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He reached the top of the stairs and eye strayed toward the great ceiling and the light from its apex. Under the lantern's rays the room was lit like day and every huddled body thrown into clear detail.
Ted looked away from the light, then away again as he saw what was spread across the floor. The chamber was laden with the dead and carpeted with their blood and effluence. It was a gruesome scene, he dropped his eyes to his feet, but he could not escape it.
Beneath his heel lay an outstretched arm, the same that Ragnar had viewed from the corridor below. Its hand like a wilted flower, but no shoulder united this loose appendage with its former host. It moved underfoot, round like a rolling pin Ted had used to flatten dough, and soft like a steak left on a counter before cooking.
Ted stumbled, and with legs bereft of all strength, collapsed to the floor, sitting huddled. One more body among the throng, atop the uppermost stair.
* * *
It must have been a merciless struggle.
Ragnar and Emiel paused for a moment at the head of the stairs and absorbed the sad spectacle before stooping to examine each crumpled form.
Three bodies lay more or less intact, but a fourth had been literally cut to pieces. A torso, one arm severed at the shoulder, the other, a stump ending just above the elbow, and as with Patel, the head removed.
Emiel was drawn to this grisly corpse, though his desire was to turn away. He kneeled beside it and searched for some mark that would distinguish it as the person it had been rather than the bloody carcass it had become.
Ragnar had grown to manhood in a harsher land. Death in battle was an honor bestowed upon the brave, but such mutilation brought glory to no one. He went to exam the other more intact specimens.
The first appeared to be no warrior at all. The body was unarmored and was clothed in a dark, thick robe. It lay on its side, a sword thrust from back to front, a cowards wound, the blade still lodged within. He noted the tip, splintered, the point, a jagged shard projecting from the corpses chest.
Ragnar glanced at the wall, a chip in its black-veined stone and a fragment of metal at its base. A mighty blow to shatter such a blade. He turned the body to see its face, hidden under the robes voluminous hood, and beheld a young man, his dark brown beard trimmed neatly from side to side leaving a he-goats whiskers. The eyes, a deeper brown, were open wide and his face held only a hint of pain. To a greater degree they showed surprise, an unexpected death.
Beneath the body a staff of dark wood lay. Its head, that of a silver cat, the eyes green gems. A line of script flowed down its length, but swam beneath Ragnar's gaze. He could not look for long. Its end was capped in silver too, but it bore no mark, no scratch or gouge from rock or stone, as if it never had been put to use, leaned upon or touched the ground.
With reckless curiosity Ragnar pulled the staff from the deadman's slackened grip and peered into the green, gem eyes. The light glinted in them keenly, then with a sudden molten flow they blinked. The silver jaws opened wide, and, showing fangs of pearly white, it hissed and spat full in the northman's face.
Ragnar gave a delighted laugh. It echoed across the walls and brought Emiel and Ted to shocked attention.
"What do you hold?" Emiel called to him from across the room.
"Some wizard's toy." Ragnar replied with a merry voice.
"That's no toy." Emiel warned and gladly abandoned his gruesome task. With care he approached the smiling barbarian. "Stop that!" he blurted out as he came within arms reach.
Ragnar, oblivious to all else, held the growling staff with an incautious grip. He gleefully poked a careless finger at the snapping teeth and chortled with unseemly mirth at each hairbreadth miss.
"Why?" He asked with a note of amazement, then distracted for a fleeting instant cried "Yoouuchhh!" and pulled back a bleeding hand. The staff gave a yowl of victory and an audible purr of satisfaction.
* * *
"*&!!%;#@!..." Ragnar swore incoherently and brought his bleeding hand to his mouth, but he did not drop the staff. He gave it any angry shake, setting the catshead to hissing once again.
Emiel shook his own head at the barbarian's unseemly antics. He eyed Ted's pale and morose face for a moment, then, deciding that he would find no help there, went back to his attempt at separating Ragnar from the staff. "For all our sakes." he told him. "Put it down."
"Bite me will you!" Ragnar yelled at the silver face.
"It may do more than bite, put it down, Ragnar, Ragnar!" Emiel gave the barbarian a none to gentle shove.
"Did you see what the vicious little beast did?" he asked holding up his hand. Two beads of dark, vibrant red grew from his outstretched palm. They soon began a chase, leaving a crimson trail, and pattered on the floor.
"Yes, and you're lucky it did not blast that great lump of dough from between your shoulders." chastened Emiel.
Ragnar raised an eyebrow and held the staff in a firmer grip. "Alright." he reluctantly agreed. "But this little trinket is mine." He set it against the wall near Ted. Its presence seemed only to make the man bend further under a weight of gloom.
* * *
(To Be Continued)