Rune Mage [Fantasy/Adventure | Book 1 +2 | Complete]

CHAOS MAGE Chapter 27: Tomb of the First King

Even without their compass, Seiren and Madeleine soon found themselves on the right course. The bodies of dead guards lay on the ground, their blood soaking into the sand beneath. Swallowing, Seiren moved forward, Madeleine following close behind. The cliffs wove in and out, dipping into dark caves where the sunlight — now past the middle point — couldn't reach. Seiren continued to follow the body trail. Footsteps soon became evident, punctuated by droplets of blood, likely from the weapon that killed the Hannan guards.

What was there to gain by killing one of their own? For a fleeting moment, Seiren wondered if the ones they were following weren't actually Prince Magus and Kristen, but, on second glance, none of the bodies showed any sign of struggle. Whoever murdered them must be well-known to the guards.

An uneasy feeling rose in the back of Seiren's mind. These were pointless deaths — at least, on first glance. But Kristen never did anything by halves.

A large opening revealed itself as they rounded the next turn. The sight took Seiren's breath away. Huge pillars, thicker than ten tree trunks and taller than any building she'd been in, reached the skies. Despite the evident age and wear, the intricate carvings were still visible. Square bases displayed etchings of ancient creatures and men and women fighting alongside each other. Delicate swirls decorated each layer. A cylindrical body began from the level of Seiren's neck spiralling up to the top. Five pairs of these pillars lined the centre of the sandstone path ending in a steep, wide set of steps, which led up to the grandest stone building she'd ever seen.

Her mouth formed an awed 'o' shape, her eyes taking in the snarling snake in the top centre, its fangs protruded and pointing downwards. What appeared to be smaller, guardian statues stood before it: a crocodile; a shelled creature reminiscent of Gulmore's daemon; a long-limbed creature with an equally long, thin tail; a blocky-bodied creature with heavyset limbs; and a graceful, slender creature with a raised crown upon its head and a curled tail.

Seiren recognised that last statue. It still bore protuberant eyes despite the weathering, exactly like the creature that stared down at her, barely visible, from the walls within the palace of Falnash. These were statues of the daemons of the Daemonium. The snake in the centre must depict the royal family, then. Seiren was reminded of Eleia's tiny snake daemon; it would explain why she was so covert about Castiel, if the shape of the daemon gave her heritage away.

Madeleine tapped Seiren's elbow and pointed ahead. Seiren squinted. At the top of the sprawling stone steps were a small group of people. Seiren couldn't make out the identity of any of them.

The one at the furthest back turned around to give the surroundings a last check. Seiren ducked behind the pillar. When she popped her head out again, the group had vanished.

"Wait." Madeleine tugged at Seiren's sleeve with her uninjured hand. "Give them another two minutes, in case it's a trap."

Seiren licked her dry, cracked lips. What she'd give for a sip of water right now. Two minutes passed and nobody came back out. Seiren and Madeleine made their way down the side of the main path, keeping a keen eye out for any assassins or traps waiting for them. On either side of the path, beyond the pairs of pillars, were rock etchings not dissimilar to what decorated the base of the pillars: strong leaders leading soldiers tearing into battle, successful conquests of cities and fortresses, ferocious daemons destroying enemies. The beautiful carvings led up to the grand exterior of the tomb of King Feures Tophalis — even larger and grander when Seiren stood up close. They made their way up the steps. When Seiren reached midway, a gurgle came from above. Her blood turned to ice.

Dashing up the remaining steps, her breath caught in her throat. A square platform of about ten square feet connected the top of the steps to the wall. Lying in the centre, pale despite his dark skin and barely responsive, was a man about Rowan's age with long, unkempt black hair and a bristly beard. One eye was swollen shut and bruised, black against his brown skin. He was missing several front teeth and there were numerous, open, weeping wounds across his face and exposed arms and legs.