They proceeded to traverse a bewildering succession of walkways and stairwells, Priest pausing at every junction to read the inscriptions set into the dark granite. In each case, Pilgrim recognised Thandril’s symbol but nothing else. After close on two hours of following the cleric’s course, it appeared to him they had made meagre progress across the cavern. It was almost impossible to be certain amongst all the overlapping construction but he was sure they had passed by the same spot several times. Priest, however, continued to trace their route without any particular sign of hesitation or confusion. He proved as deaf to questions as Maisha and ignored all suggestions they might rest. It was only when they came to the top of the tallest stairwell they had yet ascended that Seeker’s insistent but softly spoken command brought them to a halt.

“Stop.”

Pilgrim turned to find her crouched at Chena’s side. The hyena’s thorny hackles were raised as she dipped a twitching nose at a mark at the edge of the stairwell’s summit. It was far too irregular to be another inscription, a six-inch-long scar in the stone that resembled a honeycomb in the way whatever had created it had eaten into the granite. Although it appeared bare of any substance, Chena let out an angry yip as she sniffed the mark, retreating several paces, lips quivering in a snarl.

“What is it?” Pilgrim asked Seeker.

Seeker didn’t reply immediately, instead unslinging her bow and nocking an arrow, her gaze shifting from the mark to the confusion of hard-edged shadows below. “Something’s here,” she said.

“Wights?” Book said with a barely suppressed quaver to his voice.

“No.” She angled her head as the pitch of Chena’s growls increased. “Something…else, and it has our scent.”

“We must move on,” Priest stated, his tone emphatic and none felt inclined to argue.

They descended a steep procession of stairs to a long walkway, the terminus of which disappeared into a confluence of shadows. Some corners of this place were beyond reach of the star-like substance in the cavern roof. Maisha took one of her glow jars from her pack and shook it as they entered the shadows, the green radiance banishing the gloom but also revealing a dozen or more honeycomb marks on the stone.

“Do you know what could do that?” Pilgrim asked her.

“Acid,” she replied. “Or some other form of caustic.” She spoke with a tired resignation, her face taking on the cadaverous aspect indicating the curative was fading from her veins. He expected her to stumble to a halt at any moment, but somehow she contrived to keep pace with the company despite the bouts of coughing that began to wrack her.