Page 45 of Astarion

The explosion knocked Astarion to his knees. His ears were full of a high-pitched keening sound. He shouted, “Fuck!,” but couldn’t hear himself and wondered if he’d actually said it out loud or only thought it. For that matter, he could barely hear himself think.

Dust rattled down from the ceiling, pebbles bouncing on the ground in front of him. Through the horrible sound in his ears, he managed to think of cave-ins and tunnel collapses, and that sent him crawling out onto the ledge. It might break away from the wall, but at least it wouldn’t crush him under a million tons of stone.

The ringing seemed to be affecting his balance. He clutched the low wall for support, shaking his head, waiting for his inner ear to sort itself out. Violet. That miserable little bitch. Behind the bratty exterior lay the soul of a…a…shit. Something awful. He couldn’t think of anything quite awful enough. More importantly, he couldn’t believe he’d underestimated her so badly.

He was in mid-recrimination when a much more immediate thought worked its way through the ringing. Astarion pushed himself up, very slowly, and peered over the wall.

The cavern was still full of hundreds, maybe thousands, of skeletons. But they were no longer milling about. The ruined streets were utterly still. Every one of them had stopped in their tracks. And every single one was looking up at him.

—

The cultists who came for him were led by a soap mummy, and the man at the Guild had been right—they were nasty. Astarion had only ever met one mummy, a mummy lord who had come to Szarr Palace, but it had been a tall, gaunt creature wrapped in linen, its desiccated flesh pulled tight against the bone. Its voice was as dry and whispery as a desert wind, and a scarab crouched in its mouth where other beings had a tongue.

It had also, as Astarion recalled, been a bit of a snob.

This mummy looked like a half-melted candle. It bulged out of its wrappings, waxy flesh partially engulfing them, and its fingers had fused together into lumpy mittens.

“Hello,” Astarion said, waving. His ears were still ringing faintly, but he’d made a stab at escaping. Unfortunately, the mummy and a number of skeletons were waiting for him in the corridor. As soon as he saw them, he tried to make it up a wall, but the mummy gestured, and three skeletons raised crossbows, all of them pointed in his direction.

“Get down,” ordered the mummy. Its voice was deeper and thicker than that of the other mummy Astarion had encountered, cold water instead of desert wind.

Vampire spawn were hard to kill, but an arrow directly through the heart would do the job nicely. Astarion decided that perhaps it was time for diplomacy. He climbed down the wall and turned, putting on his most charming smile.

“How nice to meet you all. I had no idea you had such a marvelous place down here.”

The mummy gazed at him. At least, Astarion thought it did. Its left eyelid had melted into its cheek, and its right was covered by linen.

“Trying to bring down the ceiling won’t work.” Buried in that cold-water voice was a distinctive accent. Astarion was betting that in life, it had been a dockside bully rather than the scion of a noble house. The mummy lord would doubtless have been appalled.

“I wasn’t trying,” Astarion said. “I was minding my own business, and someone dropped a thunderstone on me.”

The mummy made a scoffing noise that sounded like something splattering inside its chest.

“I realize it sounds fantastical, but I assure you that it is true.” Seeing that this wasn’t helping, Astarion tried a different tactic. “Actually, perhaps you can help me. I was wondering how I would arrange an audience with your leader. Perhaps I could speak to their secretary?”

The mummy shook its head, possibly in disbelief. “Bind him.”

Two skeletons advanced on Astarion. One still wore the ragged clothes of a sailor. Brass knuckles gleamed on the other’s bony fist.

“Now, I’m certain we can talk about this,” Astarion said, taking a step back and hitting the wall. “Surely we can come to some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement?”

There was a long moment, presumably while the mummy worked out the long words, then it said, “Nah,” and struck Astarion across the face.

Its hand might look melted, but it hit like an ogre. One did not survive Szarr Palace for long without learning when fighting back was futile. Astarion let the blow crumple him to the floor and went limp as a dishrag. The two skeletons bashed him around a bit in the process of removing his daggers and tying his hands. Fortunately, the one’s brass knuckles cut open his forehead, which poured blood everywhere and made the beating look much more impressive than it actually was. He moaned dramatically, and the mummy said, “That’s enough. The Inquisitor will want a word with this one.”

Of course they have an inquisitor. It’s always an inquisitor. Hells, I hope my nose isn’t broken.

The skeletons dragged him upright and kicked him into motion. Astarion blinked blood out of his eyes and let out a whimper for verisimilitude. The other thing you learned in Szarr Palace was how to sound much more wounded than you actually were. Fortunately, it appeared the skeletons were not terribly good at searches. He still had a lockpick up each sleeve and two more, plus a holdout knife in his boots.

The troop of skeletons followed the mummy through the door that Yousen had pointed out earlier. Up close, it was clear that the craftsman hadn’t been concerned with such niceties as “filing down the pointy bits” or “cleaning the skulls.” Astarion’s jacket caught on a jagged piece of iron and tore, trailing threads.

So much for this outfit. Ah well, wearing velvet in a dungeon is always a risk.

The mummy led its troop along the ruined streets that Astarion had seen from above. The other skeletons had begun moving again. He saw some clearing debris from tumbledown buildings and others hauling stones. It appeared that renovations to the cult’s compound were ongoing.

The mummy reached another door, this one made of wood banded in iron, and pushed it open. This section actually had intact ceilings, and the dark interior was lit by a single hanging brazier that burned with the same unpleasant greenish light as those outside. The moving skeletons cast a symphony of shadows on the walls.

Another mummy sat at a table, playing solitaire. More skeletons flanked an unlit doorway on the far side of the room.