He blinked in pain then ducked behind an outcrop of sanded rock. The main hall, an ancient sanctuary, was open to the sky above, carved in a natural crevice between three peaks. Completely protected and awash in golden light, the once-holy place held remnants of glory yet housed the darkest evil. The ingenuity of the forgotten people was one he would have to marvel about later because seated at a crude assortment of chairs, over half a dozen Skullman were eating what smelled like sausage. He could only see a few weapons. Bryton grinned. Should never, ever let your home make you feel that safe, assholes, because trouble just came calling. One strawberry-blonde woman bent over a cookfire, flipping oatcakes and stirring porridge. She’d been stripped to her torn shift and her cheek darkened with bruises. Bryton licked his bottom lip, squeezed his sword hilt and scouted the walls. Three openings led back into what he knew from history could only be catacombs. Those hidden passages were black and silent.
