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Ragnar was already pushing the door open and crossing the portal.
"Wait!" Emiel called to him, but the barbarian slammed the metal door full wide. It swung open and boomed against the inner wall, revealing a grand chamber that sparkled from floor to ceiling.
"Look at this!" Ragnar said as he spun in a slow circle.
All about him were scenes of epic battle. The walls were carved with strangely armored knights protecting oddly towered cities encircled by hordes of beastmen, demons, devils and monsters undreamed. The fight climbed upward till it took to the sky and across the ceiling where the winged creatures of the Oerth soared and sometimes fell entwined in a mortal embrace.
The floor was a mosaic, a map, but of some enchanted kind. Armies marched and towns burned beneath Ragnar's feet. The tiles remained still but their colors changed and shifted with each passing moment.
"What a marvel!" Ragnar exclaimed. "I'd love to stuff this in my pack and take it back to my uncle's hall."
Emiel stepped through with caution and eyed the edge of the now open door rather than the dweomencrafted chamber of wonder. "Ted." he gestured without looking and waved an empty hand. "You have those iron spikes, hand them to me, and get that warhammer from Ragnar's bundle."
Ted silently complied and in a moment was handing Emiel a small heavy cloth bundle that gave out a dull clank as it was jostled about. The warhammer was an awkward tool, meant to crack a skull not wedge a spike between door and frame, but Emiel made do.
Gripping the door along its edge, Emiel strained but could not make it move. Satisfied that it would not be closed behind them without a great effort, Emiel turned and watched the arcane spectacle, but with only a fraction of the barbarians boundless enthusiasm. After a few moments he had absorbed the panorama but soon lost interest. Instead he registered the cold details and searched for some sign that either his people or their slayers had come this way.
The room itself was very large. Round, as the outer chamber had been, but three times the size. The way they had just entered opened at its southern edge and five arched doorless portals sat against the side and opposite walls.
A great northern arch opposite, then along the curving walls a much smaller arch, one north-east, another north-west, then an eastern and western facing pair of openings as well.
"We are given a plethora of choices." Emiel said to no one in particular.
Ragnar was oblivious to Emiel's actions. Instead he wandered from wall to wall, head sometimes raised to view the battles in the sky, sometimes eyes cast downward as he watched the roll of armies across the flowing landscape.
"Seen enough." Emiel asked, standing at Ragnar's side.
"Never!" Ragnar replied, but then tore himself away from the wondrous display. "Alright. Which way from here?"
"Look around. No, not at the walls." Emiel corrected. "There is no sign of passage, but remember the stains of blood in the hall."
"Yes. I see. No dust." Ragnar caught his meaning.
"No dust, no sign of wear, this damn magic room, it must have something to do with it, but I believe that someone has come this way." said Emiel.
Ragnar stood very still, looked at the room itself and not the sculpted or enchanted distractions. After a moment he closed his eyes, breathed deeply, then shook his head. "Maybe. I cannot tell from here. This room is a dead spot. You're right, some magic has scoured it clean. No dust, yes, but no smell either. No smudge or stains upon this floor."
He gave a bemused nod toward the shifting pattern beneath them. "There may have been blood and tracks a plenty, we cannot know."
* * *
The five archways offered no suggestions. Each remained silent and dark, leading out in lines unbent as far as they could see.
Ted shined the light down the last, the eastern corridor, but it was no different from the rest. Unmarked walls and floor swept clean. Then, as he pulled the light away, its shifting rays came dancing back, reflected from some bit of metal or polished glass or crystal facet cast down upon the floor.
"This way." Emiel called out. He ran ahead and Ted followed close behind. They had outpaced Ragnar in their rush, suddenly reckless, their roles reversed. Emiel had held back and Ragnar run in, at the farmhouse.
* * *
Shadows and light played a game across the walls, bouncing and jangling in sympathy with the lantern suspended on a spear haft above Ted's shoulder.
Emiel came to a boot-squealing halt, suddenly ashamed at his rash haste. His arm thrown out, he caught Ted around the waist and brought him to a stop.
A line of dust lay thick across the floor. It crossed their path a foot or so away, one side clean, the stones looking as if they had just been set in place, but past this the passage was covered deep. Dust gathered from the air, dirt sifted from between old blocks of stone, and a grime from use, both centuries past and a fresh coat added just weeks or even days ago, were layered over the stones of the floor.
Tracks had scraped a path clear down the center of the floor and someone had swept aside a thick covering of spiders-webs hanging low, an obscuring canopy. A bundle, fresh amidst the dust of long times past, lay discarded against the wall. A cloak of dark-stained, dirty brown, or maybe deep green like a leaf-screened light at dusk. It covered a sad, thin shape whose booted feet stuck out beyond the cloak's lower edge.
On the boot a silvered spur, its polished sheen that which had brought them down this hall, glinted bright among its drab surroundings.
"More dead." Ted moaned at the sight.
"What's this." Ragnar said from behind. His practiced eye appraised the covered form, "Silver heels, maybe silver rings as well, or gold."
"Look," Emiel called to him drawing his gaze away. "There is dust aplenty now. And signs of recent passage."
"Yes, and another intruder, am I right?" guessed Ragnar.
Emiel gave a shrug. "Would one of mine wear knightly spurs. Alright, let us see. Thaddeus hold that light still, do not let it weave."
Ted stepped across the dusty line, his lantern catching the silken threads above, and as he moved, it trailed a torn-web banner, a spiders delicate net destroyed. The light exposed the dirty cloak, a stained wrapping of forest green, and beneath, as Emiel peeled the cloth aside, a body grey and drawn, dry like an apple half-eaten in the sun. It lay in state, carefully placed, a sword upon its chest, both hands, gloved in gauntlets of steel and chain, wrapped about the hilt.
"Not mine." Emiel turned his head away.
Ragnar, happy at the news, reached out to break the death-locked grip, to free the sword and quickly guess its worth. His heart gave a startled skip as the bony hands reached out and seized his throat. The corpse-face came alive. Its eyelids opened with a snap, a sickly orange glow burned deep within the sockets and from its mouth came a rough, parchment-dry and grating sound, it spoke.
"Ssspiiiderrrsss." it hissed, then began to cough and from a jaw which opened till it split, a black, hairy flow poured forth.
* * * (To Be Continued)