The Master of the Pit

"Lich chal nodrath," the dark skinned fat man hissed with glee and suddenly Paulito felt a sickening touch upon his body. He thought he could hear a silent wind blowing in the room and he felt a squeezing and a tightening at his chest. He couldn't breathe and his heart clenched as if a malefic weight suddenly engulfed it. The black giants let go of their hold and Paulito dropped to his knees, wheezing and fighting for breath. "You are a strong one," Shechem giggled, "and your strength will serve the Master well." "NEVER!" Paulito hissed through clenched teeth. Shechem only giggled the louder.

The sounding of a gong stilled the fat man's mirth and he turned away from Paulito. He turned toward the second chamber and fell to his knees, his head bowed. The arcane chant, so silent before, rose up now. Strange shadows danced on the funereal walls and a solemn procession emerged into the chamber of the pit. Six ebon skinned men entered the room, two by two. Golden chains fixed to bronze collars linked the men together like horses. They held upon their shoulders thick poles upon which rested a bone white chair and upon that chair sat a figure that Paulito was loathe to call a man.

Obeying a silent command, the slaves lowered the chair to the floor and the figure stepped down. It was gaunt, like an emaciated corpse, but it stood tall and sure. Its black eyes gleamed with a less than natural life, but a life that was strong and commanding. It wore a long, pearl-white robe woven of a thin, fine cloth Paulito had never seen before. Like Shechem, a wide, glittering necklace hung below its neck. The man's arms, exposed below the short sleeves of the robe, were hairless and the skin leathery. Upon one arm was a gold band carved in the image of a snake, upon the other was a black and azure scarab, grotesque and chitinous. The figure's face was like a mask, a death-mask, the dry skin stretched tight across the skull beneath. The hairless brows hid the eyes below in shadow, but a vile light shone out from those deep hollows, a light that flickered like something alive, like something dead. Paulito stared at it and knew that this was the Master.

Paulito heard something he thought might be the monsterous figure taking in a breath and then the painful squeezing of his heart subsided. The knight reached up and wiped the blood from his eyes. But he did not rise to his feet. His limbs were soaked in sweat and trembled, though he fought to regain his composure. He knew that this thing could kill him, perhaps with just a glance, but he would not have it believing that it had cowed him. That it had broken him. Paulito was afraid, but he wanted the terrible thing standing over him to know that he would not let his fear conquer him.

But then Paulito heard the thing speak. "I am your master," it said. "I am Imhotep." The voice was inhuman, like sand flowing down a dune blown by a strong desert wind. Hard and cold. And like the desert, vast and ageless. And evil. And Paulito couldn't raise a finger to harm it.

1. Caught in the grip of ancient evil

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