That One Time I Went on a Quest

Catacomb of Giants (4/4)

At last, something different. How long as it been – days? Weeks?

Our endless march has led to a set of doors so disproportionately huge, Oon'Shei is maybe just under a tenth of its height. They are two slabs of obsidian, polished smoother than mirrors, and engraved upon them is the first image produced by the little giants that I have ever seen...

And now I wish I have never seen it: a fat dragon, crouched inside three talon-like obelisks, is surrounded by a concave of little giants kneeling in what has to be prayer. Behind the obelisks is a cliff, which gives way to a rippling ocean dotted with weird eye-stalks, kind of like snail eyes. At the top-right corner, in place of the sun, is what looks like a full-face helmet that closely resembles the type knights would wear to battle. A helmet, of all things?

Before the door, Oon'Shei is doing what those little giants are doing in the scene: kneeling with his head touching the floor. Oh how I wish Haylis is here. She could explain this with that condescending voice of hers and tell that panicking rat scurrying inside my head to stop squealing.

'My-my lady, what is that?'

'I don't know,' replies Kathanhiel, her eyes drawn to the mural just like mine, 'but it looks like the Stone Graves.'

'What?!'

'Well they do.'

'But isn't that where we're going?!'

Oops, that was too loud and too high-pitched. The stone corridor is now echoing mercilessly: "going...going...going," as if that's the single greatest word ever enunciated.

For the first time since forever, Kathanhiel's lips curl up into a smile. It fades quickly, however, as a small, sloppy noise – like the scampering of wet feet – seeps from the other side of the door. There...and gone. But this is one thick door, which means that is no small noise.

Oon'Shei, his hands already in pushing position, freezes.

For twenty, thirty seconds the three of us remain absolutely still, listening. Even the horses have sensed the tension and are holding their breaths.

....

There it is again, clearer: Whoosh, whoosh. Scurrying. Soft crackling, like breaking eggshells.

Kathanhiel inhales sharply. 'Up,' she whispers, leaping onto the saddle; I follow suit. Oon'Shei is glancing back at her; he has picked up the scythe-blade. She mimes a running motion, then points forcefully forward: run, no matter what. Oon'Shei nods, giving her a thumbs-up, then throws his weight onto the door. The hinges begin to turn in complete silence.

'Kastor, I've not been feeling well,' she says suddenly. 'Should I be forced to use Kaishen's power, take it away from me.'

'I...what?'

A tide of sweltering heat blasts forth from the widening gap. The great hall beyond looks enormous, as if an entire mountain had been gouged hollow. There are cracks and holes criss-crossed all over the floor like a demented puzzle, and they are all glowing a dull orange-red – magma below, has to be. Hundreds of gargantuan statues, with heads so far above the ground up they're lost in the shadows, stand guard in twenty or so perfectly straight rows, facing toward us. Behind them, in the far, far distance, is the entrance to another tunnel.

Never mind all that. There is no time to appreciate the scenery, for the hall is saturated with the sound of beating wings. Strewn all over the ceiling and the walls, stuck fast with brownish grout that looks like remoulded rock, are countless blue-shelled eggs with helix-like yellow patterns. I've seen those, in books, in paintings; no creature would paint their eggs with such garish colours except for the dragon brood.