The Withered Land, THE EMPIRE FALLS: HELL'S AVATAR

HELL'S AVATAR -- PART FIFTEEN

5. THE AVATAR OF MURDER

Forynnuhr and Harqwenne, the Scribe, wandered a meandering path that sloped downwards, below the surface floor of the necropolis' dry terrain, walking under the vaulting ceiling of an arched promenade. The journey was deceptive -- the distance to their destination was far greater than they had expected. There was a persistent breeze coiling and spiraling through the empty spaces around them as they trudged through the uneven, stone-littered landscape. The rushing air's movement created a hollow, whistling noise that echoed down the length of the hooded walkway leading to the abandoned city's shadowy center. It was a haunted and moody elemental music that unintentionally inspired moments of quiet unease in the two men.

Twilight had descended over the acreage of boneyard and aging masonry.

They were being watched. They could feel it. They could feel the sneer behind the malevolent appraisal of them as they moved past niches containing cracked and crumbling statues of warrior-kings, demons and demigods whose names were lost to history. Here and there they passed the remnants of grime-streaked battle armor, mostly broken helmets and crumpled breast plates, and metal shields on which decals of platoon and troop insignia had faded from exposure to the elements. The place smelled of heat-blasted soil, long dead animal carcasses and wood mold.

But those hidden eyes on the two of them induced a feeling like hot electricity dancing on wet flesh, jittery, prickly and stinging.

"How much further?" Forynnuhr asked.

"Just a few dozen steps around that column to the right, past that partly collapsed wall that you see," Harqwenne said.

They had walked only a dozen steps further when Forynnuhr commented aloud, "You mean a few steps past the human skeleton with the iron war pike sticking through its ribcage?"Harqwenne unleashed a sound that was a cross between a surprised hiss and a fatalistic moan.

Looking past the Pilgrim's shoulder, he could see there was indeed the duty, cobweb-draped skeletal remains of a traveler sitting propped against the pitted, partially-demolished wall. A long war lance with a diamond-shaped hasp was lodged in the rib cage of the bony framework.

"Stand alert. It is apparent we are not alone," the Scribe warned tensely.

Both men peered more attentively into the gloom of their surroundings and, to their consternation, they noticed not so subtle shifts of density and shape in and amongst the patchwork of shadows cast by the day's fading light.

They were being watched --- and followed. Past a towering stone column three times the circumference of a large man, a tall figure carrying some unidentifiable variety of staff or spear peered at them with eyes that glowed a sickly and anemic gold color.

Up on the catwalk of the ornate mezzanine overhead and to their right, a trio of thick, bulky yet definitely man-shaped figures peered down at them with baleful yellow eyes.

From a short distance behind them, they heard the soft shuffling of scurrying, booted feet.

"Under different circumstances, this could be vaguely amusing," Forynnuhr said ruefully. "But not today."

With no discussion between them, Forynnuhr and Harqwenne both instinctively adopted a relaxed, non-threatening stance. They reasoned that if they were being allowed to see what few of their enemy were currently visible, then there had to be at least twice that number hidden in the immediate vicinity. That meant they were gravely outnumbered. And, since they had no idea about the disposition of the watchers, they were not going to risk needlessly offending or alarming them. Arrogantly bulling through the situation was not liable to produce positive results. So they waited for the men-in-shadows to make first contact. A prudent plan, but such a passive-aggressive stance did not sit well with the Pilgrim at all. He didn't like being threatened, even when the threat was merely implied ... and someone was going to pay for that indignity.