"That is a big Queen," Vane muttered, adjusting his grip on the spear. "The sludge is fresh."
"It is quiet," Isole whispered. "Too quiet. Even the Echo stopped."
She was right. The moment they stepped across the threshold, the rhythmic thrumming from the ground had ceased. It was as if the massive machine beneath the earth had been switched off, or was holding its breath.
"It is waiting for us," Vane said. "Stay sharp. Eyes on the ceiling."
They moved deeper. The corridor widened into a massive antechamber. The light from Isole's staff pushed back the heavy, stagnant shadows, revealing rows of stone sarcophagi that stretched into the darkness.
Vane felt a prickle on the back of his neck. It wasn't the [Usurper] warning him of a specific attack. It was a primal instinct. It was the biological imperative of a prey animal walking into a room where it did not belong.
He stopped. He held up a fist.
"Isole," Vane whispered. "Flare."
