The Ghosts of Broken Blades Read Online Free PDF Page A

earned. Or so Serth said.
    Serth the demon.
    He didn’t like the sound of that.
    “Your wellbeing is of utmost import to me, Roubris,” Serth said mentally. “Without you, I never get out of this. I assure you, the path ahead of us is safe.”
    Roubris grinned. He still had the power in this situation. He still had leverage.
    “All right,” Roubris said aloud. “Let’s go in.” Still holding Serth in his hand, he took a few tentative steps toward the rune-girded doorway that led into the temple. Karatha followed. She drew her own sword, Severance.
    To Roubris’s surprise, the door bore a conventional lock. He smiled sheepishly at Karatha. “I can take care of that.” He put the broken sword away and pulled his set of lock picks from his pack.
    “It’s a temple of Deskari. We should expect a trap. Or even a curse. Wait.” With a brief wave of her hand and an invocation to Iomedae, she cast a very quick spell. She nodded and folded her arms. “There is indeed a ward or something more sinister on the door. Let me take care of it.”
    Roubris shrugged and backed away. “Be my guest.”
    Karatha cast another spell. This time, the gestures and prayers were far more involved. Beads of perspiration formed on her forehead. A golden glow limned the door. It brightened, faded, and then brightened again before disappearing. Karatha sighed.
    “It was difficult, but whatever nastiness the clerics of Deskari had in mind is now dispelled.”
    “And the lock?”
    “You’ll still need to take care of that in the conventional manner.” Karatha stumbled a bit over the word “conventional.” Perhaps it was the irony.
    Roubris nodded and got to work. He had been picking locks most of his life. His mother had him picking simple door locks since he was tall enough to reach them. Although the lock was difficult, his success was never in question. It took time, but as far as he knew, they were in no rush.
    Once he finished with the lock, the door swung open, silently.
    Roubris rolled backward. His hand went for his dagger. He looked for whoever had opened the door, but no one was there.
    “It was probably just designed that way,” Karatha said.
    He pulled out Serth again. The weapon remained silent, and Roubris decided that he was fine with that. Karatha produced a small, smooth stone attached to a tiny hook and affixed it to her belt. Within seconds, the stone shone with a light as bright as sunshine coming in through a small window. This illumination extended into the dark recesses of the windowless temple. Roubris would have sworn that within that place, the light dimmed, as if intimidated.
    As plain as the outside of the ziggurat was, the interior was elaborate. A black iron grillwork covered every surface, with leering metallic faces, claws, and twisted thorns jutting out all over it at unpredictable angles. Dust and cobwebs then covered this baroque, rusting skin.
    Within this dangerous-looking environment lay a single altar fashioned entirely from black iron. Unlit candelabras seemed positioned randomly about the walls, and rusting chains ending in cruel hooks hung from the ceiling in similarly haphazard positions. A wall appeared to divide the interior of the small temple into halves, with a wide iron door fashioned to slide from side to side.
    Finally Serth spoke up. “Beyond that door lies the treasure I’ve promised you, Roubris. There’s likely more in there than you and your friend can carry, I’m afraid, but nevertheless you’ll find yourself an extraordinarily wealthy man once you open that door.”
    Roubris’s mouth watered. He stepped toward the door and heard Karatha hiss through her teeth. He looked back at her. “What is it?”
    “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m just worried.”
    “I’ll be careful.”
    Roubris stepped gingerly, easily avoiding the sharp protuberances here and there on the floor and giving the hanging chains a wide berth. He got to the door. Nothing happened.
    “I told