There were several openings to the Underground. Some were small, secretive, and hidden. Others were large, gaping passageways that split into the dark, cavernous world. The main entrance was a massive storm drain with an arching stone entryway. Gargoyles loomed along the top to protect against invaders. A sewer line slid into it like a wide, poisonous river. Citizens openly came and went into the Underground along the side cobblestone paths. Kia had sent Mathias, the raven, the day before to inform his contact that he and his partner were coming. He let her know that he was in the market for something specific, though did not say what for fear that the bird would be intercepted.
The main entrance to the Underground was located at the far end of the Industrial Quarter, where the buildings were dilapidated and old, and pollution hung in the air like an oily blanket. He looked for her. She should be waiting for him. Somewhere between the garbage and the beggars and the shady merchants. He scanned the area for Stormcrow's freckled face.
She sat on a crate that had been precariously stacked on boxes and wooden barrels. She wore tight leather breeches that creaked when she moved and a blouse that was tied and cinched just under her breasts, which were only kept from view by two pearled buttons. Her blouse was as blue as a robin's egg. The bright color was perhaps too garish, but it suited her. She'd pulled her long salt-and-pepper auburn hair up into a jaunty ponytail and sat crosslegged, tapping her fingers on her patched brown boots and smoking.
Once his eyes had spotted her, it was difficult to tear them away. Why must she dress like that? he thought with a sour bitterness that scraped along the back of his tongue. Never mind that. This was business, and would remain business. He approached her and brusquely spoke, "This way." No hello. No greeting. He didn't even want to look at Stormcrow. It was too tempting, and work and pleasure should rarely intermingle. The second he saw her bulbous breasts, he was immediately reminded of his perverted thoughts of her as he lay in bed with Arie. His ears reddened. He motioned for her to follow as the maw to the Underground began to swallow them whole. Eventually, torches sprang along the walls, illuminating the damp and the moss covered rock. Graffiti decorated the stones with brightly painted lewd pictures and cuss words.
After she'd bounced down from her perch, she padded behind him. She was quiet, her soft boots barely scuffing over the uneven, slick terrain. Well, her gait was quiet; the woman, however, was not. She read the graffiti and laughed boisterously. She stared at his back, scrutinized everything about him. "Well," she said after a stretch of silence broken only by dripping water. "Hello to you, too. I'm doin' well. Slept good. Had a nice breakfast." Her tone wasn't sour, but it was pesky and teasing.
Kia glanced over his shoulder and flashed a look of irritation. No, we can't do this, he thought. We can't talk. Though, he thought in silence, he wanted to. He was grateful for the darkness to hide his blush.
"We are meeting a friend of mine." He said, talking to her casually but keeping it strictly business related. His eyes were forward, purposefully not looking at her. Rats scurried and water tapped into a puddle from a distance. The sounds echoed and carried from miles away. There was a shuffle and a muttering of soft conversation somewhere.
He followed the winding twists and turns as if he had the path memorized. He knew much of the Underground; other places were a complete mystery to him. There were areas where even he did not dare tread. "She used to work with my lover, who was an arms dealer here in the Underground. I just… I just want to avoid Seralah. So my hope is to get in, get the fucking idol, and get the fuck out."
She stopped walking. The patter of her feet went silent. Then she scurried to keep up. "Lover huh?" Her tone was blandly curious. "I ain't never been down her but twice. Once to deliver some goods I'd been hired to smuggle and another time to hide from some guards after... well... that's a long story." She picked her way around puddles and dubious piles of rags. "See. Once my first mate, before he got the sense kicked into him, was in love with Marquis Lynith's daughter." She said, prattling on. "We both know Lynith's a real hard ass and ain't gonna let his precious run off with some skeevy pirate." She chuckled, but this was tinged with a sort of wistfulness. She launched into these stories easily. As if she had a million. She probably did. He didn't seem to mind her ramblings; in fact, he smiled a little as he clung to every word.
"He got himself pinched trying to climb the trellis outside her balcony. Sooo..." she said this with a sigh. "I busted him out and took him down through the sewers back out to the Industrial Quarter and only managed to piss off half a dozen cults along the way." She laughed, bright and happy, as if talking about a better time.
He continued to grin at her story, but didn't glance back to allow her to see the expression of approval. A round of silence nestled between them again. To him, conversations were never a quick back and forth. He always took his time and said nothing, as if he was closing the dialog completely. That wasn't the case. He chewed over her words and weighed his own before countering back.
He shoved his long, silver and black hair behind his shoulder as he led her down another corridor. The viscous river of brown sludge had trickled off into nothing. His boots gritted along the narrow passageway. They could hear an explosion of sound reverberating along the rounded walls. They were getting close to the Hidden Quarter, the Black Market. One could easily get lost in the labyrinthine maze of the Underground unless they knew how to read and decipher the code of the graffiti. There were maps and messages hidden in the brightly colored, spray-painted tags on the walls.
"Yeah, lover." He answered against his better judgment. He should have kept it on business. Too late now. But he wanted her to know him personally, didn't he? A part of him certainly did, otherwise he wouldn't have said anything. "Arie. Younger than me. I met her through this woman we are about to meet. Arie was an arms dealer, a pretty well-known one, too." He didn't say anything else on the matter, yet his tone wasn't full of fondness or affection when he spoke of her. He decided to quickly shift the conversation once he thought better of what he was doing. He looked back to Stormcrow briefly. "Do you know about Seralah?"
She was by his side now. Her profile was impish. She had a small, pert and upturned nose. In her youth, Stormcrow must have been quite beautiful. She was a fading painting now, yellowed lace. She flicked a look up at him, her smile crooked, gold glittering in it.
"Sure, I do," she said, her voice like warmed whiskey. "Met her once. Last year." Something about the way she said last year. She looked impossibly sad. But it was already fading by the next breath and her sly grin was back.
"Little thing. Hard to believe she runs all this mess down here." Silence was between them again, but not awkward; it was comfortable, warm. Familiar. She changed the subject back to their previous conversation, speaking about her first mate once more, "They hanged him before I even set foot on the Emperor's barge." Her tone was dismal now. This was not a fun story. He frowned. "I'd meant to get caught, see. I guess I overdid it a little, but dammit, I'd been tryin' to get pinched for a week. I'd assumed he'd get a trial, my Finny. But they'd just hanged him right away. Dumped him in the sea. And he wasn't no infamous pirate. Just my first mate. No one sings stories about the first mate so..." She shrugged. "I never heard. Sure was fun dumpin' that entire cake on the Empress though. She's a great big woman. Her chins jiggle when she's mad." Her smile returned, bright like the sun peeking through dark clouds.
She sighed again, another furtive glance sent his way. "So. I don't have nobody anymore. After Finny, well, I spent some time in prison and I almost danced off the end of a rope myself. I guess I was too tired. Gettin' too old for that nonsense." She quieted herself then. And though her smile never left her lips, her eyes didn't hold the same mirth this time.
He was once again wordless as he listened and turned the story over in his mind. So that was it. She didn't attack the Emperor's barge because she was a foolish imbecilic amateur who wanted to sound tough and look big. She wanted to rescue someone she cared about. It was still impulsive and foolish, but at least her reasoning was sounder than what was written in the papers. They made her out to seem ruthless and cruel, someone who would stop at nothing. She was a mad terrorist. He noted in his mind that she was single. He almost smiled again.
But the real captain Anryn Stormcrow was nothing like the pictures that were drawn of her, nor the articles penned in the news journals.
"She's a little thing?" he asked as he slowed his pace, allowing her to stride by his side. He wanted to keep the conversation away from her first mate, Finny, or anything too personal. "Funny, I always pictured Seralah as like... a nasty witch. Queen of the Underground. Marquis of the Hidden Quarter. Prophet to the eyes of the gods. Or whatever else dumb name they have for her down here." His voice echoed and carried off the walls.
They stopped at a guarded, large, wooden door. The door was rounded and old. Paint curled and flaked off and littered the floor. The hinges were rusted and ornate, reaching out across the splintered wood.
Two fat men in mismatched armor slouched bored and unprofessional against the wall. Their weapons were cobbled together with leather and nails. Their faces were patchy with hair and dirt. They were playing a card game as Kia and Ryn approached. One looked up and slowly stood at attention.
"Who goes to the Underground Market?" he asked in disinterested, fatigued rote script.
Anryn nodded as they approached the guards.
"Seralah's little, young and pretty. Like a doll. All big eyes and dark hair. Was real sweet too. She'd heard about me, and had a fondness for pirate stories. So I was allowed passage through her kingdom." She stopped speaking and stepped out in front of him. She bowed in a flourish. Her cleavage nearly spilled out of her robin's egg blue shirt. The men noticed. Their gaze glittered and moved over her skin. "Greetings, gentlemen. Captain Anryn Stormcrow at yer service." She waggled her brow and winked. She was flirting.
Kia patted his pockets for a cigar and set a fresh one between his teeth. He watched with folded arms and amusement plastered all over his disfigured face. She was cute, Anryn Stormcrow. Really fucking cute.
The guards thought so, too. The first one floundered over himself and nudged the other. "Stormcrow," he whispered to his thinner friend. "It's Stormcrow." He repeated with urgency and animation.
"So?" The other guard whispered back, too loudly. He batted away his friend's fat finger. "It's probably not that Stormcrow. Just let them through." They were bad at their job, Kia could see. But it also didn't matter. Hundreds of people came and went through the doors every day, and most of the patrons kept their own counsel.
The Old Dog eyed them up and down with scrutiny as they passed. He saw them shiver under the malice and threat of his gaze.
They shoved through tattered, red, gauze curtain and clacking beaded threads. Then they entered a wide open space that was flooded with sounds and smells. It looked like a gargantuan temple or a church. Except the ceiling was as tall as the sky and the stained glass windows were colorful mountain tops. It was crowded, shoulder to shoulder. The smell of the sewer was melted away and replaced with the scent of exotic spices, herbs, and rotten potions being brewed.
Kia offered his arm, hoping she would thread herself around him to keep from being lost. That, and a small part of him merely wanted to know what it was like to have her touch him. His skin bloomed a violent red. If she dared ask, he'd blame it on the stuffy atmosphere.
But she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were wide and her smile was exuberant. She loved it, that much was clear. She fit in such a place. She took his arm and squeezed it to her side, hugged the appendage. Her free hand, the mangled one, patted his.
"Would you lookit this place," she breathed. "Last time, I never got to see it like this. Was a Saint's Day and so it was all quiet." Nehmain was a god for tombs, not open markets like this. She looked up at him and for a moment, her smile was hesitant and she seemed as charmed by him as the place they were in.
He smiled back at her, and for a moment completely forgot that he was on a quest. It didn't feel like business; it felt like a date with her threaded around his arm and squeezed to his side. Crow's feet pulled at the corner of his eye as his lopsided grin cut across his aged features. Her vigor was contagious. He had been here before, but had never once felt excited about it. Stop, said a more sensible, authoritative voice in his head.
And then he was reminded about work. Right. Of course.
He tugged her briskly. She was almost knocked back with her grip slipping from his arm. He pushed through the crowd, using his massive size and weight to their advantage. Eventually, the crowd had enough sense to begin to split for his passage, to avoid being bruised and beaten.
They passed by steaming apothecary stalls and loud merchants selling animals. They strolled by sparkling jewelry and magic carpets. Salesmen that had books on the occult and questionable artifacts called and cooed out to them for attention. But he ignored them all to make a straight line for someone else.
Eventually, he found the person that he was looking for. She was a plump woman with a smattering of warts. She could have been middle-aged, or she could have been ancient. It was impossible to tell under her bristling, straw hair and hodgepodge of robes. She surrounded herself in a small, purple tent. Relics of antiquity clamored around her, but it didn't appear as if she was actually selling anything. There was a strange bird with a chain tied around its slender neck. The creature patiently perched by her bare, ugly toes.
"Magda the Mad." Kia greeted this time, his arm dropping away from Stormcrow's grasp.
"Yeah, yeah," Magda croaked out like a toad, "I got your message." Her small button eyes blinked as she eyed the pair up and down callously.
Anryn was a tad sullen now, likely annoyed at him for jerking and pulling her along through the crowd. She rubbed her arm and stepped away from him. Her clever gaze took note of everything and she smiled at the lumpy woman.
"Rynny Stormcrow," she said, extending her good hand, her pleasant smile curling her lips again. She didn't wait to be introduced and she clearly wasn't the type of woman who stood by idle to just hover in the background.
Magda eyed Anryn uneasily. Her piled body creaked under her wicker chair. "Hrmph." She grunted in distaste at the busty female. She didn't take Ryn's hand.
Anryn drew her hand back and scowled as though wounded. Perhaps she wasn't used to people not liking her friendly, bubbly demeanor. She turned her back and picked at and inspected all the odds and ends in the tent wordlessly.
"Well," said Magda's nasal voice. It scratched irritatingly through his ears. "What're you looking for then, son?" Her pudgy hand dropped to gently stroke the swan-like bird at her side. The white feathers had a pearlescent sheen. When the dull light glanced on its wing, it glittered like the inside of a seashell.
"The Idol of Turtih," he said, passing just a brief glance to Ryn.
"Eh?" Magda snapped back waspishly. "I won't even ask what you want that for." She then half turned to fetch a strange sea creature out of a bowl of water beside her chair. Its long brown insect-like legs thrashed as her broken, yellowing teeth bit into it.
Kia winced. A splash of yellow juice shot out and splashed on his shirt. "Where can we get it?" he wondered as Magda the Mad had her lunch. He brushed his hand across his shirt, hoping to get most of the ooze off him.
"Well," She took her time answering and mopped her flabby, hairy chin on her sleeve. "One of two places. And you won't like either of them." She eyed the pair in front of her with some contempt. "It best be easier if you two split up, actually, if you really need to find it in a hurry." She laved a finger against her tongue and then chortled. It was a repulsive laugh that held no true heart.
"Don't touch that!" Magda didn't even see what Ryn was rifling through, but she didn't want any of her things jostled or prodded. Immediately, Ryn dropped the small trinket she had picked up. After scolding the captain like a toddler, Magda turned back to address Kia. Magda's belongings were hoarded and piled without rhyme or reason. An old brass magical lamp was stashed against a child's toy and a broken bottle. Everything was kept without order or regard. "Now," she sneered, baring her broken fence teeth, "You can find the Idol in one of two places. Here in the Marketplace... or, more likely, down below."
"Down below?" Kia repeated, "As in..."
She chortled, "Oh yes, Old Dog, heh heh. As in... the Seal of the Seventh Nehmain." She said cleverly with hidden meaning. Her tiny bullet eyes glistened in delight at his dismay.
"They're cultists." He uttered dispassionately. "I'm not going to go down there and mess with them without good reason."
"Well," Magda said as she adjusted herself in her sagging chair. "That's the best lead I have. And honestly, I think it's more likely to be down there more than it is up here. But it could be in both places." She said as she waved a fleshy hand. Her arm fat waggled like a flag in a breeze. "You both best get to work if you want to find it. That's a valuable piece, that is. I bet a lot of people are looking for it. I'd also hate for word to get out that you two are even looking."
Kia frowned at her disapprovingly; he knew when Magda was toying or vicariously threatening him. He turned to Anryn, as if desperate for her input.
Anryn was back at his side. She ran her tongue over her teeth. She shrugged. "Makes sense. We don't wanna be down here longer than we gotta be," Anryn replied, avoiding eye contact with the Mad after the initial rejection. "I'll go down below. I'm smaller, quieter. You'd get noticed." It was then the woman raked her gaze over Kia, from the crown of his head to the tips of his boots and back up again. When she met his gaze again, it was heated and there was a little color on her freckled cheeks.
Magda the Mad saw the lust in her eyes. She also noticed that when Kia looked back at Stormcrow, it was full of affection and longing. It was something rarely seen on his mean, pit bull face. It was a tiny diamond shimmering in the rock bed. Magda cackled when he shook his head to deny Anryn her request. He wanted to protect her. Something was growing inside of him, and it only flexed stronger and broader each time his eyes grazed across her face.
"No," he uttered back, ignoring the madwoman's laughter. "I'll go down below. You stay up here and look through the marketplace before it closes at dawn. We can meet back here, at Magda's tent."
He wanted to linger. He wanted to look into her sea-colored eyes and maybe even taste her lips. He couldn't. The flush in Anryn's cheeks made his heart jump a little. Business, he reminded himself. Push her away.
"So..." he said as he took a step back and contorted his brow into a scowl. "I'll... see you when I see you. Let's just fucking get it done." He built up a wall and made his words cold as steel.
She frowned a little when he pulled away and her blush faded. She nodded to him. "Right. I'll get to work then." She moved to leave and then paused. She swept into a grand, flourishing bow. "Madam? It was a rare pleasure. I'll be sure to return. Get my fortune read. Or somethin'." She grinned and winked at Magda and then, just like that, she was gone, bounding into the crowd, her step jaunty and confident.
Kia stared at Anryn's backside and the way her breasts bounced in the sling of her shirt. His eyes lingered a little too long until she vanished into the throng of the crowds, and Magda noticed.
"Lover? Or just a little piece on the side?" Magda snidely asked as she tugged the silver chain looped around the bird's neck. The beautiful creature whimpered a little and looked up at Kia with wide, black, pleading eyes.
Kia merely grunted, a dismissive and indifferent rumble in his throat before he shrugged his shoulders and walked away. He heard Magda's crackling laughter follow behind him before he was engulfed in the Marketplace.
He pushed himself through to the edges. Broken-down and abandon stalls captured a howling, breathing, cold wind from the sewer tunnels below. He continued to travel downward where the caverns opened wide and the tinkling of drains gargled like silver bells. Below the Marketplace was the true Hidden Quarter, the domain of Marquis Seralah.
She was not truly ordained a Marquis, but she was indeed the unquestionable ruler of the Underground. Her meteoric rise was something of a legend. She was fearful whispers muttered about her above and below ground. Kia had never met her face to face, but he imagined her as some wretched hag or a brutish, militaristic soldier. According to Anryn, she was neither.
Kia had some dealings with Seralah, as his business oftentimes trafficked through the Underground. However, he always avoided any meetings with the woman herself. She was said to be mad.
The Underground was home to many of the Unquenched and other undead. It was also a safe place for zealot cultists to practice their beliefs to every known god. Many of the cults warred and battled with one another. Some of them were small and innocuous; others were large, powerful, and well known.
The Seal of the Seventh Nehmain was one of the bigger, more feared groups that celebrated the god of death. Kia knew exactly where to find them. Additionally, he followed the graffiti's coded signposts that were painted onto the stone walls. In symbols and in carvings, it warned him to turn around, go back. He was venturing into the dead god's domain.
The Seal of the Seventh Nehmain battled with another faction, The Wings of Turtih. Usually, the fights were over territory and control. The Wings of Turtih were a smaller group, but they were better armed and better tacticians. They honored and adored the god of war, Turtih, and rarely lost a fight. Because of the known battles between the two groups, it didn't come as a surprise that the Seal of the Seventh Nehmain held one of the other cult's idols. They likely took it as a trophy from some fight.
It could have been a blessing in disguise, too. Between the two cults, Kia preferred dealing with the Nehmain followers than the Turtih zealots. Obtaining the Idol of Turtih would likely be easier to do to a group that didn't actually worship the god in question. It would mean less to them and they would likely drive an easier bargain.
He came upon a small, iron, circular door at the end of a narrow corridor. There was a giant "7" splattered in blood on the entryway. A torch in the distance flickered and illuminated the number painted upon the black metal. He tossed away the remains of his unlit cigar and paused.
Then he knocked.
There was a pause and a shuffle. Finally, the iron door creaked and swung open. A small, thin woman dressed in only beads, bones, feathers, and a patchwork skirt answered. Her face and head were hidden under a helmet carved from a very large bird skull. He could see just her painted purple lips that curled into a cruel smile. Her teeth were still stained pink from blood and flesh.
"Today is not a merchant's day," she said in a voice that was broken and cracked. "Go away. No visitors. Nehmain eat your liver."
"I'm Kia Sin'del. The Old Dog," he replied tersely, hoping his name would carry some weight. It usually did in places like this.
She tipped her head sharply to the side. He could see that she was weighing and evaluating. She then turned and looked over her shoulder, whispering to someone else.
Eventually, she shot a look back to him. The beads and decorations clattered loudly against her bare breast. She was thin and willowy, like a dancer. He couldn't help but look.
"You come alone?" the bird woman asked in a clipped, sharp tone. He nodded.
She stepped back and motioned for him to come inside.
It was a dark, cold, airy place. The stench of copper hung thick in the air. It was meat, blood. It stained the atmosphere and clung to the back of his throat like sea salt. Bones littered the floor carelessly. They looked vaguely elfish. But he also saw larger bones that likely belonged to cattle or horses.
"You come at bad time," said the bird woman, her voice echoing in the cave-like room. "We just get done honoring Nehmain, blessed be his name in death and power." She said the last words automatically, like a prayer. "Keep voice down. Am sleeping. Glutton for blood and flesh. Gorged too much. Heh heh."
When she walked, her skirts ruffled and her beads clacked woodenly. They passed by a room that looked like a great, dark temple. Pews made of cobbled-together driftwood and trash were lined perfectly around the room. At the center was a skeleton the size of a house, pieced together by found bones and broken artifacts. It was set into the stone wall and loomed over the rest of the cathedral like a giant angel. The skeleton had massive wings shaped to look like that of a bat or a demon. Black, tattered pieces of trash bags acted as the leather membrane in between the fingers. She led him into a smaller side room that acted as an office.
It was then he noticed that they were being followed. A silent Unquenched joined them. He was a large man with a hideous, dead face that had begun to suffer from the signs of decay. His clothing was a miscellaneous mess of beads, metal, and animal skins. Kia assumed he was a bodyguard and likely followed "visitors" and "guests." Like all Unquenched, he said very little and merely lurked behind.
"Come, come," said the witch-like priestess of Nehmain. "Sit."
There was a threadbare rug and pillows in the room. Decanters and dirty hookahs were scattered in the corners. Some looked to have been very beautiful, delicate pieces of art at one point in time. Most of them were broken and unusable.
The priestess sat down, smoothing her layered skirt with skinny, long hands. Kia sat across from her on a plush pillow. The Unquenched remained at the door, silent and watching through drooped, stitched eyes.
Kia got right down to business. "I'm looking for the Idol of Turtih. I heard you have it. Magda the Mad told me. I'm willing to trade for it. A favor, maybe."
The woman canted her head to the side, curious and listening. Her mannerisms were avian and sharp. He couldn't see her expressions through the ivory bone of the bird skull helmet.
"You know I have a lot of influence in the world above or you wouldn't have invited me in here." He added. He could see a whisper of a smile beginning to form on her violet lips. It unsettled him. "I just want the idol, nothing else. If you aren't the one for me to talk to, then bring me to the one who is."
"No, no. I get for you. I get for you the finger-bone of stupid war god. Your favor brings meaning, Old Dog. We are honored to have you in our midst. Your name is known to us. I speak for us. I speak for the honored among Nehmain. I watch over our people. Am Watcher of Nehmain. I do not sleep. I am ambassador to above ground. I listen. A favor from you could be useful, especially for such a trite thing. We are glad to give to you, Old Dog. Would not throw or turn away your kind favors." She cocked her head to the other side and studied him through the endless black eye sockets of the bone, "I get for you this thing, yes? And you owe me, our people, a favor. You will owe Nehmain."
Owing a favor to the god of death, Kia asked himself. He almost wanted to reconsider. The priestess seemed amused. Too amused. Too pleased. This all seemed too easy. Perhaps he should not over-think it and be grateful that it wasn't difficult. He ought to count his blessings, take the idol, and leave as quickly as possible.
The Unquenched at the door made a small grumbling, rumbling sound. It almost sounded like a laugh. Kia shifted himself in his seat. The pillow was thin and hard against the ground.
"Lazz, go fetch Idol from the storage room, yes?" The priestess shooed the Unquenched away. The creature paused before it shuffled away, his great shadow vanishing from the floor. A small amount of light slid into the dark, hollow office. It felt more like a prison cell than a place of business. A chill ran up Kia's spine. The air was too icy, too damp. It clung to his lungs like a wet piece of sediment.
The priestess returned her look to Kia and smiled again. She said nothing as they waited. She did not offer him a drink nor give him her name. He was left to shift uncomfortably.
His thoughts unintentionally ventured back to the comforts of Anryn. He wished she was beside him, making easy conversation and lighting the atmosphere with her mere sunshiny presence.
Finally, Lazz, the large Unquenched, returned. He bent down to shove the small, pocket-sized Idol of Turtih into Kia's face. It was black as obsidian, polished and shining. Yet it was ivory, clearly made of bone. It was light and tiny, like a chess piece. It was carved into the shape of a warrior in full plated armor with a sharp, heavy sword in hand. Swiftly, he pocketed it. So much trouble for such an insignificant thing.
"Thank you," he said as he hoisted himself to his feet, too eager to leave.
"Nehmain lights your path in blood and darkness, Old Dog," the witch said with a chastising smile. "Lazz, see him out. I will come for favor when I have need of it, Dog." She smirked again and said nothing else as the two left.
The Unquenched followed behind Kia like an ominous shadow. They passed through the temple with the skeleton altar and the rooms with the salt and iron smells. There was a stirring and shuffle in the distance. The other zealots were awakening from their slumber, perhaps to feast and dance in the darkness again. He did not want to see, did not want to encounter them. He couldn't have picked a better time to come.
No doubt he would have been chosen as a sacrifice if there were more of them around and he had said the wrong thing.
Anryn was more of a people person, he could tell. Perhaps he should have brought her with him. No matter. He got the Idol, and he was now on his way out to put this whole mess behind him.
The Unquenched opened the circular iron door to see him out. Then it snapped closed behind him. It was silent again, except for the scurry of rats and the dripping of water.
He turned the corner and was ambushed.
He didn't see their faces when a bag was dropped over his head. He didn't hear them until it was too late. He was kicked in the back of the knees and dropped to the ground. His hands were tightly bound and a leather strap looped around his throat. He could barely breathe, let alone think of how to retaliate. He couldn't cry out or protest, because it suddenly went very dark.