None but Quintus. The young legionary stepped into the mud, kneeling and inspecting the ground.

“They are not here,” Quintus said in both Latin and then English for everyone’s benefit.

“How do you know?” Atticus hissed from the trees.

Quintus grinned and spread his fingers into what looked like the Vulcan salute from Star Trek, and Cade could not help but chuckle at it, for Quintus had no idea of its significance. Then the legionary slotted his hand into the footprint on the ground, where Cade could now make out the three-toed tracks of a predator heading away from the cave.

It was like one of those patterned illusions where you crossed your eyes and could suddenly see the shapes. Now, the mud was littered with them. Dozens of the things, like chicken feet in flour. But far, far larger.

“They moved after the rain,” Quintus said, sweeping his hand in the direction of the tracks. “Nothing comes back.”

It was true enough. But his friend’s words brought him little relief. Even if these were day hunters that would only come back to the cave at night, they had seven tombs to search before the creatures’ return. And that didn’t account for the slavers, hot on their heels.

“We have no choice,” Amber said. “These slavers aren’t the only ones hunting us. There was a whole armada of them racing here to get you when we left. If we split up and run back to the keep in the state we’re in, none of us will make it.”

Amber kissed Cade on the cheek, her cracked lips rough upon his skin, and stepped out into the mud beside Quintus.

She drew her blade and stalked to the cave mouth, staring into the darkness.

“Come on!” she yelled. “Sooner we’re in, sooner we’re out.”

CHAPTER

46

If the outside of the tomb had shown signs of habitation, the interior left no doubt. The stench of the place was almost unbearable, so heavy they could almost taste it.

The floors were thick with bones, many splintered to fragments by the occupants’ jaws to get at the jellylike marrow within. Cade did not want to think of the bite strength needed to do that.

Animal feces, dried and full of fur, coated the ground almost an inch deep. This was no temporary shelter from wind and rain. This was a den.

“There are torches here,” Atticus called.

They were ensconced in the walls themselves, as if this tomb had been visited by family members at one time or another. These were soon lit, crackling to life despite the many years this place had been here.

Under the new orange glow, men crowded closer, as if the light would protect them from whatever lurked in the darkness.

Only Atticus had the courage to move farther into the cave. As he strode into the gloom with a torch held high, the true scale of their surroundings was revealed.

The floor space they were standing upon was just a ledge of limestone above a broad, dark staircase—one that descended ever deeper into the maw of the tomb. Enormous pillars held up the ceiling, with further plinths embedded in the steps as the stair receded into darkness.