Inching up to the archway, Estin sniffed quietly again, picking up the scent of at least three humans, sweat, and plenty of blood. Hushed voices beyond spoke in deeply accented Turessian, though he managed to pick up the words for armies and insanity. There were so few words he had learned from Yoska and Turess’s discussions that he was surprised he understood any of what he heard.
Estin shifted to the very edge of the archway and glanced inside as quickly as he could, hoping he would not be seen. Thankfully, the two black-robed Turessians standing in the small room were focused on a third man’s wounds as he lay on the floor. From what Estin saw in that quick glimpse, the man was in bad shape, and the other two were looking little better. He caught sight of horrible burns and smiled to himself, realizing they had likely faced the dragon outside. They were trying to heal the wounded man…
Living Turessians, he realized with a bit of surprise. He had not really considered that some of the Turessian people would openly back Dorralt, but it made sense. A clan or more would be nearby, not just three people. That meant he had to worry about undead, Turessians controlled by Dorralt, and actual living, breathing Turessians. At least these and the undead he could smell before they reached him.
The tap of boots on the stone floor behind him startled Estin, and he nearly stepped into the doorway out of reflex as he shifted. He looked around frantically for any deep shadows or nooks that might be large enough to fit him. Just past the room with the wounded Turessians, the ceiling climbed toward several windows that helped light the hallway, creating an area where he could easily fit, so long as no one looked up. Unfortunately, it would put him in the way of the light, making it likely that his shadow would be seen if he moved at all.
Digging his claws between the fitted stones—though his feet seemed to skitter off far more loudly than he would have liked—Estin scrambled up to the high ceiling as the boots came closer. When he reached top, he was forced to slow his pace and carefully find firm grips so he could hold himself up as he turned upside-down and inched along the ceiling, keeping his tail as flat as he could to the stones. The footfalls continued their approach even as he yanked himself into the lighted stone shaft and flattened out against the side wall. His fingers and toes shook with the effort of maintaining his weight. As an afterthought, he yanked his tail up into the small opening. He pressed it against the stones to keep it from slipping and to minimize the need to pay attention to it. He had enough to worry about just trying not to fall.
Below him, two Turessians came up to the entrance of the room and stopped directly under Estin. They looked into the room where the others were healing their ally, shaking their heads as they laughed. Estin wondered at that briefly before realizing he could not smell the newcomers.
“Weaklings,” muttered one of the men beneath Estin. “We should have killed them all. They would have served better as corpses.”
Estin’s arms trembled. He looked up at the light shaft, hoping there was something he could grab hold of. There was nothing within reach, forcing him to remain still with all of his weight on his wrists and ankles. He could not even brace himself properly against the shaft’s sides without blocking the light from the window. Another minute or two would be about all he could manage before falling unless he could change his position. Already the tips of his fingers were numb, making his grip unsteady. His left leg was throbbing painfully, the recently healed bones reminding him how bad of an idea the climb had been.
The three wounded men shouted something back at the Turessians in the hall, who laughed and walked away. To Estin it sounded as though the living men had made some form of crude remark to insult the undead. The tone simply sounded familiar from too many years in the bad sections of Altis.
Slowly, Estin adjusted his grip to ensure he would not fall or tire his arms too quickly, now that the Turessians were outside the light cast by the tunnel he hung from. He was halfway through changing position, with one leg on one wall, bracing himself with his hands on the other, when the Turessians came back, forcing him to freeze. Looking down, he could see his shadow cast across the top of their hoods. If they glanced up at the window, he was as good as dead. If they looked at the floor, there was a very distinct wildling-shaped shadow.
The Turessians motioned toward the room. Screams and the smell of burning flesh rose toward the window above him. The men walked away without looking up, and the nauseating scent continued to drift past Estin. Soon, a steady stream of smoke rose up and out of the temple through the window.
Once he was sure the Turessians were too far away to see his shadow move, Estin crawled down the wall until he could poke his head out from the window’s shaft. Looking both directions, he saw nothing and dropped to the floor in a squat. He waited for a shout from anyone he had missed that might be standing ready to attack him. When no shouts came, he stood and went into the room. The three Turessian men lay crumpled on the floor, their robes steaming and bloody burns marking where magic had struck them. They all stared lifelessly at the ceiling.
“Sorry about this,” Estin told the corpse of the nearest man. He dragged the body out of the way of the door and settled it behind the lip of the wall, where it would not be seen by anyone passing by. He scanned the body quickly, looking for anything that might help him, and then realized that aside from the small burns on the chest, the man’s robe was mostly intact.
Disgusted by his own desperation, Estin pulled the man out of his robe and threw it over his own shoulders. He tried not to pay too much attention to the stench of death and the bloody hole in the middle of his chest. Thankfully, his own dark shirt helped conceal the hole somewhat.
Estin examined himself as he belted his swords on over the robe. He had seen Turessians use weapons, so that was not much of a concern. His massive tail would be far more likely to give him away. Even with the hood pulled up, his muzzle and ears were impossible to hide. At best he might not be noticed by someone who was paying attention elsewhere. It might allow him to get a little closer to the runes Turess wanted him to fix, but it would certainly not let him walk past a Turessian without being caught.
As he was contemplating abandoning the robe entirely, another Turessian walked past the door of the room. The woman glanced Estin’s direction and kept walking, her gaze on the ground once she was past. She shook her head, likely thinking Estin was the reason for the two corpses still visible from the door. Sniffing, he easily picked up the woman’s scent. Given that she had hurried away, Estin took it to mean the living and dead Turessians were at the verge of open warfare within the temple. What he had witnessed was not isolated.
Satisfied he had not defiled a body for no good reason, Estin went back into the hall once the Turessian had gone. He continued in the direction he had been going and found the right-hand side opened into a sunlit courtyard, with pillars that acted as tall doorways from the inner halls. Within that courtyard, several dozen robed figures were gathered, talking amongst themselves. In the distance, rumbles and screams came from somewhere outside. The odd acoustics made it feel as though they were miles away, but Estin knew they had to be far closer, unless the Turessians had managed to push back the dragons.
Estin ducked back into the shadows and more carefully approached the opening into the courtyard, trying to get a better idea of what he was dealing with. The pillars actually went up far above the top of the hallway where he stood, with a thirty-foot gap between the roof of the outer section of the temple and the top of the pillars, where Estin could see the sky beyond—though that was entirely shrouded by mists. At the top, a stone ring had been built that connected the pillars, with smaller pillars atop it, allowing for another twenty feet of daylight between them. Atop that, a stone dome capped the temple. From what he could see, the ring of rooms he had passed through was the only actual enclosed space. The only viable way up the pillars for most people was a single narrow staircase carved into one of the pillars, which began near the group of Turessians. Everything else opened into the courtyard, which was easily large enough for a hundred people to stand inside comfortably.
A flash of light near the top of the pillars caught Estin’s eye, and he saw runes were etched into the stone ring halfway up, with another row along the dome’s bottom. All of the runes flickered in the same way those in the temple in Jnodin had when the mists had come. They were sparking and burning out as the mists ripped their power from them. Just as the runes in Jnodin had, these made Estin’s skin prickle painfully, making him feel as though the magic were tugging at his fur. For that he could probably thank Mairlee, if he ever saw her again. Whatever she had done made him far more sensitive to the runes’ effects than he likely should have been.
Unfocusing his eyes, Estin studied the runes as well as he could at a distance. They radiated energy that was twisted in ways he had never seen before. He saw some familiar whorls to it, resembling the way his own magic flowed, though other parts reminded him of the few glimpses he had gotten of Atall’s magic. From another angle it looked more like the tender patterns of magic that continuously drifted around Feanne. It was as though someone had taken every possible type of magic and wrapped it up together.
While he might not understand it or ever be able to duplicate it elsewhere, he could see parts where the magic was weaker and beginning to fade. Each time the magic dwindled, a different form would flow over and rebalance the weaker magics, as though the three styles were aiding one another to resist the mists. Estin watched a moment longer, realizing the way the magic sustained itself meant that pouring his type of magic in could well strengthen even the other types of magic.
It would not be hard to reinforce those runes with fresh magic, mirroring what he could see of them. More than anything, the runes appeared to just need more energy, which he could provide. He doubted his patch would hold up for nearly as long as the original, but it would certainly keep it from failing before nightfall, and perhaps a little longer than that. Even that thought brought torrents of energy to Estin’s fingers, the dragon’s power struggling to escape him.
What he could not do was repair the runes from the ground. He needed to be close enough that he could touch at least part of the script, and that meant a difficult climb, especially as badly as his leg was throbbing after scaling the hallway.
Estin checked the pillar nearest himself and found the stone was deeply marred by centuries in the elements. Handholds would not be an issue, though being spotted certainly would be. He had to climb quite some distance to reach the first ring, perform magic on the whole stone circle, and then somehow climb up another section of pillars and do it again, all without being seen—and without falling.
Before Estin could decide what to do next, he heard more boots hitting the stone floors in the hallway, echoing from both directions. Patrols were getting close. Muttering to himself about never having enough time, Estin yanked off the heavy Turessian robe and threw it aside. He tested his arm and leg movement in the thick winter pants and shirt he wore, finding they would hinder him slightly, even without the robe.
Estin gauged how long he had by the sound of the footsteps. He had maybe another minute before they could see him, if that long.
Grumbling, Estin yanked a small knife from his belt pouch, hurriedly slit the cloth near his shoulder, and pulled off the sleeve. He repeated the process on his other arm. He had always hated the tattered look of wearing his clothing like that. It was too reminiscent of his youth, when keeping his arms and legs free to run or climb was the only way to stay alive. He had seen far too many wildlings and even human urchins get snagged on something just long enough for the guards to catch up to them if they wore long sleeves.
Thinking through things he had done in the past to keep from slowing himself down when climbing, Estin realized his long pants would not help. Slashing at the cloth, he ripped away both pant legs at his knees. The walk home—assuming they survived—was going to be cold. Still, he would rather freeze than slip climbing the temple’s pillars.
As Estin stepped up to the pillar, with the sound of guards getting dangerously close, the distraction he had been promised came. An explosion within the courtyard hurled bodies in all directions. While some of the Turessians crawled to their feet and others remained still in pools of their own blood, Turess walked confidently into the archway opposite Estin. He made no attempt to conceal himself and stopped at the edge of the courtyard, staring down the Turessians who still stood.
Estin then realized Turess could not have created the explosion and searched the shadows behind him. There, Feanne kept herself hidden, her hands up and ready to cast a spell. Given that she was straight behind Turess, she appeared to be trying to make it look like he was the one using magic.