39
They descended into the gloom as soon as they were packed, their footsteps echoing softly around them. The slim rectangle of light from the back entrance shrunk as they walked deeper into the bowels of the pyramid, until it was little more than a glimmer of light. Ignatius and Tosk led the way, while Athena rode on Fletcher’s shoulders, giving him the sight he needed through the darkness. Meanwhile, Caliban, Lysander and Sacharissa followed at the rear, watching the back entrance for movement.
There was a thud and a groan from ahead.
‘Ow,’ Seraph said, and Fletcher could see he had collapsed on the ground in front of him. ‘There’s a wall here.’
Ignatius licked Seraph’s face in sympathy, eliciting another groan.
‘Screw it.’ Verity flared a wyrdlight into existence. ‘If there are demons guarding this place, they’re going to hear us, light or no light. At least this way we can see them coming.’
More wyrdlights erupted, until the walls were lit with ethereal blue light. As the gloom rushed away, Fletcher saw that Seraph had walked into the wall at the end of the corridor. Two identical paths diverged on either side, narrower and more dusty.
‘We need to split up,’ Malik stated, sending a pair of wyrdlights down both passageways. The path curved back towards the centre of the pyramid, out of sight.
‘Verity, Mason and I shall go to the left with you, Fletcher,’ Malik murmured, stepping into the east corridor. ‘Penelope and Rufus, go with Seraph’s team on the right.’
‘Who said you make the rules?’ Atilla growled, throwing his arm around Othello’s shoulders. ‘I’d rather stick together.’
‘Realistically, we’re not going to find a hiding place for all of us in one spot,’ Malik replied, raising his palms in peace. ‘Splitting up is inevitable.’
‘Malik’s right,’ Fletcher said. ‘The map says there’s a passage to the caves somewhere in here – right, Mason? Do you know where?’
‘It’s just what I ’eard,’ Mason said, scratching his head. ‘Never been allowed in ’ere, just the caves. Only ever seen a passage from the caves to the pyramid, but dunno where it comes out.’
‘We have a better chance of finding it if we spread out,’ Seraph said, propelling Atilla down the passage on the right. ‘Remember, the pyramid isn’t the target. The caves beneath it are.’
‘We’ll see you on the other side,’ Genevieve said, tossing Azura into the air to scout ahead. ‘Come on, Rory.’
Sacharissa whined and nudged Fletcher’s arm, forced to go with Seraph’s group. ‘We made it, Arcturus,’ Fletcher whispered. The Canid gave Fletcher a playful headbutt to the chest, then pattered after her team.
Rufus paused beside Fletcher as he followed Penelope down the other passageway.
‘Fletcher,’ the noble said, gripping Fletcher’s wrist. ‘If you reach the caves before us, save my mother first. Please.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Fletcher replied, though he avoided Rufus’s eyes. His heart went out to Lady Cavendish, but in Fletcher’s mind the goblin eggs were the real threat. Every one destroyed was one fewer goblin sent against Hominum.
‘Thank you,’ Rufus whispered. ‘I would be forever in your debt.’
Then he was gone, jogging after the others.
Just as he began to move, Fletcher was slammed against the wall. Caliban had barged him aside, stooping so that his horns didn’t scrape the ceiling.
‘Looks like Rook isn’t missing you.’ Othello winked, following.
The next passageway was as long as the last corridor had been, but it ended far less abruptly. After a few minutes of walking, the passage opened up, revealing an antechamber as large as the summoning room at Vocans.
Stranger still, the place was full of sacks, some of which had burst, scattering freshly picked yellow flower petals haphazardly throughout the room. The petals lay upon a thick layer of dust which coated the floor of the room, disturbed only around the edges, where whoever had brought the sacks had walked by.
‘What is this place?’ Othello asked. The dwarf sent wyrdlights skimming around the room, darting into the corners until the entire chamber was lit. They revealed hieroglyphs and etched scenes on the walls, all of which were painted in fading dyes.
‘Can you read these?’ Fletcher asked Jeffrey, who was already busy copying them into his notebook.
‘No,’ he murmured, his fingers tracing along the symbols. ‘I don’t think even the orcs could. This is ancient stuff here. A culture pre-dating theirs by millennia.’
‘You’re saying orcs didn’t build this place?’ Verity said, not looking up from her tablet.
‘I have no idea,’ Jeffrey said, his pencil scribbling back and forth across the pages. ‘There are pictures of orcs on the walls, so I would think they did. But these hieroglyphs are in an entirely different language. Whichever civilisation built this place, they died out a long time ago. That would explain the difference in size and architecture of the ziggurats that surround the pyramid. No wonder it’s so important to the orcs, I bet they think this place was built by their ancestor-gods.’
Fletcher examined the hieroglyphs closest to him. The symbols depicted the jungle’s animals and plants, a sort of alphabet based on the natural world. They bore no resemblance to the orc runes that he had seen on Ignatius’s summoning scroll, which were formed from jagged lines and dots.
It was impossible to decipher their meaning, so he turned his attention to the sacks of petals by his feet. After Jeffrey’s warnings of the jungle plants he avoided touching them, but a deep sniff revealed them to smell similar to tobacco, with an alcoholic tinge. What the petals of a plant like that were doing within the pyramid was a mystery.
‘Guys, I think you need to take a look at this,’ Verity said, looking up from her scrying stone with wide eyes. ‘They’ve reached the pyramid.’
So they had. The tablet showed the skull-shaped palanquin being lowered, the rhinos kneeling before the great stairs. Fletcher also noticed drums had begun to beat again – even this deep into the pyramid the dull thump could be heard, as if the ancient building had a pulse of its own.
That was when Fletcher saw him. The albino orc, leaping out of the skull to land on the steps, his body a perfect symmetry of power and athleticism. His appearance triggered roars and the stamping of feet from the crowd, until their fervour shook the very ground.
It was true that the albino orc was taller than the other orcs, standing at what must have been eight feet. He wore little more than a plain skirt, his white skin greased to gleam like polished ivory. In contrast to the plethora of stylings from the orcs around him, a simple mane of ashen hair fell over his shoulders, as long and thick as Sylva’s. He was less bulky than those around him, with rangy musculature suited more for speed than strength.
He raised his arms, welcoming the adoration of the spectators. Nodding and smiling through his savage tusks, he walked like a dancer up the steps, his pace fluid and controlled. Two shamans flanked him, their Nanaues vaulting back and forth along the stair with excitement.
Before they had reached the top, the crowd’s roar turned into a chant, a single word repeated over and over, muffled by the walls of the pyramid. The drummers punctuated the mantra with the beat, redoubling their efforts to keep in time with the masses.
‘What are they saying, Verity?’ Fletcher asked, trying to make out the word.
‘Khan,’ Verity said, her eyes closed with concentration. ‘It sounds like Khan.’
‘That’s his name,’ Mason said, shuddering. ‘That’s what they call him.’
The three orcs had reached the top of the steps by then, and as Fletcher watched, Khan withdrew a jagged, obsidian knife from a scabbard at his waist.
The crowd went mad, howling and screaming in a fanatical fervour. Only the score of blue orcs who had lost the pitz contest remained silent, kneeling at the base of the steps. Then, one by one, they were shoved up the stairway, making the long walk to the top.
‘This is too weird,’ Cress murmured. ‘There’s nothing up there. What are they doing?’
‘You’ll see,’ Mason said grimly, shuffling away from them. ‘But I’d rather not watch if it’s all the same to you.’
The first blue orc reached the flat top of the pyramid. Even though Ebony was far above him, Fletcher could see that the orc’s hands were shaking. He shuffled forward until Khan jerked him on to the altar. The blue orc lay there, spread-eagled, while the albino orc raised the knife. Fletcher looked away just in time.
Verity retched and handed the tablet to Sylva, running to heave in the corner. The rest looked on in horror. Only Jeffrey had been spared the scene, too fascinated with the etchings on the wall to pay attention to the tablet.
‘Sacrifices for the old gods, the forgotten gods,’ Mason murmured. ‘Orcs are scared of ’em, reckon they’re inside this ’ere temple. So they give ’em the most blood – more than they give to any of the others.’
The blue orc’s corpse was hurled down the steps, to tumble past the remaining victims and into the crowds below. The onlookers cried out once again, scrambling for the body then raising it above their heads and passing it backwards in a macabre celebration.
Another sacrifice lay down on the altar, his chest heaving with fear. The knife rose and fell once more. Khan held the still-twitching carcass by the ankle, crimson spurting from the gaping chest wound and on to the altar.
The group in the pyramid stood there for a while, watching the blood drip with grim fascination. Until Jeffrey spoke up.
‘Guys. You’re not going to believe this.’