Rook Fenwall's Arc

Chapter 18 of 11

The blade sank into the horror's throat, and the chamber came apart. The creature screamed and lurched upright, hauling the sword with it. Rook held on. Blood ran hot over his hands. Then the beast whipped its whole body sideways and threw him. He hit the stone wall. His skull rang. The crystal-eyed helm tore loose and skittered across the floor. The blue lines died. The dark closed over him again. Rook heard the thing thrashing somewhere close. He could not see it. He was blind, and it was wounded and furious. His sword was gone, still lodged in its throat. He pressed flat to the wall and reached for the greatsword on his back. His hand found the grip. He drew the meteoric blade and held it in the black, listening for breath, for the drag of scales. A cold blue light bloomed across the chamber. It did not come from the helm. Rook turned toward it. A figure stood between the fallen columns, armored, faint, glowing from within like a lit lantern. It had no face, only a soft blue flame where a head should be. Rook had passed knightly tombs in the crypt above. He had read the worn shields and the name cut in stone. Percival Thornhaven. One of the knights who came here and died. "Behind you, boy," the ghost said. His voice was thin, far off. The blue light spread and showed Rook the room. It showed the horror rearing to his left, jaws wide, the stone-blade still buried in its throat. Rook did not run. He turned into it. He set his feet the way Garrick had drilled and waited half a breath. The horror lunged. Rook stepped inside the reach, past the raking claws, close against the folded hide. He drove the greatsword up under the jaw with both hands. The dark iron went in to the guard. The creature stiffened. It clawed the air once. Then its legs buckled and it crashed down, and the floor shook under Rook's boots. He held the hilt until the great body went still. Blood pooled black around his feet. The ghost's light steadied. Percival stepped closer and looked down at the dead thing. "This was the beast that killed my people," Rook said. It was not a question. He needed it to be true. The ghost was quiet. "No," he said at last. "This was its keeper. The one you seek sleeps below, past the last door. My brothers and I never reached it." Rook pulled his sword free and stood in the settling dark. He had killed the horror before him. It was not the horror he came for. He found the fallen helm, wiped the blood from the crystal eyes, and pulled it back over his head. The chamber returned in cold blue lines. At the far wall, a low stone door waited, shut for a hundred years. "Show me the way down," Rook said.