They pressed on for another hour until the now-familiar red glow began to paint the westward flanks of the spires. By then the largest structure yet had begun to loom up from the cracked earth a mile ahead. It was unique in being formed of three spires, the tallest yet seen, linked by a sheer wall. As they drew nearer and the light grew ever fainter, Pilgrim detected a low but steadily building murmur to their rear. A backward glance revealed nothing, but a thrum from the sword confirmed the imminence of danger.

“Ignore it,” Priest instructed. “Keep going.”

The murmur grew louder as they ascended the ramp to the three-spired building and Pilgrim realised a portion of the noise was coming from within the structure, specifically the tall arched opening in its base. Instead of going inside, Priest led them past the arch to one of the spires. Looking into the gloomy interior beyond the entrance, Pilgrim’s eyes detected a faint impression of movement. At that moment the noise grew louder; he had little doubt it was in response to their presence. It had a hungry, desperate note to it that was unmistakably human and he deduced it was in fact an accumulation of voices, a good many voices.

“I have to climb,” Priest said, coming to a halt at the foot of the spire. Although it was weathered and uneven in many places, Pilgrim saw little prospect of scaling it.

“How?” he said. “There are no handholds.”

“There is a route,” Priest muttered, eyes narrowing as they tracked up the wall to a narrow opening some fifty feet above. “I just need to recall it.” He stepped up to the wall and reached for a small indentation, hauling himself up then reaching for another. “Wait here,” he said, continuing to climb. “There’s a rope ladder secreted aloft.”

He moved with a steady fluency, his hands finding purchase on holds Pilgrim’s eyes had failed to detect. All the while the murmur grew louder and the sunlight fainter.

It occurs to me, my liege, the voice commented. This cleric may have no need of us from this point hence.

Pilgrim concentrated on the route the priest took, trying to commit the location of the various handholds to memory. However, his efforts were interrupted by a sudden snarling growl from Chena and a sharp thrum from the sword.

The hyena had sunk into her customary crouch that indicated an imminent lunge. Seeker stood at her side, bow drawn and arrow pointed at the archway. Her gaze lacked the usual focus, instead her expression was one of alarmed bafflement. “What in all Five Seas is that?” she wondered in a horrified whisper.