Thatwas not what caught Isaac’s attention.
A sigilhad been carved into his forehead.By the jagged lines and clear markers of infection,the symbol had been cut into the boy with something no more sophisticated thana knife.Isaac recognized it immediately, and a chill went up his spine.
Parasitemagic.
In someschools of thought, it was often referred to as a charm enchantment, thoughthis ignored the true relationship the spellcaster had with the victim.Thesigil turned the bearer into an unwitting thrall, their higher functioningoverridden, their body’s energy leeched directly into the caster.Often, thiswould continue until the victim was withered into little more than a husk.Inthe Scorching, several armies had used captured soldiers in this manner,forcing their body and soul into the equivalent of ammunition for a wizard’sspells.From then on, the Diet of Nine had declared parasitism to be very, veryillegal.
Isaacgazed towards the tomb entrance.The tunnel was dark, a bed of stairs barelyvisible as they led deep into the earth.As he looked back, he examined thebody of the young man further, discovering that he had also twisted his ankle.
Isaacimagined a sequence of events.A sorcerer had been leading a thralled entourageinto the mouth of the skull.From the lack of other bodies, they must havegained safe passage from the shibboleth.One of the thralls had tripped over askeleton because he lacked the sense to watch his step.The young man hadtwisted his ankle.The sorcerer, considering the matter no more deeply than ahorse with a broken leg, ordered his thrall to be executed.And now here thebody lay—a young human, presumably one with family and friends, lying dead inthe sand for a mistake he did not have the presence of mind to avoid.
The boyhad not died more than a day ago.Whoever had carved the sigilinto his head could not have been far.This deep into the Charnel Waste, therewas only one place the puppeteer could have gone.
Isaaclooked at the tomb again.
Hadanother sorcerer arrived before him?
Was thenecromancer in this tomb capable of enslaving those on the surface?
Neitherof these options was good.Furthermore, they did not explain the lack of tracksoutside the skull.There was no wind.If an army of thralls had marched intothe skull, they should have left a very wide trail.Could someone have cast thewind themselves?
Isaacwatched the shadowy tomb a moment longer.Slowly, he reached over and closedthe young man’s eyes.He sighed, looking away.
A loudcrash echoed behind him.
When helooked, he saw the ground before the trapdoor begin to splinter and shake.Underneath a cacophony of falling earth, he heard a barbaric groan of effort.
Hedropped the bronze sword, running fast.Down in the grave robber’s pit, Zariahad started to yank the metal bars free with her bare hands, and the cave-inwas now spilling into her cell.With her foot braced and her teeth gritted, sheripped another pair of bars directly from their rusty foundations.Beneath him,the ground continued to tremble as the long-dormant cave-in was now free tocontinue spilling, triggering cascades of load-bearing failures.
Shelooked up at him.With a snarl, she wrenched a boulder free from the growingstack of rock, accelerating the collapse.
Theground beneath Isaac gave a sickening lurch.He tried to run.
Momentslater, a semi-circle of earth collapsed beneath him, and he didn’t quite makethe jump.His chest slammed into the edge of solid ground, his body drapedalong a new slope of cracked rock and dry, spilling sand.Clouds of dust kickedfiercely into the air.Isaac fought for purchase, his feet kicking uselesslybeneath him, trying to pull his way to safety.
“Isaac!”
Zariaclimbed from the wreckage of spilled earth.Her mohawk was wild, there wasblood leaking down her face, and her poleaxe was clenched viciously in hand,held out to a killing point.She climbed free of the boulders and sprinted upthe collapsed bed of rock.Isaac scrambled back to solid ground, crawlingdesperately on his hands and knees.He fell nearly face-first into the ancientskeletons, gripping rotted cloth for purchase as he struggled back to his feet.
Zariaemerged from the crater of the cave-in, animal eyes focused and sharp.
“Stop!”Isaac shouted.“Stop!”
Shestood in place, breathing heavily.Above, he heard the shibboleth shunt itsheads to her.There was a grinding saw of stone.Magical fire illuminated thedark.
“Don’tcome any closer,” Isaac said, holding out his still-tied hands.He reallywished he had focused on cutting them first.“The shibboleth will kill you.”
Herpink tongue threaded over teeth.
“Please,”Isaac said.“Listen.Listen to me.This is foolish.You need to think aboutthis—”
Shetook one hand off her poleaxe and tossed it upwards, catching it in an overhandgrip.With a cock of her arm, she twisted her body back and shot it forwardwith a shot-putter’s grace, throwing her entire weight behind the swing.Herpolearm flew like a javelin.
Isaacheard the crunch of magically-treated glass a moment before the shards raineddown over his shoulder.The top head of the shibboleth had been pierced cleanthrough with the spear tip of her poleaxe, cleaving the brittle face in twain.The statue reeled back, the old stone of its dog body cracking apart, spewing awreath of fire from the open stump.After a moment, the heads tilted forward,still swirled together as a neckless sludge.They tumbled to the ground,shattering to pieces.A circular band of teeth rolled like a wagon’s wheelacross the floor.Fire flickered and died.
Zariaclenched her fists.A growl echoed amongst the bone and sand.
“Oh,fuck,” Isaac said, and ran into the tomb.
