Snake Heart (Chains of Honor #2) -Lindsay Buroker Page 0,24

down the passage to them, this one followed by a man’s yell.

“It has to be the Kyattese team,” Yanko said.

He focused on the ground so he could get them through the dangerous area. Once past it, he resisted the urge to hurry, lest he stumble into more traps. But the screams and shouts continued. They made him want to rush forward to help. Even if these people were his competition, he didn’t want to see them get killed. Also, a selfish part of his mind couldn’t help but think he might sneak in and grab the lodestone while the Kyattese were dealing with... whatever it was they were dealing with.

An eerie screech echoed down the passage, raising the hair on the back of Yanko’s neck.

“The ox god’s puckered butthole, what is that?” Lakeo demanded.

“Nothing natural.”

Yanko drew his sword before continuing down the passage. More screams sounded, screams of utter pain. Someone was shouting choppy orders, but Yanko could not understand the language. The tunnel curved and grew lighter. Lanterns or perhaps a fire burned up ahead. The dancing yellow and orange flames flickered, reflecting off the walls and mingling with the blue from Yanko’s mage light. He let his magic fade, not wanting to herald their arrival.

The tunnel widened ahead of them. Something huge and reddish-gray ran—almost flew—through his view. It was gone before he could identify it. He’d received a vague impression of an animal, but as the inhuman cry sounded again, he became even more certain that nothing natural had made it. This must be some other trap, some eternal guardian left to protect its master’s treasures.

Bows twanged. The person who had been screaming stopped, though a few whimpers were audible underneath the scared shouts. Yanko crept closer to the chamber. He doubted that bows or swords would stop whatever this creature was. Unfortunately, he didn’t know if he could stop it, either.

A bow twanged from right beside the entrance to the chamber. Yanko hesitated. Should he reveal himself?

The reddish creature leaped into sight. It rose on two fat, column-like legs and beat at its chest with fists—no paws. Sharp fangs leered from a mouth more human than animal, and the red eyes that stared at Yanko were utterly alien. Visible to his mind’s eye, multiple auras swirled around it, almost like human souls, but they were knotted and tangled, all mashed together into one body.

As the creature crouched to spring, realization crashed into Yanko, and he knew what he was looking at, what was looking at him. A soul construct. One of the earliest ambulatory Made creations, powered by death, by the souls given up in a ceremony to create it. He’d read of such things, but had never expected to see one. Nobody used such savage and cruel methods for crafting magical constructs anymore. There were modern ways, more advanced ways, ways that didn’t require killing groups of people.

As indignant as he felt by the creature’s presence, Yanko had little time to contemplate it. Since its eyes had locked onto him, he was sure he would be its next target. Would his sword do anything to harm it?

An arrow clanked into the construct’s head. It bounced off, not leaving so much as a chip in the rock-like body. No, a sword wouldn’t do anything. The creature took a step toward Yanko. But then a wave of wind-driven power slammed into its side. Yanko could not see the attack with his eyes, but he felt the magic being used as a draft of air was sucked past him, drawn into the chamber before being channeled at the construct. The team had a weather mage, or the Kyattese equivalent.

The creature did not appear damaged from the gust of wind, but it screeched again and spun toward its attacker, someone that Yanko could not see from the tunnel. The construct charged in that direction. The bowman he’d heard earlier cursed, then ran into the chamber after the creature.

Hoping nobody was watching his passage, Yanko crept out. He would have liked to leap out, flinging fireballs the way Sun Dragon could, but he knew he should apply his strengths. He might only get one chance to attack.

To his left, a couple of bulky bags, a stack of books, and some other items he didn’t have time to examine leaned against the wall. To the right, two men and a woman battled with the soul construct. One other woman lay on the ground, crumpled against a wall, blood saturating her clothing.