A wealth of detail, but each displayed the same martial nature, a club or short sword or numerous knives in evidence.
Scorio realized he was holding his breath, and carefully exhaled, losing his grip on the Coal mana as he did so. “At least they didn’t all come to life immediately.”
“If my theory holds,” said Lianshi, voice barely above a whisper, “then three of them should animate when triggered.”
“Triggered how?” Leonis rubbed at his jawline, uneasy. “Walking down the center? What if we squeeze in behind them?”
“I doubt it would be so easy to evade the room’s challenge,” said Scorio. “What if we attack the closest statue before it animates?”
“What if that causes all of them to animate?” asked Lianshi. “I think we have to make our way slowly to the far side and be ready to react when they come to life.”
Leonis scowled. “What if we sprint to the far side? That way we won’t be surrounded and can put the wall to our backs.”
“Sure,” said Scorio. “That works for me. Lianshi?”
She licked her lower lip, studying the statues, and then nodded. “Fine. Something tells me we’ll be trying this room again shortly, so we may as well be experimental.”
“That’s the spirit,” grinned Leonis. “We ready? On the count of three. Single file, right down the center.”
“I’ll bring up the rear,” said Scorio. “Leonis, you’ve got the lead.”
“Very well.” He rubbed his hands together again and bent over, ready to break into a run. “One.”
Scorio took a deep breath, spent a few moments refilling his Heart, then caused it to ignite. The obsidian rock lit up with a whoomph, and he immediately sensed the thick Coal mana that blanketed the room, so ponderous and heavy as to be cloying.
“Two.”
Both Leonis and Lianshi ignited their hearts, the action just barely discernible as a sudden pressure at the edge of his perception.
“Three!”
They took off at a sprint, racing as quick as they could past the statues. The balls of Scorio’s feet barely touched the ground as he ran, and a moment later they collided with the far wall, hands outstretched to arrest their impacts.
He turned, chest working powerfully, and for a moment thought nothing was going to happen.
Then three of the statues began to move, carefully and precisely, turning their expressionless faces to stare at them, stepping down neatly from their plinths, dust sifting from their bodies as the stone flowed and came to life.
The first was a young woman in ragged robes, a single pauldron over her left shoulder, a curved stabbing blade in one hand, a short sword in the other, her hood hanging low over her face so that Scorio could only make out her pert lips and rounded chin.
The second was a large man, nearly as big as Leonis, heavily bearded and clasping a large battle-ax with both fists. His features were coarse and brutish, his expression even more unnerving for being slack, and he was clad in heavy robes with twin vambraces around his forearms.
The third was an archer, though the short bow lacked a string. The man was slender, cloaked, but without a hood; heavy tresses hung down to his shoulders, and his beard was close shaved. His blank expression somehow still managed to convey disdain, and a full quiver was slung over his shoulder.
“Easy now,” whispered Scorio. “Eyes on the archer.”
Who stopped after taking two steps and smoothly drew a shaft from his quiver. The other two approached, unhurried, the axman walking slowly down the center of the hall, the blade warrior ghosting behind the other statues toward them.
Without the darkvision, both would have disappeared. As it was, Scorio had to resist the urge to swing his patch of lucidity from one to the other.
The archer set the arrow to his bow and drew it back, the bow bending despite the lack of a string.
“The three of us on the axman,” called out Scorio, heart pounding in his chest. “Watch out for the woman, she’ll attack our rear!”
And he burst forward, trying to pay attention to everything at once—and failing. His small patch of darkvision was unequal to the task, so that in the end he committed to the axman and let the other two fade into the dark.
Moving smoothly, his actions fluid and unhurried, the axman drew his great weapon back, around, and into a downward swing that would have hewn Scorio from head to groin if it had connected.
At the last moment, however, he leaped aside, the burning fire in his Igneous Heart making him light on his feet. The ax cracked against the ground.
Then Leonis was there, charging in with a roar, one shoulder lowered to barrel into the other large man. Just before he connected, however, an arrow appeared above his clavicle, sinking deep, then Leonis smashed into the axman with a cry.
Only to bounce off as if he’d collided with a column.
The axman staggered back, off-balance. Lianshi flew in next, leaping in to hammer a side kick into the statue’s chest, the impact of her sandal accompanied by a sharp crack, and the statue toppled over backward, crashing to the ground.
Scorio broke into a sprint, making for the archer, and heard Leonis cry out in pain and anger behind him. Lianshi was there—she’d have to help him, for the archer was notching another arrow, the movements economical and swift. He brought the bow to orient on Scorio, who leaped up and to the side, his Cinder body allowing him to press a foot against a still statue’s thigh and push off as the arrow whistled just below him.
With a cry, Scorio fell upon the archer, and it was like crashing down onto a pile of sharp-edged rocks; pain blossomed from a dozen places as he drove the statue staggering back.
Somehow the statue kept its balance; Scorio leaped back and off it as it dropped its bow and drew a knife.
Get in close with long weapons, stay far from short ones. The voice was gruff, unfamiliar, but it sounded like something he’d heard in another life. Scorio checked his charge, remaining just out of stabbing range, and circled.
The archer, expression still somehow conveying supreme disgust, pivoted with him.
A scream of pain from the end of the hallway—Lianshi.
Scorio’s gaze flickered past the archer to the darkness beyond, where he saw the bladed statue had Lianshi bent over her knife arm.
There was no sign of Leonis.
His distraction came at a price. His statue slid forward, deceptively quickly, and stabbed at Scorio’s gut, forcing him to leap back.
The statue pressed on, slashing and stabbing. Scorio backed away then timed his block so that his right arm snaked in, and his fingers closed around the statue’s wrist, clamping tight and arresting the swing.
The statue stared at its own arm then slowly up to Scorio, as if bemused. Muscles writhed along Scorio’s arm, his whole body bent to the task of holding that stone arm still, and then Scorio crashed forward, hammering his elbow across the stone face.
Again and again, he pounded at the man, his Cinder power dulling the pain of each impact, his strength like surging waves smashing themselves against a cliff. The statue staggered back, cracks spiderwebbing across its visage.
Clutching the knife arm with both hands, Scorio brought it down as hard as he could upon his knee.
Pain wrenched through his joint, but the statue’s hand opened, dropping the wickedly sharp blade.
Which Scorio snatched out of the air, reversed, and pounded into the man’s eye, slamming it home, the edge cutting through the blank stone orb as if it were jelly.
The statue shivered, took a jerky step back, then fragmented, collapsing into a hundred shards.
Scorio saw movement out of the corner of his eye, tried to leap away, but a slender knife slipped into his chest, through thick muscle and between the ribs, plunging right into his heart with surgical precision.
He gaped, blood bursting out of his mouth. The assassin had crept right up beside him. Her long blade dripped blood, which was also generously splashed across her robes, and as he staggered away, hand clasping the deeply embedded knife, he saw her lips curl into the subtlest of smiles.