.

Shivers wracked up and down her spine as she stepped past the threshold, one pistol raised as her other hand flicked on her flashlight. Her heart pounded, a cold sweat beaded at her forehead, and she smiled. She felt alive.

Kurtis broke the surface of the chilly water, the light strapped around his head revealing the wet cavern hidden within the air pocket. Pulling himself atop the rocks, he took the regulator out of his mouth to test the air. It seemed OK, and a reading on his air quality monitor let him know there was adequate oxygen and no excess pollutants.

With that he left his air tank near the water and kicked off his flippers, leaving himself only in a black wetsuit. Attached around his waist was a water-proof utility belt and he readjusted the empty sword scabbard to lay against his back. Water dripped down his face from his soaked hair and he padded barefoot through the small, narrow cave, careful to avoid jagged or sharp rocks.

He left his Boran X behind as he hadn't the time to arrange its shipment on such short notice, but he brought his Chirugai with him on the plane. The likelihood of something attacking him here was low but not zero. And there was the fact that all the spelunking through secret, hidden tombs and temples with Lara taught him that these places were often hostile to intruders. This might be his ancestors' resting place, but that didn't mean he was welcome to disturb it.

As he trod through the cave, the rocks beneath his feet became dry and the faint psychic energy he felt at the entrance gradually increased in strength, and with it, a horrible sense of foreboding. Despite the wet chill, he broke out into a sweat, his limbs trembling with the sudden onset of terror. It was not from within though; it clung to him like thin plastic wrap, and as he trudged forward and ignored the feelings, he felt them waver and dissipate. He was certain he was on the right track and getting closer, or the demon wouldn't be trying so hard to make him turn back. To distract himself from the flickers of false emotions, he wondered what Lara would think of this. He would have liked to see her in a wetsuit.

He continued on until the cave dropped down into inky water. This is no good. The foreboding returned, and this time he wasn't entirely sure it was from the demon. Steeling himself, he hopped down into the water, gritting his teeth at the chill that began to seep into him. The water came up to his collarbone and there was about a foot of air between his head and the ceiling of the cave. Maybe leaving his air tank and flippers behind had been a dumb move. What if the catacombs were inaccessible, or submerged? What if he died down here in a fool's errand?

Ascalon is probably not even down here, and the catacombs are flooded. The thoughts came to him. Lara will never know what happened to you, and you will be leaving her to fight the Nephilim all by herself. She can't possibly survive without you.

Kurtis furrowed his brows. She's survived all this time without him…

He realized the thoughts were not his own, and gritting his teeth, he adjusted his headlamp, determined to proceed in one way or another. Kurtis considered his options. He could turn back for his supplies, or he could keep going and see whether he needed them or not. But he wasn't leaving this cave until he had St. George's sword in his hands. Not only was he sure he was on the right track, but he was sure the sword would be able to destroy the Watcher's Stone.

Smoke wisps trailed upward from the barrels of Lara's twin pistols. The mummy she shot fell over, its gurgling moans silenced for a few moments. Holstering her pistols and retrieving the fish idol from her backpack, she placed it within its holder, and the door to the naos opened. Lara stepped inside.

The room was not overly large. Cobwebs strung from corner to corner, and dust hung in the air so thick the beam of her flashlight bounced off them, obscuring what was ahead. The air felt slightly damp and stale, and she licked her lips wishing for a breeze.

A tall statue of Hatmehyt sitting on a throne was erected in the center of the room, and on her head a fish crown. Lara walked around the statue to the back. Inscribed were instructions on how to use the Djed Pillar, and beside the inscription was a small notch. The Djed Pillar – a pillar with four horizontal bars across the top – was nestled inside the notch. Representing stability and the enduring presence of the gods, this Djed pillar was colored light blue with a Bennu bird in flight etched on its stem. This matched the description Jean gave of the pillar. Lara read the inscription and then stashed the artifact.

Then the floor beneath her fell down, and her with it.

She landed a few meters down, splashing in chest-high water, surrounded by darkness as her flashlight slipped out of her grasp and sank to the bottom of the pool. She could see its murky, dimmed light beam.

Lara glanced up. The trap hatch had already re-closed. She could tell it was too high up to reach and she wouldn't be able to get enough height with jumping, not bogged down by all this water.

Sucking in a breath, she dove beneath the surface of the brisk water, hand reaching for her flashlight. Once she reemerged, she scanned its light around, taking in her surroundings.

It was difficult to tell from the narrow cone of light alone, but she thought she must be in a cistern. Columns were erected perfectly spaced apart, connected by arches, and the ceiling – minus the hatch she dropped through – was concave. All of the stones used to construct the cistern, despite being clearly from the Greek Ptolemaic period, were in good shape. Lara made a mental note to tell Jean about this place so he could 'discover' it at a later date.

Just then she felt something ram into her legs. Knocked off her feet, her head almost went beneath the water as something swept her away. Grabbing a nearby column, Lara wrapped her arms and legs around it and shimmied upwards until she was no longer in the water. She held her flashlight out to find what tried to drag her under but the water was too murky.

Lara calmly hooked her flashlight to her belt and reached into her backpack, taking out several flares. She lit and threw each in turn in separate directions, illuminating the cloudy water around her. Just as she created enough light so she could see her surroundings, a large fish-shaped figure swam towards her. Lara pulled one of her pistols from its holster, still holding onto the column with both legs and now only one arm.

The surface broke, water separating around the vicious mouth of a fish, water droplets clinging to its sharp razor-like teeth. It was huge, two times the size of her and apparently with just as much appetite. Its mouth came towards her leg.

Lara shot at it until it went back under the water and swam away.

What was that? An embodiment of Hatmehyt? Or perhaps her pet fish?

It didn't matter what it was when it was trying to eat her.

She swiveled her head around the column, trying to track its movements, but the water was too opaque with sediment. She shimmied upwards a little more, leaving about a meter gap between her feet and the water. She holstered her pistol and switched hands to give her arm a break, and just as she situated herself again, she heard the water behind her break.

Lara glanced back to see a set of serrated teeth launching towards her. She arched away and brought her pistol down on the fish's head, hard. It flopped down into the water and before it could swim away again, Lara dropped onto it.

She hooked her free hand into the gills of the amphibious creature, clenched her thighs around its slippery scaly body. It thrashed and wiggled in an attempt to dislodge her, but Lara held fast, gritting her teeth.

The fish went under. Lara closed her mouth and held her breath, keeping her pistol raised above the water as the monster took off at a brisk swim, winding around the columns. Here I go putting it in a rage…

Just as she was starting to wonder if its aim was to drown her, it broke the surface of the water again, leaping into the air. Lara gasped and aimed the gun right at the back of its head and pulled the trigger.

Blam! Blam, blam! Red spurted everywhere. The fish flopped back into the water, wiggling and thrashing weakly. Lara adjusted her aim and fired again and again, until it moved no more and she sat in a pool of red.

Slipping her hand out of the dead fish's gill, she stood in the water on her own two feet again. Without the monster attacking her, she unhooked her flashlight from her belt and took the time to look around. At the far corner of the cistern small slivers of light shone down onto some stone steps. A way out?

The steps led to a grated hatch in the ceiling. Vegetation had grown over most of it and hung down from the gaps. She pushed then tugged on it until it came loose with a harsh creak, swinging down. Silty dirt sprinkled down on her head. Hoisting herself out, she found herself on the outskirts of a cotton field a little ways from the temple entrance.

She checked her backpack once more, looking down at the Watcher's Stone and the Bennu-Djed pillar nestled within. She considered what her next move should be. She agreed to meet Kurtis in Alexandria after she acquired the pillar, but she was not far from the Temple of Banebdjedet. If she went back there now, she could find the ritual room and use the pillar.

Would it even work? And if it did – which she was going to assume was the case when it came to Egyptian artifacts – was it a good idea? What if Banebdjedet was none too happy about being summoned, or about her being in possession of the Watcher's Stone?

Lara shook her head to herself and slung her backpack on again, making her way to the jeep. Alexandria was a few hours drive from here and their hotel room was still reserved; she'd tackle the issue in the morning after a good night's rest. Plus, she thought with a whisper of anticipation, Kurtis himself would be returning soon.

His lungs burned, ready to burst, as he broke through the surface of the water. Gasping for breath, Kurtis looked around himself. The light beam from his headlamp shone off the wet rocks. Behind him: the underwater tapered tunnel he just swam through, the path almost completely caved in. Beyond him: an open cavern. Several meters ahead of him was illuminated, but he could make out nothing but more dark water and rocks. He hoped the last of the cave diving was over – when it came to risky endeavors, it was enough to get even his heart pounding.

Kurtis swam forward and kept close to one wall as he went. After a couple minutes he could touch the bottom with his feet, and the floor gradually rose, bringing him out of the water completely. And good thing, too, as he was beginning to tire of shivering from the chill water. He trekked up onto the dry rock, leaving slick footprints in his wake, and soon came upon an unlit torch inside its bracket attached to the side of the cave wall.

Could I be there already? he wondered. After the quick Latin incantation, the torch – and all the others nearby – lit with fire at once. He turned off his headlamp.

The room revealed to him was nothing to write home about. It was an entrance of sorts, like a foyer, he deduced. The focal point was the grand double doors with large torches on either side the length of Kurtis himself. Their fire was impressive. He almost got the impression the doors and torches were fit for giants, but that didn't make any sense. The Nephilim wouldn't have known of this place. But it was curious. He wondered what Lara would make of it.

He approached the doors and pushed on them. Naturally they did not move. He tried again, applying psychic energy to amplify his force, but the doors only moved a centimeter before clicking back into place. Glancing around, it was then he noticed something on the wall to the right of the doors, sandwiched between the door frame and the huge torch.

The door required a passcode. Four slots with a rotating mechanism to bring four Roman numerals into place with a small lever beneath each slot.

I guess this is one way to try to keep old tomb robbers out, he thought dismally, looking around. Perhaps there were clues hidden about the cavern, because he had no idea what the four numbers could be. Lara could probably figure it out, or find another way in. There isn't a tomb that could keep her out, he thought with a wistful sigh, she should really be here. He wondered why she hadn't wanted to come along.

"Don't do anything rash, Lara," he murmured quietly to himself, thinking back to the Strahov complex when she turned off the power. He had an inkling nagging at the back of his head that she might try to summon Banebdjedet without him. Her manner didn't exactly scream 'team player'.

After checking the walls and corners of the cavern he came back defeated. So he was just supposed to know what the number is? Would it have been written down somewhere, and if so, where? It didn't matter – he didn't have time to go back to some buried archive in search of it. He'd just have to guess.

Cycling through the numerals of the first slot from the left, he discovered each 'slot' could actually represent more than one symbol. For the first slot there was only a few options. M, MM, and MMM. So it could only be a number from 1,000 to 3,000. His first thought was that it was a year. If it was four numbers, then the first number would likely be 1. He pulled the lever to land on M. Right away the number depressed into the wall. Off to a good start. So now only three left to guess.

If it represented a year, then what year would be important enough to immortalize as a puzzle for Lux Veritatis catacombs? These were the tombs of the founding members, the original eight knights and their families. Maybe the year the Lux Veritatis was founded? 11… 70-something?

"Should've paid better attention in school," he muttered to himself. Well, he was certain the next number was another 'one' if that was the case, or in Roman numerals, 100. Pulling the lever until it landed on C, it once more slid back into place beside the M.

"That's gotta be it."

He went to the third slot and hesitated. It had many more options to choose from than multiples of M and C. He put in LXX. It slid into place.

"Now what's the last one…" he muttered. "1172?"

He put II. It did not slide back to join the others. "OK, wrong year. Hope they didn't limit the number of guesses." He pulled the lever, pausing between each number as it increased, until he reached VI and it slid back. 1176, the year the Lux Veritatis was founded.

The double doors rumbled as the medieval mechanism which opened it began to work, a loud grating noise echoing through the cavern. The doors popped back an inch, and then slowly began to swing backwards. To be safe, Kurtis readied his Chirugai. A gust of stale, musty air hit his face. Cautiously he crept past the threshold, drawn inexplicably by the psychic energy permeating the room.

The mobile phone rang several times before switching to the automated voicemail message. Lara ended the call and snapped her burner phone shut, carelessly tossing it onto the nightstand of the hotel room. Kurtis was likely underground and didn't have cell service. He would call back once he resurfaced and saw he missed her call. Lara was not worried.

But she was bored. She wasn't used to waiting on someone else, and she hated downtime when she was in the middle of pursuing a goal. Flopping back onto the bed, she sighed and decided what to do with the time.

Brainstorm more possible ways to destroy the Nephilim? The library books were still all here stacked on the desk…

She thought of her tribe. She wondered what Putai would think of Kurtis. She wondered what Winston would say if she ever brought him home to England. Well, she was getting ahead of herself. She thought of him as a friend, but he probably just wanted sex. Though she felt she was becoming more used to his personality, but she still struggled to read him. He knew how to keep his thoughts and feelings locked up tighter than a high-security prison when he wanted to. As much as she wanted to fully trust him, she had her reservations about the Stone. Until it was destroyed, she couldn't help feeling a little on edge around him. What if he was playing on her attraction, on her growing affection for him so she would let her guard down and he could steal the Watcher's Stone?

But still, a little daydreaming never hurt anyone.

Hackles raised, Kurtis cautiously crept forward through the dim corridor. The torches were few and far between, and cast stretched and distorted shadows on the wall. He felt as though someone was watching him, but whenever he paused with his Chirugai ready, straining his ears for any sounds but the random dripping of water on rocks, he could discern nothing out of the ordinary. Occasionally a small breeze would blow past from seemingly nowhere, sending a chill down his back. The demon was fucking with him.

On the one hand, the dangers and high-level athleticism required to go breaking into old tombs was exhilarating, and Kurtis could very clearly relate to Lara through that enjoyment. But the other side of it, the isolation and creep factor, was not particularly enjoyable to him. He did not much like not knowing whether a mummy or ghost was sneaking up behind him, or how he was supposed to defeat things which couldn't be defeated with his fists or Chirugai. No, he preferred facing his enemies head-on. Just because he was equipped and experienced in fighting paranormal enemies didn't mean he necessarily enjoyed it. Neither was he particularly drawn to the race to be the first to acquire a powerful artifact, nor interested in non-Lux Veritatis artifacts for any other reason.

The long corridor came to an end, and through the doorway was the main burial chamber. The torches were more plentiful here and illuminated the whole area so Kurtis could see from the entrance just how large it was.

Like the small catacombs beneath the St. George church in Lalibela, most of the remains were laid within narrow loculi carved into the rock walls, with sepulchers for more prominent individuals situated in rows in the open area of the chamber around support columns. In addition to the sepulchers, the room branched off to eight smaller rooms – cubicula for the eight Lux Veritatis bloodlines.

He was at the right place, now he had to find the right body.

He started from the left side, walking and reading the names inscribed on the little placard above each loculus. Some were missing names, a few names were worn down and illegible, and some were empty. Most he did not recognize – they were likely precursor Lux Veritatis, perhaps distant branches of the families. Even still, he recognized some of the names; there were DeCombels and Aicards and Vasileys, all of whom were infants and children, not having reached adulthood before their death but still granted the honor of a Lux Veritatis burial.

Though he presumed St. George, if he was really buried here, would not be within one of the cubicula, nevertheless out of curiosity he entered one.

The Occitans' cubiculum was mostly empty, having been abandoned before all the loculi could be claimed. The loculus of honor was reserved for Genoffroi Occitan, the grandfather of Brother Occitan and a founding member of the Lux Veritatis. Brother Occitan's father, mother, grandmother, uncles and aunts were also all laid within their own loculi. No one younger than Brother Occitan was there though, which made sense since the catacombs were caved in before his death preventing others from being buried there.

He exited the Occitan cubiculum and began perusing the sepulchers in the middle. Most were foreign to him. Some were mere first name and place of birth, others were archaic versions of contemporary names, names vaguely familiar from old history lessons during his training years but long forgotten due to their irrelevance. Old Georgie, as Lara had affectionately referred to him as, was one of the most famous of the supposed ancestors.

Kurtis wound around support columns and sepulchers, reading their plaques as he went, wondering if St. George would be labeled as such or if he had another name at the time of his body being moved here. But no, soon he came upon stone sepulcher labeled Sanctus Georgius Cyrenaicae – or, St. George of Cyrene.

For a moment he only stared at the writing, disbelieving his eyes. The legend lived and died nearly a thousand years before his body would have been moved here. How could he be sure it was the real man?

Well, so long as Ascalon was with him, it didn't really matter if the body was a fake or not.

Placing both hands on the lid, he pushed until it slid partially out of the way, revealing the contents within. It was just a skull at the top, and in the empty space beneath laid a long and simple sword. He hesitated, reluctant to touch the weapon for some reason.

Instead, he placed his palm on the forehead of the skull. The bone was dry and rough. If he squeezed, he could probably crush it. Kurtis frowned. It had been a very long time since he tried this, and he hadn't been very good at it back then. St. George would be so old, it might not work. And if his soul was resting and not roaming this plane, he might not be able to do anything at all.

A light blue glow emanated from his palm, covering the skull of St. George. Closing his eyes in concentration, Kurtis reached out with his mind for a psychic connection.

In his mind's eye he saw several disturbed spirits about the place, other Lux Veritatis unable to rest peacefully or perhaps just temporarily returned to see who was visiting their grave. He tried to send out a sense of calm and communicate he was one of them.

A light, pinkish hue floated around St. George's skull. Relief washed over Kurtis; the legend was not present – he was resting in the afterlife, which was good, how it should be. He lamented not all the Lux Veritatis were granted such a gift at death.

However, the pink hue meant there was still something left of him at this burial site. Probably not as strong as wherever the rest of his body was, but it was something. If he could just make connection, he could–

Kurtis' mind grabbed a tendril of the color and he was pulled in, dizzy as his sense of location was abruptly confused. As though traveling back in time, he was suddenly surrounded by wilderness. Near him was a spring of fresh water, beyond a small grove. He looked down.

A defeated Nephilim. His body was enormous – was this how big they truly were? – but his appearance wasn't entirely human. Aside from the gigantic wings from his back, his lower half was scaly and the legs short and stubby, resembling a crocodile's. A long spear stabbed through its lower half, pinning it to the earth. Before Kurtis' eyes its legs morphed back into that of a human man's, proportional to the rest of him, the scales began to bleed away into flesh, the claws on its hands recede into fingernails. Kurtis could imagine the Nephilim taking on the form of a fierce dragon to terrify the local populace into doing its will and offering up their children as sacrifices.

To his left was a man, shorter by a few inches and stockily built, dressed in the uniform of a Roman soldier of the time. His hand left the reigns of a beautiful black horse, and in his other hand he gripped a black gladius. He panted heavily, and leaving a wide berth, walked around to the front of the Nephilim. George knelt and gripping the Nephilim by its white hair, brought the gladius down onto the Nephilim's neck. In one quick slice his head separated from his body and he went completely limp. His pale skin, with swirling runes etched all over, turned an ashen gray, and his skin shriveled as though he had been mummified.

George dropped the head to the ground and kicked it slightly away, and examined his gladius with amazement. He sheathed it, and a young woman – no, a teenaged girl – in a long elegant stola came running into view: the princess sent as the dragon's meal. She flung her arms around George, pressing passionate kisses all over his face, not a moment of care that he was covered in sweat, dirt, and blood. He returned her embrace before pulling back, cupping her cheek in one hand. Then he looked up, met Kurtis' eyes, and frowned.

The connection faded then and snapped, jerking Kurtis back to the present and real world. He looked down at the sword – the gladius laying inside the sepulcher. It was the same as from the vision of the past.

Kurtis moved his hand down to touch it.

Upon closer inspection the blade was not made from iron or copper or steel, or even Ferilium. Its color was a deep shiny black like the Watcher's Stone, and like the Stone it seemed almost to vibrate with an energy, beckoning Kurtis to pick it up. He did so, carefully removing it from the sepulcher interior, one hand on the hilt and the other palm cupped beneath the flat of the blade.

What would Lara think of this? Though its design was less elaborate and intricate than the Watcher's Stone, it was nevertheless exquisite in its simplicity. Where did George come across such a weapon? George himself seemed amazed at its power when he used it against the Nephilim. It had to be made by the Watchers, or perhaps the angels in heaven themselves brought it down and gifted it to him. The only thing which could destroy the Stone and slay the Nephilim, forever casting them down into the pit.

He liked how that sounded. He didn't care if it was true or not – at this point in time, he'd likely never learn the truth – but he knew he wasn't descended from Nephilim. Holding the holy sword in his mortal hands, he knew in his heart the Lux Veritatis were on the side of Good. They were the enemy of sorcerers, witches, warlocks, alchemists, magicians, necromancers, the hunter of demons, evil spirits, all manner of monsters, and yes, the nemesis of the fallen angels and their children, the Nephilim. This was the history of the Lux Veritatis. Pride swelled in his heart.

Screw whatever that demon tried to tell him. This was Kurtis' legacy.

A legacy left to him alone. His chest deflated, despair replacing hope. This was all that was left after eight hundred years. If they were ordained by the heavens, why didn't the angels help them? Why didn't they do more to ensure their victory? Could it be a matter of the players being fated, but the outcome still undecided?

It's all up to me, he resolved. I'll decide the victor. I'll end the Nephilim and the Cabal.

He carefully sheathed the ancient sword in the special scabbard he had brought with him, and attached the strap across his chest, allowing the sword to rest along his back. Kurtis looked around for another minute, considering taking something else back as a gift for Lara, then deciding against it. She would probably only cherish an ancient trinket if she retrieved it herself.

Then he noticed he had a visitor.

"It is no use," the demon hissed.

Kurtis turned, finding the evil creature perched atop one of the sarcophagi.

He sighed. "How many times am I gonna have to send you away before you take the hint? I'm not interested in purchasing a vacation home in hell."

"Not even to see your father again? Don't you want to hear what he told me?"

Kutis rolled his eyes, turning to leave once more. "No. He's not in hell. He performed his duty."

The demon disappeared and reappeared atop a sarcophagus in front of Kurtis, stopping him in his tracks. "Then what of the Lux Veritatis still trapped on this plane? Did Occitan not perform his duty? What about the one you call 'Obscura' – not even granted the privilege of using the name his bitch of a mother called him when she pushed him out! Even here, in this place, some wander… this is God's reward for those who serve?"

Kurtis didn't feel like arguing. He had Ascalon; he had what he needed to stop the Nephilim and destroy the Watcher's Stone. But it seemed the demon wasn't done trying to convince him.

He shrugged. "God never promised fairness in this world."

And God knows my life's not seen a lick of it, Kurtis added bitterly in his head.

"Aren't you going to ask if that sword is the weapon Occitan meant?"

"I know it is, or you wouldn't be here trembling like a wet Chihuahua at the thought of me using it." To accentuate his point, he reached back and touched the hilt of the sword in threat, and the demon reared back, flashing its teeth, then vanished.

Kurtis expected a rebuttal, perhaps the demon's characteristic cackle, but it was silent. Oddly silent. Then, as he was turning around looking for where the demon went, the lit torches suddenly cast a long shadow on the walls. Kurtis paused, raising his head.

A person stood at the entrance to the catacombs. Kurtis squinted, the figure becoming clear through the shadows: Morgau Vasiley.