Owain hurried breathlessly through the barrow, following the light of Yestin's torch. The acolyte was several yards ahead and running as fast as the treacherous flooring allowed. Patches of mould grew on the stones, the pungent reek making his head swim. A tangled mass of spiderwebs crisscrossed the narrow tunnel, sizzling and melting as Yestin waved the torch frantically, muttering curses as he went. Rats scurried out of the way, heard more often than seen. Beady eyes blazed red in the torchlight as they peeked out from nests made amongst the countless bones and skulls of the dead, interred in recesses hacked into the walls.

Read Chapter 6: Exile