As they went down, the stink of the coleoptera grew steadily stronger.
"If this should be a trap—" Haral began.
"There is no other way," the priestess answered.
The staircase ended in a circular room. High ledges lined its walls. In the center stood a great bronze ball, high as a tall man's head and set in a base of polished stone. Markings were etched upon it, markings that matched the configurations of this wild outlaw world of Ulna.
But slashing even deeper were other markings—the stylized images of the lightning that were Xaymar's symbol.
"A strong man can roll the globe within its base," Kyla told Haral. She studied the markings, chose a spot. "Here is the place. Now spin it upward."
New uneasiness came upon Haral. The muscles along the back of his neck felt stiff and drawn with tension.
He wondered if it could be his weariness, his wound.
But he could not shrug it off.
He said tightly. "This smells of danger, Kyla. There's trouble here."