Book 3: Chapter 42: Traps
Reflect carefully upon your memories, for when we gaze upon them at our convenience, they are oft inclined to present themselves in a manner most flattering to our own desires.
- From the Analects on Quassian Discourse.
I gingerly prodded the remains of Gersal with my weapon to make sure things were absolutely safe before I approached for closer inspection. Most of the soft parts of the corpse, the unprotected places, had been eaten, leaving behind a rotted thing best placed in the realms of horror. Time, the damp air, and scavengers had left behind a mystery as to what exactly had authored Gersal’s death.
And where were his companions? Why had they left him here to die alone in the dark? In my mind, it served more as a warning than a mystery. Still, I could not help but to allow my hands to search around for anything of value.
After removing his bevor, I looted his roughly cut ruby necklace, with a tarnished silver chain, from around what remained of his neck. Lucky me, I thought to myself as Larynda silently assisted me with this grisly task, showing no signs of horror or disgust. This led me to believe it was not her first experience looting a corpse. Together, we found some notes and assorted coins of various denominations. I also discovered a red potion which, after confirming with my magic, turned out to be a minor Health potion. I gave Larynda the money and the potion as her share of the loot, while I kept the necklace for myself. It might serve as a useful gift, or could be traded later.
Beside Gersal’s corpse lay a cracked and rusted sword, the blade pitted and the scabbard rotted. More intriguing, however, was the massive shield next to him, which, in the dim light, I had initially mistaken for a trap door. It was a spiked tower shield, constructed from tough wood and reinforced with dark metal bands. I ran my hand over its rough surface, toying with the idea of taking it, but ultimately decided against it, since I already had my own. For a fraction of a moment, I felt something stir in recognition from within, but the sensation was fleeting and soon left me.
Just as I was about to tell the girl that it was time to depart, there was the glooping sound of sludge falling somewhere in darkness beyond the sentinel light of our Zajasite. The sound repeated itself, becoming a promise of something dread. The hackles of my neck rose in response, the primal part of me knowing that danger was close at hand. I had become nigh immune to environmental concerns such as heat or cold, yet I felt a single bead of sweat make its way down the nape of my neck. This could not be fear. Must not be fear. Nonetheless, the next few words came out of my mouth.
“Move back slowly. Something comes,” I commanded somewhere between a hiss and a whisper, hoping that I was able to hide my momentary weakness. “And when I say so, run.”
It was not fear. Most definitely not. I was just being sensible.