Quin watched from the cover of the offering stone as several more of the nigh invisible hounds prowled into the chamber from both exits. He counted five on the left and four on the right. He centered his breathing and slowed his thoughts, waiting for their mysterious master to arrive. Unconsciously, he counted in his mind, ticking off a random list of the pieces of the Fate Fall. He found it strange that he was doing it, that after so many years of traveling, the game would return to him again and again. Regardless, he made good use of the memory, his hand resting on the first stone, ready to tumble it into its brethren. The rest would fall as they would, and he would not regret the sequence, whatever it might reveal. This determination above all others hovered in his mind, for regret belonged to the Ghost and the Ghost destroyed all patterns that touched it. Just yards away, he spotted the shifting shadows of the nearing hounds, baring white teeth as they rounded the edge of the sanctuary and noticed him. Their growls rumbled like hungry thunder as they smelled his blood. Their approach had been stealthier than he'd anticipated. Damn, he thought, the first stone goes to the dogs. Two arrows hissed into the growling darkness near him. One arrow cracked uselessly against the wall and the other brought a yelp of pain, causing a hound to appear. The green glow of the orbs highlighted its dark coat. Quin hoped more arrows would even the odds, but the clop of nimble hooves on stone announced Elisandrya's greater concern. She turned quickly to face the threat.
The winged creature leaped into the air, dodging Eli's reflexive shot, and fired back. The fiend's bow was now enveloped in an indigo flame, which it passed to the arrow it released. Eli ducked and the missile crumbled into a stone wing, leaving the lifelike feathers dusty and brittle in its wake. Bedlam was half drawn as Quin observed the quick exchange between Elisandrya and some sort of devilish satyr. Moving swiftly, he pressed the stone abnormality in the floor, hearing a satisfying click that confirmed his suspicions. He rolled backward and unsheathed Bedlam as the mastiffs came at him, snarling and drooling.
He leaped to his right, meeting their charge and screaming a warning, menacing with the great blade as he deftly spun among them, disrupting their organized attack. Rusted pulleys spun among the rafters overhead, the ancient beams groaning under the weight of their descending burden. The whole building shook as its long-waiting task was demanded of it again. Two massive stone slabs lowered shakily on chains that snapped and popped. Dust shook from the ceiling as the entrance was sealed by the ancient device. Squinting his eyes against a century's worth of dust, Quin realized the played stone may have been pure Luck. Squaring off against the pack, he hoped he was wrong, not wanting Luck to be played out just yet. He stabbed and slashed at the snapping hounds, wounding several but unable to land a solid blow among them. Frustrated, he edged the closing pack closer to the pews, keeping them at bay with the shrieking Bedlam. The blade's pitch had lowered in an attempt to mimic the sounds of the surrounding beasts.
It threatened them with their own growls and the sounds of gnashing teeth. He cast a quick glance at Elisandrya's battle against the pack's leader. Another of her shots missed as the fiendish satyr twirled in the air, but Quin could tell it was having trouble flying in the cramped loft of the sanctuary. It flapped its black wings furiously to stay airborne. Reaching the nearest pew, Quin leaned hard and jumped to stand on the wide stone seat. Without thinking, he'd used his left arm. He almost slipped as the pain in his ribs stabbed through his chest. One mastiff tried to take advantage of the moment and lunged in, too close. It caught Bedlam's blade through its neck as Quin slashed the curved blade outward. Before its body hit the ground, Quin was running along the pew's seat. He circled toward the flying archer with the vicious pack snapping at his heels. Finding cover in the wings of the statue, Eli ducked as another arrow hissed overhead.
Quin ran at the satyr's right, hoping to distract or injure it and afford Elisandrya a better shot. Seeing it more clearly, he could distinguish the fiendish qualities of the fey creature in great detail. It bore the curling ram's horns of a satyr, but a second set sprouted behind the first. Black feathered wings held it aloft and glowing blue eyes aimed sorcerous arrows at Elisandrya. He'd faced devilish half-breeds before, but could only imagine this fey perversion as a child of rape. Quin jumped across the narrow aisle between the pews, slicing at the satyr's legs as he passed. The fiend dropped sideways behind the blade's arc and kicked Quin in the small of the back. The blow sent the aasimar sprawling to the floor, soon to be at the mercy of the chasing pack. Before the satyr could harry Elisandrya, Quin saw an arrow strike the fiend in the shoulder. The satyr spun downward to land face first on the floor. Two more arrows pierced his back, one lodging in his left wing joint. He howled in pain as the feathered limb fell crookedly to his side. The mastiffs scrambled and bit at one another as they fought for the prize of tearing into the fallen Hoarite first. Quin had rolled to a stop against the wall, enraged and in pain, but satisfied that his distraction had worked. Bedlam hummed on the floor just inches from his hand. Reaching for it, he felt the teeth of the lead mastiff seize his armored calf, squeezing so hard he feared the bone would break.
Arrows tore into the hound and two others, bringing them down with precise shots into the bases of their exposed necks, causing the others to turn and leap into the sheltering shadows nearby. Quin took the satyr's moment of pain to capitalize on Elisandrya's well-timed barrage. Grabbing Bedlam, he thrust unmercifully into a hound nearby.
He felt the pain of his aching ribs sharply as the stab landed. The skewered mastiff writhed a moment, biting at the growling metal in its side, then fell still. Pulling the blade free, Quin rose on his uninjured right leg. He held Bedlam out before him, almost daring the four retreating mastiffs to finish their attack. Their ears were laid back against their squat skulls and low growls rumbled in their throats, but they were wary of the bow behind them. A savageness gleamed in their eyes and Quinsareth matched it. Seeming to wait for their master's next move, their ears suddenly rose, hearing a sound far above Quin's range. Glancing up, he saw the satyr's face glaring at him, a small whistle pinched between its sharp fangs. The mastiffs could not ignore the piercing command and leaped for the aasimar.
Their master rose and fired at Elisandrya, the indigo arrow sizzling into stone, crumbling it at its touch. Though Elisandrya tried to return the favor, the satyr's arrow had loosened a joint between two of the statue's wings and they crumbled under her steadying knee. Her bow caught against another wing as she scrambled to grab hold of something. The bow fractured along its upper curve, unable to support her weight and sending her tumbling to the stone floor. Quinsareth roared in unison with Bedlam as he met the mastiffs, fighting against his pain and viciously cutting the hounds down. He summoned a reserve of strength he felt certain would be his last as he swung the arcane sword through heavy muscles and tough sinew. The spark of shadow within him felt pale and weak, at its limits. The last of the mastiffs broke through his attack and bore him down, landing with massive paws on his chest. The wind knocked out of him, Quin was still able to swing his shoulder and land Bedlam, shrieking, in the mastiff's back before it could tear open his throat. His left hand pushed against the dog's neck, holding back the snapping jaws as Bedlam did its work.