It was an emergency light that seemed ignorant of the fact that the emergency had long passed and it had no business being operable. After all, the rest of the building was an empty shell devoid of any indication of life. Obviously, there was a perpetual power source that fed whatever it was that operated down here in the bowels of the building. Kohl could guess what fed the Dogs.

He crept forward cautiously, adding his footprints to those of the warriors who had come before him. He stilled his breath and strained to hear, but no sound escaped the unseen space beyond the door. He raised his sword into position while he reached out with his other hand and carefully nudged the metal door open.

The warman was instantly overwhelmed by the stench of death. So much so that instinct nearly compelled him to backpedal in disgust. His stunned eyes surveyed the gruesome scene before him.

The bodies of countless champions carpeted the room. Some still reeked of recent decomposition while others had achieved a near fossilized state. Bare bones and smiling, naked skulls basked in the amber glow. The otherwise unremarkable walls of the square chamber were painted with the impressionistic patterns of splattered blood. Kohl swallowed the lump in his throat as he noticed that each corpse was accompanied by the cheery presence of a blue checked apron. They lay crumpled and impotent near the bodies of their bearers like the fallen flags of defeated armies.

The chamber contained nothing else except a pedestal at the far end of the room. A simple silver orb sat upon it, an odd piece of art in a garden of the dead. Beyond the mysterious sculpture, another door was embedded in the back wall, and Kohl supposed that it led to the second chamber.

But where in blazes was this infernal first Dog? The room offered no concealment, and Kohl was fairly certain that he was the only living thing in attendance.

He advanced on high alert, his sword held at the ready, eyes flitting about nervously. “The smallest of the Dogs,” The Which had said. Kohl surmised wryly that “smallest” could be a deceptively relative term, especially considering the extent of the mayhem at his feet.

When he was halfway to the pedestal, he stopped and tried to whistle. A hesitant hiss was all that emerged from his mouth. He licked his lips and tried again. A lilting whistle fluttered through the air followed quickly by a nervous laugh, so ridiculous was the “here-doggy-doggy” sound in the somber silence of the morgue.

His chuckle choked short when an electronic eye whirred open on the orb. In the name of Femera and Amali, what kind of Dog is this? he wondered.

The orb and Kohl curiously considered each other. After a frozen moment, he remembered the apron draped at his waist. The apparel had clearly not done any of his predecessors much good, but following directions might prove to be the best policy for the time being.