Heart of Flame

XVI. The Goddess of Zubardh Kul

Zubardh Kul was even more imposing than Sorne had imagined. The tower stood more than two and a half thousand feet high. It dwarfed every building she'd ever seen in her life. Mauléon's tallest tower, stacked on itself twenty times, would not even match it. The sight of the mammoth spire made Sorne's jaw drop. Standing at its base, she finally understood how an ant looking at the gates of her birthplace must have felt. The tower had once been polished grey, but was weathered from the wind and spray of salt from the roaring waves as they dashed themselves to pieces on the rocky shores just a little ways north. The fifty-foot-high statues facing them that flanked the empty arch leading in no longer had faces or defined shape, the features worn smooth by the hands of Time.

Every inch of ground they'd traveled, every battle they'd fought on the road, every ravine climbed and mountain summited, was worth this sight. "We're going to go inside?" Sorne asked, awed. "Can we go to the top?"

"Jealous of Nirsal, are we?" Vridash asked with amusement.

Sorne knew her eyes were wide, but she couldn't stop herself from gawking. "It's huge!"

Graaol chuckled. "Yes, it's very exciting, whelp. Tomorrow, we go to the beach."

She shot him a dirty look. "Some of us are enjoying the sight, codger," she said, adjusting her pack on her shoulders. All three of them had packed lightly, but there were still things to be carried, not that she felt much of the weight after her training and conditioning. She stroked Nirsal's nose, earning a happy coo from the queen. "Were all the towers of the First World this tall?"

"No," the shaman said, motioning for them to follow him into the tower. "But Zubardh Kul was not just any tower. This is the final resting place of the Goddess of Death."

Vridash started slightly, a little more wariness creeping into his expression. He wasn't afraid, but he knew now that they needed to prepare for dark things. "You might have told us that earlier, Graaol."

"We go to the nicest places," Sorne muttered under breath.

"Is that whining I hear?" Graaol said. "You two are damn useless if you're scared of a little death."

The njoshari initiate grinned. "Says the orc who sent me into a dragon's nest."

The shaman chuckled. "And you survived. See? I chose wisely."

"Well, one of us doesn't have magical powers," Vridash said as he strung his bow. Now that they were potentially walking into a fight, he was going to be more careful. "I will cover the rear."

"That way when it sneaks up behind us, you'll be first to die. I am okay with this plan," Sorne teased as she adjusted her grip on her spear. She felt secure with Graaol and Vridash, though she still had every intention of being cautious. She didn't want to lose either of them.

"Don't give whatever it is ideas," the archer pretended to grouse as he followed the other two into the ruin. He chuckled. "Remember to duck, little sister. You too, Graaol. I would hate to have to explain an arrow in your corpse's back to Murdak."

"So watch your aim," Graaol said as if irritable. His grin was audible in his voice.

Sorne sucked in a breath when she saw the chamber they were standing in. The floor beneath their feet was black marble graven with symbols of the God Tongue—as orcs called it—that were currently dark. Even inactive, however, Sorne could feel a power there, like an untapped spring. Above them was a cavernous, domed ceiling of black stone studded with crystals that glittered in the low light like stars. She looked down at her bracelet, the lodestone rotating slowly. "We must be in a khiirdu."