The dusty shadows crawled across the cavern walls in the flickering lamplight that held back the gloom. The musty subterranean air was stifling and had a decidedly sandy taste in the back of the throat.
“Hold that lamp higher, Grompel!” Gerhard snapped impatiently. The bored Ogre behind him smacked his lips momentarily, as if chewing the thought over, before dutifully raising his arm back above his head to cast the light of the brass torch from on high. Beneath them, Gerhard’s team continued to work feverishly as they had done for several hours now, flurries of dust kicked up with each frenetic movement. They were close now, Gerhard could sense it. The final seal was almost worn through, an ornately carved golden beetle the size of a man’s fist, with unyielding claws that straddled the divide between the cartouche and the lintel and columns that framed it. The beetle’s intricacy belied it’s resilience as, in spite of the persistent ringing of hammer against chisel, it tenaciously held the stone door sealed shut.
Gerhard removed his spectacles, carefully polishing away the dust from the lenses with a silk handkerchief, before peering through them again to marvel at his discovery. The immense door was far taller than his Ogre servant. Perhaps as tall again, even? And certainly wide enough to let through three such fellows walking abreast. The cavern ceiling vaulted high above, its darkness swallowing the torchlight and leaving the excavation party squinting and groping in near-darkness. Gerhard wondered at the lavish frieze that decorated the door- it depicted an ancient civilisation, of that there was no doubt. He had only seen it before as a rough sketch on the back of the ragged map that had led them here. Now to finally see it in all its glory was something else. There were numerous scenes, all painted in vivid colours. Some were of hunting, some of warfare, but above all of them there was a king, enthroned, presiding over the realm beneath him. What would the old wizard think of him now?
They had laughed, of course, back in Sigmarheim. Those ivory tower book-worms at The University. The historians had scoffed at the tatty, aged map that Gerhard had unearthed in the forgotten backlists of the library. Worse, he had made the mistake of showing the map to the wizard from the College of Niederdam. Being widely respected for his knowledge of arcana and ancient texts, he had seemed to Gerhard to be the perfect source for more information. But having studied the map and its mysterious glyphs for a few moments, the old greybeard had been positively opposed to Gerhard investigating any further. The wizened goat went so far as to warn him against seeking for this Lost Mausoleum. Oh, why had he shown it to the wizard? They were always know-it-all snobs, more interested in appearing sage and mysterious than in being helpful. But Gerhard von Kappel would not be swayed by pessimists and nay-sayers. Besides, after his “Treatise on Aquilan Artefacts” was roundly dismissed at last year’s Archeological Seminars, he had become a man with a reputation to rebuild.
“Doctor von Kappel!” The shout stirred him from his bitter reminiscence. He hurried over to the cartouche to see the last of the golden beetle-locks lying in pieces on the cavern floor. Gerhard clasped his hands gleefully. “Well, come along Grompel!” he chimed, the excitement in his voice barely hidden. “You’ve waited all day for this, now’s your moment.”
Grompel blinked from his dozy stupor and grinned stupidly. He bellowed back down the tunnel, and moments later half a dozen more Ogres shambled in through the cramped entrance and into the cavern. Each set his bulk against the cartouche and with a great deal of hefting and grunting began to shoulder the door open. Gerhard and the team backed off a little way in a vain attempt to escape the dust and noise.
“A pity, really” Gerhard mused, stroking his pointed beard with thumb and forefinger. “The brutes will likely ruin the frieze, but how else to get it open?” The question was largely rhetorical, but the students bobbed and nodded in sycophantic agreement. But after a few moments, it was apparent that the door wasn’t opening at all.
“Grompel, you great oaf!” Gerhard chastised, “Can’t your blundering fools get anything right?”
Grompel opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter his objection the cavern rang with a long, low HAA-ROOOOOM! that sounded like a horn blowing in the distance. Except it wasn’t distant. Somehow, it was near. The air reverberated with it, making the hairs on Gerhard’s neck bristle.
The Ogres stopped, dumbfounded, and Gerhard’s students began to mutter and shrug to one another. Then again: HAAA-RRROOOOOMM!! louder, nearer, all around. But from where? As if in answer, an ear-splitting CRACK! of ancient rock of the cartouche burst asunder, showering painted stone across the cavern floor. Gerhard ducked for cover just in time as a chunk of sandstone whizzed past his head. The Ogres were not so fortunate, flattened by the avalanche of exploding stone. Dazed by the explosion, Gerhard blinked as his eyes adjusted to the burning blue light that flooded the cavern.
Blue light?! He blinked again. From behind the fractured ruins of the cartouche a figure loomed, tall and majestic, silhouetted against a ghostly sapphire glow. The figure took a step forward from the light, revealing his hideous form. He was dressed in kingly raiment, though it appeared tattered and decayed nearly beyond recognition. His skin was a withered husk, his hands gnarled bony claws adorned with golden rings. About his wrinkled, leathery brow was a glorious sweeping crown, untouched by the ravages of years, golden and radiant in the cavern’s eerie glow. Gerhard could make out his eyes, for they burned with the same blue light. Angry eyes, Gerhard could sense, without really even thinking it. Full of malice and vengeance. As if the thought alone drew their gaze, those eyes locked Gerhard in a knowing, accusing stare. It felt as though his body were stripped away, and only his soul remained, cowering in the gloom.
Behind the King, emerging from the cerulean shadow beyond the shattered cartouche, came the rhythmic pounding of a hundred footsteps and the clanking of rusted swords. Gerhard watched, transfixed with horror, as the desiccated forms of a legion of ancient warriors emerged into the cavern. The King looked on as his reinvigorated soldiers shook off their eons of dust-shrouded sleep and seethed from the tomb, across the cavern and towards the distant daylight of the entrance at the far end of the tunnel.
Tearing himself free of the accusing blue-eyed stare, Gerhard gave in to his terror. He picked himself up and ran for the daylight. As he fled his head rang with the clamour of marching feet and the taunts of know-it-all wizards.
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