Asgoleth the Warrior - By Bill Kirkwood Page 0,37

downwards. The darkness enveloped him now and sucked at the light of the torch as if seeking to put it out. There was no room in this place for things of the outer world of light and life and he felt that he was walking into a grim and hopeless underworld where the spirits of the dead roamed in despair and misery. He snarled at these thoughts, banishing them from his mind as being unworthy of a warrior and taking a firmer grip upon the hilt of his great sword, he walked on with firm tread. If he met up with any of them he would give them something to moan about.

Ahead of him he caught sight of a faint metallic glitter and as he drew nearer he saw that the passageway was blocked by a heavy bronze door set firmly into the rock. About the base of the door he saw more human bones. Carefully he edged forward and examined them. They were crushed and splintered as if a great weight had fallen upon them and with a curse he stepped back and glared up at the roof to see what manner of death awaited the unwary there.

Dimly he could see a deep square shaft that vanished up into the darkness above. Leaning carefully he thrust his torch into the shaft and saw a massive block of stone suspended within, waiting to fall upon any who walked beneath. He cursed again, if his keen eyes had not spotted the dimly glimmering and splintered bones; he too would have been crushed beneath that huge block of masonry. It seemed there were more than demons to fear in this terrible place.

He glared back at the floor, somewhere there must be a triggering device. If he could find it he might be able to disarm the trap. Finally he made out the outline of a slab of rock that exactly matched the width of the shaft above. The whole floor then was a trigger and it extended for a distance of at least fifteen paces and ended in a narrow ledge of stone at the base of the bronze door. If he wished to continue his quest he would have to find a way across to the door without touching the floor.

The only way he could do so was to try and leap across the intervening space and try to wedge himself into the door frame. It looked as if it would be wide enough to protect him from the falling stone if his foot should touch the floor. Once there he would find a way to open the door. Cursing Demos, he walked back along the passage then turned and began to run.

He reached the edge of the trap and the muscles of his powerful legs launched him into the air. The force of the drop carried him across the gap but the space between the edge of the trigger and the door itself was too narrow for him to land on properly. His foot slipped off the sill and he felt the floor move slightly beneath him. He knew he had triggered the trap when he heard a rasping grumble from above. Desperately he jammed his fingers into the stone on either side of the doorway, dropping both his sword and his torch as he did so. His fingernails scrabbled against the rough stone and he felt them break and splinter as he sought for a grip to pull himself forward. Then he caught hold of a slight projection and using all his strength he flattened himself against the cold bronze of the door.

He was just in time, another second and he would have been crushed by that awful mass of killing rock and his bones would have lain in this gloomy place forever. As the rock crashed down he felt the bundle of torches upon his back being ripped away along with a goodly portion of his skin.

Trapped between the rock and the door he cursed as his eyes filled with dust and his ears with the booming reverberations of the falling rock. If the demon that guarded this place had been unaware of his presence before, then it certainly would know he was there now. He tensed as he felt movement behind him then grinned as he realised that the rock was returning to its original position to await its next victim. Slowly it rose back up into the gloomy shadows above until it locked in place. Carefully,