286

An escort of armoured guards forces you along a steel passageway lined by a crowd of jeering minions. They punch and spit as you pass between them, and their foul curses ring in your ears. The guards halt before a huge door of iron and unlock the manacles that encase your bruised and bloodied wrists. The points of their spears never wander far from your throat, discouraging any attempt at escape. The door rumbles open, and a cheer goes up as you are pushed head-first into a foul-smelling pit.

‘Welcome to the maze,’ sneers the chilling voice of Lord Zahda from somewhere high above your head. You struggle to your feet and peer up at a ceiling of swirling mist. A faint glow is gradually taking shape, condensing and forming into the likeness of a human skull. Baleful green eyes stare down at you from bony sockets, and a powdered wig, like that of a high court judge, sits squarely upon its fleshless head.

‘You came here to kill but your plans have been foiled and now you must face the consequence,’ echoes a voice in the skull. ‘You have been sentenced to enter the Maze of Zahda. If you escape, your life may be spared; if you fail then you will surely die—a fitting end for one who came here in search of death.’

The skull retreats into the mist, and a deathly silence fills the pit. A semicircular shadow forms on the wall ahead; it grows larger and darker until it resembles the mouth of a cave or tunnel. Suddenly a gust of chill air whistles from out of this darkness, and you realize that you are staring at the entrance to the maze.

‘Enter!’ orders the voice. ‘Enter or die where you stand!’ It is no idle threat. A crossbow bolt slams into the sand barely inches from your feet, and the click of a steel drawstring warns that another could follow if you disobey the command. Reluctantly, you step forward and enter the Maze of Zahda.

Turn to 111.