Free Dawn of the Ice Bear by Jeff Mariotte Page B

floor. Alanya feared someone would hear them in spite of their attempts at stealth. The more time she spent in the Stygian sorcerer’s compound, the more she came to believe that this whole quest was a horrifically bad idea.
    Her fear was confirmed a few minutes later.
    The group neared an intersection illuminated by a quartet of torches set into wall sconces at the corners. Tarawa had explained, in a low whisper, that these torches were mystically fueled and never went out, bringing constant light to otherwise pitch-black passageways. Above the sconces were carved snake heads, staring out into the intersection from every corner.
    The walls, Alanya noted as they went, were unadorned but worn smooth, as the floor was, by the passage of time and many people. About hand high there was an indentation, as if people over the eons had walked by, rubbing their hands along that one spot.
    As they entered the intersection, Alanya saw that here, the walls were decorated with hundreds of drawings, overlaying each other as if they had been applied over the centuries. A common theme was snakes, of course, but there were other things depicted as well—including, much to Alanya’s dismay, a scene showing rank after rank of headless women, presumably sacrificed to Set for some unclean purpose.
    She shivered. A hand on her shoulder startled her, but she managed not to scream. Gorian stood behind her, and she realized she had halted in her tracks, blocking the way of the others. With a false smile, Gorian and a couple of his men pushed past her and deeper into the intersection.
    â€œYou could look at these for hours,” Tarawa whispered, standing close beside Alanya. “But I believe we are in a greater hurry than that.”
    â€œI know,” Alanya said. She started to turn away from the weird images. As she did, she heard a strange puffing noise from farther ahead, in the center of the intersection.
    She looked past Tarawa and saw blurs dart out from the mouth of one of the snake sculptures, which had seemingly come to life and spat something. Gorian slapped a hand to his neck, surprised, as if he’d been stung by an insect. But in less than a second, his expression changed, his mouth falling slack, eyes rolling up into his head. Then his knees gave out, and he plunged to the floor. When he hit, his hand fell away from his neck and a hole was revealed there. It looked to Alanya like an arrow hole, of which she had seen a few back in Koronaka. But no arrow jutted from it, just a thin line of blood flowing onto the floor. The small stone that always hung on a leather thong around his neck had fallen out of his shirt and landed in the stream of blood. Kral had speculated that the stone was the source of Gorian’s magic, but it had done nothing to save him this time.
    The worst of it was not over, however. As she watched, a tiny snake’s head, no bigger around than her smallest finger, poked out from the wound. It wriggled out of the hole, then writhed quickly away down the cross corridor, disappearing into the darkness. On the wall, the stone snake shifted almost imperceptibly, once more taking on the appearance of nothing but a simple sculpture. She wondered if her eyes were playing tricks.
    â€œMitra!” the mercenary named Dalthus exclaimed. Another let out a loud gasp of horror.
    â€œQuiet!” Kral reminded them. “We know not who might be about!”
    The mercenaries looked upon their fallen leader with terror—which Alanya shared. In the uneven light, Mikelo looked pale and terrified. Donial had a look of strange fascination on his face. Only Kral seemed relatively unaffected by what they had seen.
    â€œA trap,” he said. “Meant to strike down the first into the intersection.”
    â€œBut we slaves use this passageway all the time,” Tarawa protested. “And it has never attacked us.”
    â€œYou are meant to be here. Somehow, al Nasir’s trap can