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

standing still and looking at his fellow Shamar.
    “Find the escape shaft you spoke of,” he told Jensen and his fellows. “I will follow after you. Quickly!” Jensen grabbed Joseph’s arm.
    “It begins somewhere in the Bishop’s quarters,” he said, pointing to a shadowy part of the cavern, not far from the main entrance. “Through the door in the wall... we will pray you safely find us!” Joseph nodded at him before turning away.
    Running around the pools of molten gold and over piles of ore, he halted some twenty feet from the painted-figure.
    The priest of Zo stood barring his way to Tyrus and the others. He snapped his head sideways, glaring directly at Joseph. Tyrus gripped his dagger closely, taking a step toward the figure. Joseph saw his action and kept the madman’s gaze. The surviving workers gathered on the right of the wild priest, glaring angrily at the Shamar.
    “I am Muuth,” the priest announced; his voice seemed to shake the ground, like the sound of many horses running through a ravine. “You,” he pointed at Joseph, “will be first to die.”
    “The Lord rebuke you!” the young lord yelled back, his feet planted firmly on the rock floor.
    With a dreadful scream, the priest covered his ears with his painted hands; he stamped the rock floor madly with his bare feet. As suddenly as he began, he stopped, his gaze again on Joseph. He outstretched his hands towards him, a horrible smile on his gray face.
    A deep cracking sound rang out, overhead. All faces turned upward in time to witness a huge bolder fall through the smoke and crash onto a corner of the burning structure. Deflected, the boulder fell back, squarely onto the high priest of Zo, crushing him into dust. The noise was deafening. Teetering off balance, the blazing structure fell onto the slaves of the madman.
    “These doors are sealed!” Tyrus shouted, glancing apprehensively toward the cavern ceiling. “We’re not getting back out the way we came!”
    “Come with me!” Joseph called, racing around the boulder. In spite of the smoke, he could see the corner where Jensen had pointed. “There is another shaft. Quickly!”
    True to the workman’s word, the group found an open wooden door embedded in the rock, with a strange symbol carved in it. Leading the way through, Joseph grabbed a torch from the wall. A narrow staricase beyond led them upward. The Shamar climbed one after the other, until they met another wooden door. The room beyond was made of cut stone, finely furnished with delicate tables and chairs, dozens of lit candles in gold holders and rich carpets; tapestries hung on the walls and a large, elaborate bed nearly covered one wall. Joseph spied a door across the room and walked towards it; the door had crimson designs painted on it.
    A thin man stood up from behind a chair. Jensen smiled as he recognized Joseph; his fellow workmen stood as well.
    “We feared you were dead,” Jensen said. “This must be the door to the shaft; there are no others in the chambers.”
    “Hurry through it, the smoke is fast on our heels,” Joseph told him.
    About to take hold of the door handle, a peculiar sight arrested Joseph’s eye; against the wall by the Bishop’s bed stood a high table covered in a heavily embroidered cloth. A silken money bag stood on it, and some scrolls, along with four unusually shaped spectacles, the type he’d seen wealthy men hold up to one eye when reading.
    “Take those!” Jensen said, excitedly, pointing at the table. “The Bishop regards them very highly! We make those spectacles, here in the cavern.” Without a word Joseph swept up the corners of the cloth and put it over his shoulder, like a bag. As he turned to address the men, he saw smoke curling up under the chamber door.
    “Make haste!” Joseph told them, opening the painted door.
    The door led to a long, dark passageway. Hurrying along it, the men followed Joseph. They ran until Jensen and his fellows had to rest; Tyrus urged them