The two adventurers looked down the dark corridor. Nothing could be seen, which only made it appear more foreboding. “That answers the question of whether we can proceed. Now to ask whether we should.” Martel looked at Eleanor.
“If so deeper evil is at work in this place – that the reanimation of the dead is not caused purely on accident – it would be in this place. I assu,” she added hesitantly. “I admit, I cannot quite grasp how or what, but given how far advanced the Archeans were compared to us, that is no guarantee of anything.”
“Certainly sothing is afoot. They kept this place sealed and restricted from their helpers. But what could the masters of this tower be doing in those tunnels?” Martel summoned a fla and sent it drifting down the corridor. It illuminated nothing but stonework. “And why would it connect with the necromancy that plagues the area?”
“As I just said, hard to grasp. But we already know of one faction in Archen who experinted with reckless magic. It is not difficult to imagine the sa taking place here. We tend to think favourably of the Archean wizards because of their advances, but we truly know so little of them. Our view may have been far too benign.” Eleanor looked from the corridor to her companion. “We do not have to enter. We can close the door and leave.”
Martel thought about it. They had once been in a place similar to this; the Archean ruins outside of Morcaster, which likewise held a sealed entrance to an underground complex. So manner of creature had lurked within, undoubtedly dangerous. They would be risking their lives by entering.
But they were both powerful mages. Martel thought about the family back in the village who had hosted them for a night, sharing what little they had in the deep of winter with complete strangers. If a battlemage and a mageknight would not deal with this, nor would anybody else. “Let’s go.”
“Wait. We have to be sure we can get out.”
Martel looked at her. “As long as we don’t step on the sigils again, the door will remain open.”
She returned his gaze. “How can you be sure? How much do either of us know about these chanisms?”
“Well, the masters presumably went into the tunnels after opening the door. If it closed behind them, they would get trapped,” he argued.
“Maybe there is so kind of lever on the other side that lets a single person open it, but it is hidden from view. We cannot simply chance it.”
He frowned. “So, what are you saying? We can’t risk going in?”
“We can, but not without taking a few precautions. Give a mont, and I shall return shortly.” She placed her shield against the wall and hurried up the stairs. Martel glanced down the corridor, his fla from earlier still hovering in the air.
When Eleanor returned, she carried sothing heavy in her arms. As she reached the circle of light from Martel’s staff, he saw it was a large piece of the ceiling from between the floors that had fallen down. She placed it in the opening of the hidden door. “Step back onto your sigil,” she told him.
Both of them took their previous places, the figurine still covering the Jester, and the door closed until it got stuck against the large rock. “I guess that works,” Martel conceded.
They stepped off and back on, pushing the door fully open. Eleanor picked up her shield and drew her sword. “Let us go.”
They had not gone far before the corridor no longer continued straightforward but instead split right and left. “Which way?” Eleanor asked.
Martel sent a fla down either direction. They simply illuminated more tunnels with the exact sa stonework; nothing distinguished either. He sent out a burst of magic, which did not tell him anything. If any sort of sorcery lay down here, the walls around them blocked his ability to feel it. “Whichever you choose. But first…” He summoned fire at the tip of his finger, strong enough to scorch rock, and made a small cross on the wall. “Just in case the path keeps twisting and forking.”
She nodded a little before glancing in either direction. “I suppose one is as good as the other.” Eleanor turned right.
“What could the Archean wizards possibly have been doing down here?” Martel asked after a while. The sound of his voice seed to echo between the walls, and it felt so eerie, he regretted breaking the silence.
“I do not have the faintest idea,” Eleanor replied softly; as she walked ahead of him, he could barely hear her words.
“There’s not even anything down here.” Martel had lowered his voice to a whisper; he spoke as much to himself as to his companion. This place was no worse than the catacombs or the Undercroft beneath Morcaster, Martel tried to convince himself; yet the complete lack of knowledge of what they might encounter unnerved him deeply. At least he had understood the purpose of those other places, whether a dwelling for the living or the dead. This seed like the creation of a madman; endless tunnels, twisting and turning without ever leaving anywhere. Maybe it was all just an elaborate trap, imprisoning foolhardy adventurers.
Sothing poked at Martel. Seeing Eleanor freeze, he realised she had felt the sa. It took him a mont to realise it was none of his physical senses but their magical counterpart that had reacted.
“What happened?” he whispered.
“I triggered sothing when I stepped forward,” she replied in the sa manner. “I cannot tell what it was.”
“A trap?”
“If so, not a very good one. I see and feel no change.”
Martel extended his magical sense. No source of heat other than his and hers. No other touch of magic in the air; whatever they had released, it had already faded away. Or perhaps sothing else entirely had taken place.
“I suppose we continue,” Eleanor declared, though uncertainty filled her voice. She held her sword ready again as she advanced. Once more, they arrived at a fork in the tunnel, forcing them to turn left or right. Martel reached out to inscribe a cross on the wall as before while Eleanor stepped into the new tunnel that intersected with their current one. From the left, a sword ca swinging directly at her head.
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