He gave his head a mad shake, clawing at the gap as he tried to drag himself back out. "No no no. It's bad. Fucking bad. That enchantment was hiding it. This place. It's something else. A trap, maybe. And we're the mice. Run. Run!"
Pivoting on her heels, she suddenly found herself staggering as the earth bucked wildly beneath her feet.
The crack they'd so easily leapt over only a few minutes before suddenly split open like a gaping mouth beneath her feet. She felt the lash of dread as she realised there was no way back.
Then from the black depths came a scream. Not the scream of a living thing, but one as though the rock itself was shrieking in agony. Steam belched up from below, spewing a foul-smelling sulphuric stench.
She threw herself back against the gates to avoid falling into the chasm and her boots skidded over the buckling ground.
The Draug howled and started sprinting back toward the trees, barking crazily to each other in a tone which left no doubt in the elf's mind that they were afraid.
Probably with good reason.
Thick black sludge vomited out of the chasm. It fizzed and spat, smoke pouring from the ground where it touched. The elf fought for balance, desperate to get her feet out of the way as the earth kept shaking.
Chukshene chose that moment to shove her in the back, still trying to get out.
"No!" she cried, her voice catching as hysteria raked at her mind. She spun around, shoving him back. "Get back inside!"
He finally managed to get his head back through, and he gave her a look of disbelief as he wriggled like a maggot trying to squirm out of a slab of meat. "Inside? Are you mad?"
"Not yet, but I reckon I'm getting there."
Behind her, the cracked earth shook violently as, with a gush of slime, enormous ribs of rough black stone powered out of the ground like the fingers of an insectoid god clawing at the old fortress. Each rib as thick as several tree trunks lashed together.
She spat a curse and shoved the stunned warlock back inside before corkscrewing through the gap between the shuddering gates.
Chukshene rattled out a few curses of his own as slime rained down around him from the ribs curving up over the top of the fortress.
He had to dance around to avoid being splashed. Where it touched stone, it burned clean through on a blanket of smoke before drilling back into the earth which was its home.
The heavy ribs screeched as they raked up the cold stone walls. Beneath the awful sound, a tidal moan vibrated as though a million voices were keening in agony.
And chains. Massive chains guiding a mechanism from deep within the cliffs. Chains that ran deep beneath the fortress itself to haul the great ribs high above the ancient walls.
Between the ribs, a gelatinous web of greasy shadows and lumps of eldritch red began to stretch like the leathery wings of a bat to form a grotesque barrier.
The deathly stench enveloped the fortress.
Nysta spun away, more concerned with falling debris and slime. Mouth dry with fear, she shoved the warlock further inside, away from the rattling gate and into the courtyard.
Everything was veiled in mist and shadow. Shadow which increased as the putrid wall swatted sunlight away.
Still, through the gloom she could make out a few shapes. A huddle of small buildings. A well. A tower reeling in the middle of the courtyard.
Black slime crusted its peaked roof, giving the impression that the barrier rising above was a frequent occurrence.
She just hoped the dome wasn't the kind that would suddenly press down and crush everything beneath it.
Risking everything on that hunch, she chose the most fortified building in sight. Snatching the warlock by his robe, she pulled him toward the tower.
It was a struggle to stay on their feet as the ground shook in protest and clumps of black sludge landed wetly nearby.
Chukshene gasped for air, his feet dragging with sheer exhaustion. Without thinking, she grabbed him around the waist, taking most of his weight.
Grateful, he slurred something she didn't catch. The rumbling noise was too loud.
The tower's heavy door opened smoothly. She kicked it shut behind them, letting him go to slam the heavy bolt in place.
Chukshene tumbled across the floor and collapsed, panting like a fish.
She leaned against the shuddering door and allowed her fear to drain slowly from her body, drawing what comfort she could in the illusion of safety provided by an enclosed space.
There was no sign of life inside the decaying building, and the stone tiles were almost completely covered in thick dust.
Only a few tracks dimpled the grey, and these she figured to be rats.
Light puffs of dust glittered in the air as it was dislodged from the ceiling by the rumbling earth to flit playfully through the few narrow beams of light not blocked by the barrier outside.
She reckoned nothing had lived in the tower for a long time. But her assumption didn't do anything to still her nerves and she half-expected an army of wraiths to emerge from the shadows, shrieking in ghostly hunger.
The grey stone walls were thick. No windows or rooms on the lower level. Just a winding staircase of stone leading upward. It looked defensible. At the very least, it was a place to hide while they figured out what was going on.
Chukshene followed her up the stairs, groaning with each step.
Then, without warning, the ground stopped shaking as the ribs thundered into place with a monstrous crunch. Silence quickly swallowed a few stray echoes.
They froze, ears straining for any sign of what might happen next. Unable to see outside, and with only the merest hint of light creeping down in from above, they waited for several heartbeats.
Could hear only liquid dripping from somewhere above. She hoped it was water.
"What do you think?" the warlock asked, chewing at a fingernail.
"Ain't sure. Could be anything. Figured you were the expert on magic, Chukshene."
"Not this kind. This is old magic, Nysta. There's an unpleasant stink to it. And I'll bet both my balls it's from before the gods."
She led him upward, seeking the source of light.
Which turned out to be a few meagre rays of light spearing through the half-open windows of a large room. Thick velvet curtains, long since rotted, left wide gaps for the dank air to creep in.
The warlock stepped up and nudged the dusty fabric aside.
Following his example, she peered out at the dark barrier enclosing the fortress. Light still speared between the ribs, but not much of it.
And, with the late afternoon lending itself to dusk, there soon wouldn't be any light at all.
"It's a fortress within a fortress," he said dully. "Too high to climb. No way in. No way out. We're stuck."
"Looks like it."
The warlock frowned. "I'm liking this less every second. It's worse than when I got stuck inside Lifeblight. Two days, that was. I remember-" he broke off, jaw falling open in horror.
"What is it?"
"Look," he pointed out the window, his arm shaking. He looked ready to throw up.
"What?"
"Just look at it!"
She leaned closer to him, but couldn't see anything through the gloom except the wall and brief glimpses of the cold landscape beyond. Thought she caught sight of a few shadows moving about among the smaller buildings, but decided it was just her imagination. Shrugging, she made to turn away, but he grabbed her shoulder and jabbed a finger toward the outside wall. "Don't you see them?"
Frowning, she considered stabbing him in the face for touching her, but the urgency in his voice made her look again.
The glistening wall looked unsettling, but didn't invoke the horror in her that it seemed to in the warlock. At least, not until she allowed her eyes the chance to really take it in.
It wasn't just slime which formed the webbing between the ribs.
It was people.
Thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of silently screaming people, twisted around heavy stone ribs in a macabre sculpture of death.
Their skin was peeled away to expose raw organs. The glistening she'd seen was simply the wet sheen of flesh slick with foul sludge.
More horrifying, they looked fresh enough to still be alive.
Which was impossible. Unless the magic which made the walls also kept them alive.
Her heart lurched and she took a step backward in revulsion, snapping the curtain shut.
The warlock shook his head, still pale, then leaned against the nearest wall before sliding to the ground. Drew his knees up to his face. Dropped the grimoire beside him.
"That's it," he announced. "We're fucked."
The elf shook her head. "I don't know about that," she said, glancing back at the window. "But I'll admit it's looking pretty fucked up."
She looked around the room. It looked like it had once been an office. Military, judging by a few stained banners still clinging to the wall on their last threads of honour. The looked more Caspiellan than Fnordic.
Cobwebbed shelves. A heavy wide desk. high-backed chair. Empty fireplace yawning cheerlessly against the wall near the slumped warlock.
"You stay here," she told him. "I'll look around."
"We should stick together."
"You're exhausted and you'd slow me down," she told him bluntly. "It's going to be night soon. And we ain't finding our way out by creeping around in the dark. So, whether we like it or not, we're here until morning. Like to be sure nothing's going to sneak up on us while we wait. While I'm gone, you keep quiet. And careful. Don't want to end up like them fellers out on the wall. So, be sure you don't drink anything."
He gave her a puzzled expression, but already his eyes were drooping low as the promise of sleep clawed at his mind. Even the terror he was feeling couldn't serve to keep him awake much longer.
"What's drinking got to do with anything?"
"Look outside, 'lock. Figure they've all been where we're at. They were here trying to survive. Just like us. So, it could mean that if we ain't careful, then all in all we could end up being more bricks in the wall." She curled her lip crookedly up toward the scar. "And that's got everything to do with what's in Waters."
***
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