Free In Service Of The King (Book 2) by Steven Styles

passage and cavern entrance. Whether it was fear or adrenaline, the man manaed ot open one of the doors just enough to get through.
    Tyrus looked around, still holding onto the gatekeeper.
    “Let me go!” The grizzled man quaked in fear. “I can’t go in there... he’ll kill me!” Dunner unsheathed his scimitar and took the gatekeeper by his shirt.
    “You can stay here, if you like,” he said, brandishing the curved weapon. The gatekeeper said no more.
    All three Shamar looked around the dim room, walking slowly past the white attar of water. Smoke began ot curl throughthe door at the far end. Smelling it, the men rushed forward, through the small passage and up to the great doors. It took both Tyrus and Hezekiah to draw back on the partially-open door. Dunner pulled the blubbering gatekeeper along after them.
    A horrific scene greeted them on the other side of the door. A raging fire lit up the entire center of the cavern.Swirls of what appeared to be hardening gold lay on the uneven floor amid piles of broken rock. A dozen men ran around, trying to put out the blaze; a thick blanket of smoke descended from the cavern roof.
    Looking around, Hezekiah started. He slowly took out his blade, his shoulders stiff. A few yards in front of them, a half-naked man leapt and yelled. Covered in gray paint he screeched and stamped as if in a rage, his bare feet pounding the rock floor, his wild hair sticking up like feathers. Dunner likewise stared at the figure; he readied his sword, not letting go the gatekeeper.
    Suddenly, the screeching figure stopped still. He turned his head, staring with one eye at the newcomers. Dunner glared back at him. In a flash, the gray figure reached out towards them. He had no weapon, but the giant stone door behind the Shamar shifted and then slammed shut. It closed with a force great enough to embed itself in the rock frame, sending cracks towards the ceiling. The noise resounded in the chamber, mixing with the flames and cries coming from the structure.
    The cloaked servant ran up to the wild man, speaking to him in some strange language; he appeared to be pleading with him. Pulling back one hand, the painted figure hit the servant on the shoulder; the man flew back as if struck by lightning. He landed several yards away and did not move again. Keeping his eyes fixed on his prey, the wild man crouched slowly to the ground. With a catlike spring he flipped over backward and landed on his feet. He stood up and let out a shrill, unnerving laugh that echoed on the rock walls.
    Hezekiah took an involuntary step backward. The gatekeeper slithered to the floor, unconscious. Dunner let the prisoner fall, not taking his eyes off the madman before them. Drawing a long dagger from his belt, Tyrus held it at the ready, a hard look in his gray eyes.
    “What in the blue-blazes is that?” Dunner demanded.
    “I have heard of these,” Hezekiah replied, somewhat recovered. “It appears to be a high priest of Zo. I’ve never seen one before
    “Never has one dared step foot on Kingdom land, before,” Tyrus corrected.
    “Seen or unseen,” Dunner growled, turning over his shiny scimitar.
    “Joseph!” Hezekiah called out, pointing towards the structure.
    Tyrus and Dunner looked as well, squinting to see through the smoky air. Hezekiah was not deceived; Joseph indeed stood near the outskirts of the fire--about fifty feet away--fending off a handful of shirtless prisoners wlith a long hammer. A few, skinny men crouched behind the young Shamar, as if he were protecting them.
    “Joseph Asher!” Dunner bawled out; the sea-captain’s voice cut through the chaotic noise like canonfire through a storm. At his name, Joseph looked over and saw the three familiar figures, standing by the entrance gate. Relief swept over his features. With renewd vigor he made short work of the remaining attackers.
    Gathering Jensen and the others, he looked towards the main entrance again. Only then did he see the painted figure