“That is all I can give you,” Myrmeen said.
Pieraccinni sat behind his desk, regarding the pile of coins and jewels before him with an amused expression. “I know I said a small token of faith would suffice, but I didn’t expect it to be this small.”
“You’ll get all that’s coming to you,” Myrmeen said stiffly as she stood before the merchant. “Or do you not trust the word of Myrmeen Lhal, ruler of Arabel?”
Pieraccinni’s gaze slowly rose from the riches on his desk to the piercing stare of the magnificent brunette. Her unusual blue-and-gold eyes were hard and unyielding.
“Why do I get the feeling you told Dak something very similar before you lopped his head off?” he asked.
Myrmeen leaned forward. “Perhaps because he tried my patience, too.”
The bald merchant of arms and men leaned back, rocked in his chair, and laughed. “If you ever get tired of your post in Arabel, I hope you will consider giving me a chance to employ you.”
“In what position? On my back or bent over your desk?” Myrmeen asked bitterly, tired of thinly veiled propositions.
Pieraccinni shook his head and opened his hands. “As a negotiator. You are far too suspicious.”
Myrmeen glanced around the room. There was movement from behind the red satin curtains of his four-poster bed. “Somehow I find it difficult to accept a serious job offer from a man who keeps a bed in his office.”
Pieraccinni pursed his lips. “No one told you? No, from your expression I see that they did not. I never leave this room. I have a rare malady that keeps me here.”
The statuesque adventurer stepped back from his desk.
“Don’t worry. What I have is not contagious and what I’ve told you is public knowledge.” He tapped his shining, bald pate. “What I suffer from has been diagnosed as a disease of the mind, but that does not make its effects any less real. If you were able to drag me beyond those doors I would collapse with fits and seizures within a minute’s time. Of course, you would first have to get me out there.”
Myrmeen heard the scrape of weapons sliding from scabbards. She glanced back at the shadowy figures behind the blood-red curtains. “The twins are highly protective?”
“They are, along with all my employees. Not one of them has ever had it this good before. They don’t want their comfortable lifestyle to be ruined, and they are aware that my skills are all that ensure their continued employment.”
“I understand,” Myrmeen said.
“All I want from you is the promise that the next time you have business in Calimport, you will come to me first.”
Myrmeen reached out and shook Pieraccinni’s hand. “You have my word.”
“And you have your daughter. May your life with her be as rewarding as it will be interesting.”
Walking to the door, Myrmeen stopped midway. “That sounds like a warning. Do you know something I don’t?”
“I have five sons and two daughters,” Pieraccinni said. “Believe me when I say you are embarking on your most challenging and perilous adventure yet.”
Myrmeen knocked twice and the doors swung outward. She left Pieraccinni’s chamber without another word. The doors slammed shut behind her. The boy, Alden, appeared from a secret doorway at the other end of Pieraccinni’s room. He hurried inside, rushing to the bald man’s desk.
“I have need of your special skills,” Pieraccinni said. “Assign Marishan your duties, then follow Lhal and her group. I want confirmation that they have left the city.”
“You will have it,” Alden said agreeably.
Outside the Gentleman’s Hall, Myrmeen joined the Harpers. Krystin nervously glanced at every shadow, though it was midday and the sunlight was glaring. The child had made her rescuers promise that they would enter the city and leave once more while the sun was there to protect them. The nightmare people despised movement during the day.
Myrmeen had not given Pieraccinni all of the riches she had secreted in the city. She left many of the caches in place as a contingency in the event that she one day returned to Calimport, but she said nothing of this to the others.
The group stopped at a nondescript eatery for one last decent meal before the long ride to Arabel. They were greeted by a fiery-haired serving maid whose pleasant smile faded as she caught sight of the Harpers. They had been in the desert for several days without bathing or changing clothes and they had the look of ruffians.
“A private table might be best,” she said as she took the small group to a pair of tables near the kitchen and promised to return shortly with tankards of ale. As she left, the girl was stopped by an older woman, who whispered in her ear, eyeing Myrmeen and her crowd suspiciously. The red-haired girl shook her head and raised her voice as she said, “You’re right, of course. I would have thought their kind would keep to the Hall.”
Krystin was about to hurl a heavy wooden container of ground pepper at the back of the girl’s head when Lucius grabbed her arm.
“That is not civilized,” he said in deep, rich tones.
“And you think I am?” she asked. “The cow has it coming.”
Myrmeen glanced at her daughter. She was beginning to notice that they used many of the same phrases and wondered if Krystin was trying to emulate her. The thought appealed to Myrmeen and she smiled broadly.
An hour later, they were riding toward the city’s gates, passing through another run-down neighborhood. Myrmeen drew up her mount’s reins, and Krystin held on tightly as the horse neighed and brought them to a halt. Cardoc had been riding beside her, taking point.
“What is it?” Lucius asked as he raised his hand to signal the others to stop. The gaunt mage had followed Burke’s orders perfectly, maintaining his visibility at all times. “What have you seen?”
“This place,” Myrmeen whispered as she nodded toward a large, U-shaped building across the street. “I didn’t even recognize the neighborhood, but that building is where my nightmares started. That’s where I was born and raised.”
“Your family had that entire estate?” Krystin said with amazement.
“No,” Myrmeen said. “The family that had the building constructed left when the area was taken over by the working class and the poor undesirables, like my family. When the estate was given to the city, it was turned into cheap housing.”
“But you’re wealthy, cultured—”
“That came later, much later.”
“It looks abandoned,” Krystin said.
Myrmeen nodded. The building where she had played as a child, where she had later experienced her first kiss, now appeared to be deserted. Vines covered the walls of the two-story dwelling and overran the courtyard. The fountains had dried up. Most of the windows were shattered and covered with boards. The balcony that ran the length of the second floor was stained with mildew and its railing was shattered in several places. Strangely, while the building had not been maintained, neither had it been vandalized. There were no signs that it had been overrun with families of squatters.
“Why are we stopped?” Burke called. “What’s happening?” When no response came, Burke and Varina rode to either side of those riding point. Burke was surprised by Myrmeen’s softening features. The lines around her eyes and mouth, which had seemed to deepen over the past several weeks, appeared to vanish as she surrendered herself to the embrace of warm remembrances.
“Did you want to go inside?” Varina asked.
Myrmeen thought it over. Suddenly she heard her father’s warm, booming laughter as he went off to work on that last, fateful morning, riding off to a private audience from which he would never return. She had clung to that image for years, then forgotten it until just now, as she saw the window of the bedroom that once had been hers, in the building’s east wing.
“Yes,” Myrmeen said, “for a moment. Then we’ll leave.”
“I have no objection,” Burke said benevolently.
Krystin turned her gaze to the sun. There were many hours of daylight left, so she did not allow her fear to overcome her. Reisz and Ord followed behind the four horsemen who led the party beyond a crumbling marble fountain, upon a stone walkway and deep into the central courtyard. In moments they were flanked by the two long arms of the building, and they dismounted before the easternmost of two sets of stairs, the only way up to the second floor.
The curly-haired fighter tapped Ord’s shoulder. “I don’t like this,” he said candidly.
“That’s the joy of riding with you, Roudabush. You don’t like anything.”
Reisz nodded. Ord never used Reisz’s family name except to signal that he, too, was very worried.
Myrmeen was already climbing the stairs, her boots trampling the vines underfoot. Krystin remained at her side, feeling a disquieting compulsion to stay close to the woman whose hair and eyes were identical to her own. Burke told Myrmeen to go ahead, that he and his wife would follow at a comfortable distance. Reisz and Ord were ordered to remain behind and watch for horse thieves. Cardoc went off to explore another section of the building but promised to remain within earshot.
“It’s so much smaller than I remember,” Myrmeen said as they reached the second-floor landing.
Krystin walked a few steps to the right and peered through the slats into one of the rooms. Frowning, she said, “I don’t think you’re going to find much. Look here.”
Myrmeen went to her side and squinted as she bent slightly and stared at the ruins of what had been the main living chamber of a single-family dwelling. Staring at the demolished furnishings and piles of rotted wood strewn about, Myrmeen felt the urge to abandon the search. After all, she did not want to see her childhood home in such condition.
An urge that she could not resist propelled her forward. She led Krystin back along the gallery to a hallway at the top of the stairs, which had been scorched by flames. There were no rats or roaches, though she did find the occasional wisp of a spider’s web.
“Can’t we walk around this ledge?” Krystin asked.
“We can’t get in that way. The front doors were all walled up after a few children died after running through the doors and not looking where they were going. The guardrail was a joke.”
Myrmeen swallowed hard. She had known one of those children, an unfortunate little boy, and had been schooled with his sister. They both had lost siblings, and the experience had bonded them together.
“Myrmeen?” Krystin asked.
Shuddering, Myrmeen took Krystin into the hallway and turned to face a darkened central corridor that subdivided the second floor. “I don’t know how safe this is. Let me go first.”
“All right,” Krystin said.
Myrmeen entered the black corridor, her hand against the wall as she found the spot where the passage angled to the left. She gestured for Krystin to follow. The girl entered the corridor, barely able to see Myrmeen’s hand, which she clung to as she was led down the night-black avenue to a door that Myrmeen did not need to see to recognize. They heard the footsteps of Burke and Varina following behind.
“It’s not locked,” Myrmeen said as she pressed her weight against the door and shoved. The door came open easily and Myrmeen was shocked by what she found on the other side.
“Someone’s still living here,” Krystin said.
“Yes,” Myrmeen said in a tiny, stunned voice. “I am.”
The chamber they faced was decorated exactly the way Myrmeen remembered it from her childhood. A heavily worn sky-blue rug was thrown across the floor. Wooden shelves and cabinets lined the walls. Oversized pillows, which her mother had woven and stuffed with feathers that she and Myrmeen had spent weeks gathering, lay on the floor beside a lute identical to the one that had disappeared with her father. There were paintings on the wall, and one in particular arrested Myrmeen’s attention: It was a portrait of herself as a child, sandwiched in a happy, loving embrace between her mother and father.
“No,” Myrmeen whispered as she fought back the tears that welled up in her eyes. Her trembling fingers grazed the painting’s surface, lightly touching her dead father’s hard, proud face.
Krystin wandered past the main chamber and called to Myrmeen from one of the two adjoining bedrooms. Myrmeen glanced at the rocking chair near the partially boarded up window, then at the chests shoved against the wall, the dining table, and the small kitchen. Food had been prepared here recently; she could smell the succulent aroma of chicken basted with imported spices from her father’s village in far off Velen, near Asavir’s Channel and the Pirate Isles.
“Myrmeen!” Krystin yelled.
Glancing at the doorway, where she expected to see Burke and Varina appear at any moment, Myrmeen wondered what was keeping them. She turned away and followed the sound of her daughter’s bright, expectant voice. She felt as if she were no longer moving of her own volition, as if she were being dragged along by forces that she could not hope to control. Looking down, she became aware of the changing perspective and the steady motion of her legs, one before the other. A part of her was terrified to go any farther, but she had no choice. She reached the doorway to her old room and felt as if twenty years had vanished. Myrmeen stared at a living portrait of her early life, with Krystin playing her role.
The room was perfectly preserved. Krystin rolled on the bed, clutching the scented blankets to her chest. Myrmeen was stunned by the wealth of small items that she had forgotten about, such as a drawer in her nightstand that still contained the wretched love poems of her first suitor. On the dresser sat an empty vial of perfume that she had drained in an eight-year-old’s attempt to emulate her mother’s daily ritual of bathing and scenting her soft, beautiful skin.
Above the bed was a painting that caused her tears to finally burst free. The image captured on the canvas had remained in her dreams and fantasies for her entire adult life, though she somehow had blocked its origin. The portrait revealed a sky at twilight, where a soft, bluish white mist rose from a valley that was hidden by a rise in the foreground. A handful of pine trees stood as lone sentinels to watch a comet whip across the sky. Its trail entered the frame at the top, arced first to the right, then suddenly sped in a downward curve to the left, gaining momentum and intensity, to flare at the deep blue, starry sky where the veil of night slowly fell.
Myrmeen had dreamt of that rise many times. In some of her dreams, she made love with magnificent strangers on that fantastic landscape as the comet streaked by. In others, she lay there alone while a haunting melody played on a lute.
“What’s wrong?” Krystin asked.
Myrmeen turned and wiped away the tears. “Nothing. This was a foolish idea.”
“Tell me.”
Pressing her lips together, hugging herself tightly, Myrmeen looked at the painting a second time. “My father gave me that painting. I still remember the morning he woke me up to look at it. Somehow he had put it up while I was still sleeping. It was a month after my sister had died. Stillborn. My father looked at me and said, ‘You are that light for me. You rescue me from the darkness.’”
“What happened to him?”
Myrmeen shivered. The room was growing colder. “My father was put to death because his music displeased a rich man who had heard him play on the street and had requested a private audience. Father spent the entire previous night worrying over what selections to play for the man, and he had chosen a classical ballad for his lead. He had no way of knowing that the song had been a favorite of the wealthy man’s wife, who had betrayed him and then ‘took her own life’ in shame for the transgression. The rich man had been certain that Father had been paid by one of his enemies to play that piece of music. He went into a blood rage, beating and kicking Father until he died. Father was a gentle man who had never learned to fight. Then the servants left the body in the streets and claimed that thieves had killed him before he ever arrived at the palace.”
“But you got even.”
“Yes.”
Krystin nodded slowly. “Good.”
Myrmeen was touched again by the deep feeling of loss that had plagued her for the last decade. She missed her family and looked to Krystin with hope.
A scream sounded from one of the other quarters.
“Varina,” Myrmeen said in alarm, racing from her old bedroom, through the main quarters, to the corridor beyond.
Three doors along the formerly darkened corridor had been opened. The closest door, six feet ahead and to her right, led to the rooms on the other side of the wall from Myrmeen’s old dwelling. A dull orange glow radiated from the doorway, partially illuminating the corridor. The next two doors that were open lay fifty feet away at either side of the corridor’s end, before the bend the mother and daughter had taken earlier. Shafts of murky sunlight burst from these rooms, intersecting like crossed swords. A long patch of darkness stretched between the light at the end of the corridor and the dull luminescence from the nearby doorway.
Myrmeen suddenly became aware that she was not alone in the corridor. Something rose from the darkness and flew at her. Her view of the light at the end of the corridor was obscured by whatever had just taken flight, though she could not make out anything more than a vague, large shape in silhouette and could not tell how far away it had been when it began its flight. She could hear the beating of leathery wings and a steady, high-pitched squeal that grew louder with each passing second.
From the rooms next to Myrmeen’s childhood home came Varina’s scream a second time. Myrmeen looked back into her old quarters as an explosion shook the corridor. Suddenly the wall separating her old home from the next apartment was no longer there. Myrmeen saw the wall disintegrate, the portrait of herself with her family suddenly destroyed. A glistening, pulsating tentacle twice the size of a man hurled Burke’s limp body through the opening that had been created. The bearded warrior smashed against the far wall, his heavy, armored body shattering the reproduction of her father’s cherished lute.
Myrmeen heard the squeal before her grow more intense, and she redirected her gaze to the corridor. The flying creature was almost upon her. By the dull, caressing glow from the next apartment, she caught a glimpse of the monster in the light. But before her mind could assimilate what she had seen, the creature was upon her and she was overcome by its hot, sweet breath, which smelled of honey.
She reached for her sword, but by then it was too late. Tiny hands clawed at the exposed flesh of her face as Myrmeen felt a strong hand dig into the meat of her upper arm. There was a sharp tug, and she was dragged out of the monster’s path. Myrmeen fell into her childhood home as the creature flitted past and disappeared from sight.
Looking up, Myrmeen saw Krystin, then noticed that there was more light in the dwelling. Apparently, at the first sign of trouble, Krystin had run to the window and had been trying to pry loose the boards that covered it in a haphazard fashion. Gaps had been left between the wooden planks, allowing streaks of light to show through and illuminate the dwelling without revealing its secrets to the world. Krystin had been successful in removing one wooden board and a second seemed ready to give.
“This is one of their lairs!” Krystin screamed. “You idiot, you led us right to them!”
From the corridor Myrmeen heard the fluttering wings of the creature outside. Before she could react, it appeared in the doorway and hovered for a moment. In that instant, Myrmeen was able to see it fully.
She was surprised by the strange beauty of the monstrosity. It had four clear, colorless wings with the intricate designs one might find on a butterfly’s wings. The creature’s body was black and gold, shaped in segments, with dozens of tiny arms branching off, each with distinctly human hands. She looked up at the creature’s face and saw that it was not the face of a monster at all, but that of a magnificent and beauteous child with red eyes containing black, catlike slits. Its pouting Cupid lips suddenly drew back to reveal sharp, glimmering, carnivorous teeth.
Myrmeen heard a low groan behind her and knew what had captivated the monster’s attention. Although she was unwilling to look away from the creature as she drew her sword and rose to face her adversary, she had caught a glimpse of Burke’s unnaturally twisted body when she had been yanked into the room. He had been facing away from her, his head turned to the wall. His legs were bent at unnatural angles, obviously broken upon impact.
Burke had been one of her first teachers after her actions had gained her the attention, then the assistance, of the Harpers who had helped her to bring her father’s murderer to justice. The cardinal rule that Burke had taught her about proper conduct during a battle was to never allow yourself the luxury of emotion. Step out of yourself, he had told her time and again. If a person close to you falls at your side, you can do nothing for them if you allow feelings to get in the way. Take care of the job at hand.
Myrmeen looked at Krystin’s cold expression and realized that the child, at fourteen, already knew this lesson.
She also heard a soft, wet, flopping sound and knew it was the tentacle. She had seen that it could not reach more than five feet into the main body of the room, and so Burke was safe from it. In morbid fascination, she wondered what the tentacle was attached to and what had spawned the dragonfly-child, as she now thought of the creature.
“Stop dreaming!” Krystin said as she rushed forward and slammed the door shut on the creature’s face. From the corridor, they heard the telltale squeal of the dragonfly-child as it prepared to launch another attack. The door buckled with the impact as the monster slammed into the hard wood then fell to the floor. Its wings beat furiously and its tiny hands reached under the door, trying to gain access. Krystin smashed one of them under the heel of her boot. With a yelp of pain, the creature retreated from the door. Krystin threw the latch and locked the door tight.
“I told you they’re not human,” Krystin said. “Not all of them. Why didn’t you believe me?”
Myrmeen had other matters to think about. “Varina!” she screamed. “Where are you?”
“Trapped,” a muffled voice responded from the next room, through the shattered wall. “Boxed into a corner. It can’t get me and I can’t get out. My husband! Myrmeen, is he alive?”
Krystin ran to the other side of the room and returned to the task of prying loose the boards before the heavy glass window. She knew that their only avenue of escape was to break the glass, leap to the gallery, and lower themselves to the ground, where their mounts waited.
Myrmeen had gone to Burke’s side and had placed her hand on the man’s neck. She felt a cool torrent of relief splash upon her as she registered a weak but steady pulse.
“He’s alive!” she screamed. “But he’s going to need help. I don’t know if we can move him.”
“We have to get out of here,” Varina screamed. “Where are the others?”
“I don’t know,” Myrmeen said as she left Burke’s side and gradually angled herself so that she could see into the room where Varina was trapped.
“Myrmeen, come on!” Krystin shouted impatiently. The girl was struggling with the boards and desperately needed help. She did not turn when she heard the sound of absolute disgust that rose from Myrmeen; Krystin had already looked into the next room and learned its secrets.
“What are you?” Myrmeen whispered, entranced by the sight of the grotesquerie in the next room. Then she corrected herself, as ‘what aren’t you,’ would have been a more appropriate question.
The creature’s body resembled a gluttonous, red-and purple-veined flower. Its quivering layers of flesh pulsated with clear sacs containing shiny black pearls the size of a man’s fist. A half dozen tentacles rose from its base like the limbs of a starfish. At the core of the monster, surrounded by the obscenely pulsating pedals of flesh, was a wormlike, gelatinous trunk from which long, thin stalks protruded. At the end of each tiny stalk sat a human head. Some appeared to be alive, their eyes darting back and forth with madness and fear, their mouths working in silent screams. There were close to a dozen heads in all. Not all were alive. The necks of those who were dead seemed to be shrinking, as if the lifeless heads would be ground into the sickening mass of the creature, where the bones of humans were clearly visible. A shattered vertebrae poked out of its mass.
Myrmeen felt as she were going to be sick and forced down the mounting bile in her throat.
“Save my husband,” Varina called from her unseen niche in the room. “I’ll get away from this thing.”
Myrmeen turned from the hole in the wall and looked to her daughter.
“I’ve seen worse,” Krystin said as she finally managed to pry the board loose. The next one did not appear to be as firmly mounted. Myrmeen ran to her side and slid her sword under two of the boards, using her leverage to yank them loose. They pulled the boards free and exposed a section of window large enough for Krystin to fit through, once the glass was shattered. Suddenly, the squeal of the dragonfly-child rose in the distance. It was not alone.
Myrmeen heard Varina scream again, the sound coupled with the flapping of wings. She turned to see four identical dragonfly-children sail into the room, the wingspan of each close to four feet.
From the other side of the glass window before Krystin, two figures suddenly appeared. The girl slammed at the glass as she shouted, “Myrmeen, Reisz and Ord are right outside!”
As if the creatures had understood Krystin’s words, or were instead drawn by the sound of her screams, the group of dragonfly-children heightened their own squeals and dived straight at the tall brunette and her thin, hard-muscled daughter. Without hesitation, Krystin dove out of the way, rolling on the floor until she was within reach of the tentacle from the other room. Realizing the danger, Krystin rolled again as the heavy limb slapped the floor where she had been. Myrmeen raised her sword to fight, then realized how quickly her flesh could be ripped from her bones by the creatures’ talons, which were less similar to human hands than she first had believed. She followed her daughter’s lead and dove to the ground, rolling until she was halfway across the room. Then she bounded to her feet, her sword raised before her.
Krystin was at the door, her trembling fingers about to turn the lock when an inhuman hand punched through the door from the other side, causing her to cry out and stumble back. The hand had a large, flat thumb and two fingers each the size of a pair of human fingers fused together. The muscle covering the hand looked as if it had been stripped of flesh. Krystin fell to the floor, scrambling away from the hand, and shouted when her back touched Myrmeen’s sturdy legs. She grabbed Myrmeen’s waist and pulled herself to her feet.
Myrmeen was immobile, standing with her sword held out from her body to one side, in a traditional stance of readiness taught to her by Burke. The dragonfly-children congregated by the window, holding their position. They had cut off Myrmeen and Krystin from their only avenue of escape and waited to prey upon their rescuers. The Harpers beat at the heavy glass from the outside, shattering parts of it with the hilts of their swords. Ord tried to reach inside to punch away a sliver of glass, and one of the dragonfly-children darted at his hand, its teeth fastening on his palm. The young man screamed, and Reisz’s sword was thrust through the window, into the gold-and-black body of the creature, which writhed on the sword blade, then reached down and shattered the steel with its many hands. The broken shaft of metal was still in its bloated body as the creature flitted into Myrmeen’s room. It proceeded to wail and throw itself against every wall in agony before it fell silent in death.
Suddenly Krystin heard noise at the door. She turned to see the red arm of their new assailant as it reached through the hole it had made and tried to unlock the door. Krystin had been allowed to keep one of Myrmeen’s knives. She drew the weapon and threw it at the arm. The blade sank deep into its flesh. The creature that owned the arm did not flinch; at least, the arm did not. With a sharp click, the door was unlocked. Krystin gasped as the arm retreated through the hole it had made. The door swung open, and she saw the creature, who had the lower body of a slug and the torso of a man. Its head was graced with wildly protruding jaws, which chattered as a thin, long tongue darted around in its mouth.
“Krystin,” Myrmeen said, her voice laced with fear, “there’s something you have to know about me—”
A sharp hiss came from beside Myrmeen. She leapt back in surprise as she saw Lucius Cardoc fade into existence at her side. “May I assume that this is one of those times that interference will not insult you?” Lucius asked.
“You know it,” Myrmeen said.
“I thought as much.” Lucius turned, whispered a phrase, and aimed his hands at the torso of the red-skinned creature. The monster slid across the floor with considerable speed. A thunderclap that was deafening in the confines of the small room accompanied the release of the mage’s spell. Myrmeen barely heard the sizzle and the crack as a burst of reddish blue light erupted from the mage’s hands and struck the wormlike man. The creature did not have time to scream as the arcane fires ripped it to pieces. Sections of its body left dents and cracks in the wall as they hit. The eruption of gore and blood splattered the Harpers.
“That’s really disgusting,” Krystin said.
“I will keep your criticism in mind,” Lucius said as he turned to the window, where the dragonfly-children squealed and hurled themselves in the mage’s direction.
“Reisz, Ord, jump clear, now!” Myrmeen screamed. The Harpers leapt, and Lucius released a second burst of energy that incinerated two of the dragonfly-children immediately and went on to collapse most of the far wall, sending debris spurting into the courtyard beyond.
“Run!” Cardoc said. “I’ll free Varina and levitate Burke to the ground. Ready our mounts. There are bound to be more of these creatures!”
Myrmeen chose not to argue with him. She grabbed Krystin’s hand and started for the collapsed section of wall. Teetering, Lucius placed his hand on his head, the drain of the spells he had used finally catching up with him. The final dragonfly-child circled the room and headed directly for him. Myrmeen released her daughter’s hand, raised her sword, and took three steps in the direction of the mage when the roof suddenly collapsed upon them. Heavy wooden beams smashed to the floor, one of them striking Lucius on the back, knocking him to the ground. Myrmeen raised her hand to her face and looked away as a rain of dust and splinters fell upon her, along with chunks of wooden struts. She was vaguely aware that something else had fallen with the ceiling. A sound had come, separate from the others, the sound of heavy boots striking the carpeted floor.
The sounds had come from either side of her. Myrmeen’s vision cleared and she saw a man who was not human standing several feet before her. The creature winked and smiled. She could only see the other man from the periphery of her vision, but she felt him touch her shoulder. His hand glowed and a vibrating current ran through her arm.
“Krystin, run!” she screamed as she spun and described an arc with her blade that caught the closest of the two men off guard, grazing the side of his head and sending him back, staggering, with his hand to his bloody scalp. She had no idea what had happened to her daughter. With a prayer that the girl was not buried beneath the rubble from the ceiling, Myrmeen looked at the face of the remaining member of the Night Parade. Its face was incredibly pale, with skin as withered as ancient parchment. It had a long, hooked nose and soft blue eyes. Ducking beneath her blade, the creature touched the floor, which instantly transmuted into liquid.
Myrmeen shouted as the floor gave out and she found herself falling into the darkened chamber below, along with everything else that had been in her childhood home. The impact when she struck bottom knocked the wind from her and she fell on something that bruised her ribs. Her free arm twisted behind her back and she felt a tearing in her shoulder, along with a sudden stab of red-hot liquid. Debris crashed around her, but somehow she had managed to hold onto her sword. She used the weapon as a crutch, digging into the settling wreckage, using its strength to help her climb to a kneeling position. Everything surrounding her was soggy. A sheet of harsh white light came in from the collapsed second story wall. The roof itself was still intact; it was the floor of the attic that had been destroyed.
“Hello, hello!” a figure said as it sprang up before her. Myrmeen found herself looking into the delighted face of the wrinkled, white-skinned member of the Night Parade who had changed the floor into water. His features ran like candle wax.
The creature reached toward her with dripping hands. “Tell me how you want to be immortalized. Glass? Steel? Porcelain? I’m an artist, but I like to be accommodating.” The wax-man giggled insanely.
Myrmeen knew that by the time she drew her sword, the creature would be upon her. She wondered if Lucius or Burke had survived the fall, and if her daughter had made it out alive.
Suddenly there was a groan from above and the pale man looked up in surprise. “No,” he said, “it’s spreading. It wasn’t supposed to spread!”
His power was causing the wall beside them to disintegrate, along with the floor upon which Varina was trapped by the tentacled creature. As the wall beside them turned to liquid, Myrmeen saw that heavy support beams had been placed in the next room to help manage the tremendous weight of the monstrosity above. She could not help but wonder why they did not simply allow the creature to stay on the first floor. Then there was no more time for thought. The floor beneath the creature transmuted, sending Varina plunging into the darkness as her massive enemy sank like a weighty sponge. It made no sound as it was impaled on the many support beams, its body and tentacles writhing madly as it lashed out in pain, then surrendered to death.
Myrmeen had not stood by as a spectator. While the waxlike man had watched the scene in horror, Myrmeen had withdrawn her sword, scrambled back over the debris to put some distance between herself and the creature, and thrown her sword at the pale man’s head. He threw his hands up in alarm, his body twitching as the sword pierced his skull, the weight dragging him down to lie on his side in convulsions.
She heard a moaning sound, then the pounding of sword hilts on glass from the first floor. Myrmeen looked around and saw something moving within the wreckage. A man.
“Lucius?” she called as she walked closer.
The figure rose unsteadily and turned to her. It was the second man who had leapt down from the collapsed floor of the attic. The man had long black hair, azure eyes, and a tremendously well-developed body. He was tall and handsome. His expensive clothing was cut to reveal his washboard stomach, thick arms, and powerful legs. Bright, bluish white energy crackling with green flames engulfed his hand.
She was unprepared for his speed as he grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him, pulling his hand behind him for an instant, then shoving it forward. The pain she had anticipated never arrived. She heard a scream behind her.
Looking over her shoulder, Myrmeen saw that the man’s hand was buried deep in the chest of the man with the waxen face. There was no indication that her sword had ever touched him, though she had seen it buried in his skull. The creature writhed for a moment, then fell back in a heap and did not rise again.
“I am Erin Shandower,” the man who’d grabbed her said. “I am human, like you.” He held out his glowing hand, the talons of energy quickly fading. “This gauntlet is my weapon against them. With it, I can kill almost any—”
“My daughter,” Myrmeen said. “Help me find her. She was up there when the floor gave out.”
Shandower nodded, and together they began the search. Across the room, Myrmeen registered that the pounding at the window had stopped. She had assumed that it was Reisz and Ord, trying to get in and free them. Something had made them stop, and that frightened Myrmeen.
“I’ve found someone. A man,” Shandower said.
Myrmeen went to his side and helped him to drag Lucius from the waterlogged wreckage. The mage was dazed, barely conscious. She heard the sloshing of footsteps and turned, worried that she would find another enemy. Varina walked past her, desperately plunging her gloved hands into the debris, trying to find her husband’s body. The lithe blonde was frantic. She ignored the gaping cuts lining her legs and back.
The desperate search went on until Varina gave a single, grief-filled cry. She had found her husband. Miraculously, he was still alive. His eyes flickered open at her touch and he reached up to caress the side of her face. “So beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely.
Varina lowered her face to his, kissing him gently.
Myrmeen raised another chunk of debris and realized with disgust that it was a severed wing from one of the dragonfly-children. She dropped it immediately. Krystin had not been trapped below the heavy wings. The tall, beautiful brunette tried to fight off her growing hysteria. She could not have come all this way to find her daughter, only to lose the girl so quickly.
“I have only one question,” a voice called from the darkened corner of the room. “ ‘My daughter’?”
Myrmeen spun around in surprise. Straining her eyes, she was able to see Krystin sitting on a pile of wreckage a dozen feet away. She heard footsteps above. The sections of the floor that once had held the dining and kitchen area of Myrmeen’s former dwelling were still intact. Something fell from the crumbling ledge above. Two lengths of rope.
Reisz and Ord leaned down over the edge. The older man gestured wildly. “Everyone out of there, quickly. There may be more of those things!”
“Why didn’t you just break through the window on this floor?” Myrmeen asked as her daughter left her perch and joined the others.
“We couldn’t. The walls, the glass, they’ve all been changed to steel. Something didn’t want us getting in.”
Myrmeen thought of the creature with the power of transmutation. It had nearly succeeded in trapping them.
Shandower grasped one of the ropes and tugged. The rope was secure. “I can take the tall one over my shoulder. Then I’ll come back for the one who was hurt.”
“Good plan,” Reisz said. “Who was hurt and who in Cyric’s hell are you?”
Ord suddenly noticed Burke’s twisted body and screamed the man’s name. The teenager grabbed one of the ropes and was about to slide down when Reisz threw his arms around the boy and held him back.
“Ord!” Burke shouted, somehow raising his hand in a fist.
“Listen.”
The boy stopped fighting the older man long enough to shift his gaze back to the pit of wreckage below.
“I want you to prepare the horses for our escape,” Burke said. “Now.” ›
“I’ll come down, I’ll help you—”
“No. Go outside. I’ll be along.”
Desperation flashed in the boy’s eyes. His true father had been horrible to him. Burke was the only man who had showed him kindness and discipline.
“Go on,” Burke said. “I’ll not have my only son disobeying my orders in front of all my friends.”
For a brief instant, Myrmeen was certain that she saw a face looking in on them through the first floor window, which may have had the consistency of steel but was still translucent. Then the face was gone.
Above, Reisz clamped his hand on Ord’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine.”
“Go, Ord,” Varina said, wiping away the tears that were suddenly streaming down her face. “We’ll be with you soon.”
Ord nodded sharply, then turned and vanished. They heard his footsteps recede and Varina said, “We’ll be with you always.”
Burke stared into her eyes. “You know, don’t you?”
“I do,” she said, her chest heaving with grief. Burke took her hand. He was not going to last much longer. His injuries were too severe.
Suddenly a chorus of high-pitched squeals erupted from where the dead tentacled creature rested. Myrmeen looked on in horror as hundreds of fist-sized black pearls cracked open and a swarm of yellow-and-black dragonflies rose in the air. One of the creature’s many layers of skin had fallen away in death, freeing the black eggs.
“We have to get out, now!” Shandower screamed as he hauled Lucius over his shoulder and began to climb.
Myrmeen watched Varina, who stared at the swarm as if its arrival had been inevitable.
“We have to go,” Myrmeen said.
“I’m not leaving him,” she said. “I won’t leave him to them.”
Burke touched her hand. “You know what to do.”
“You be quiet,” she said, her hands trembling.
“Please,” he said, though he would not beg. “I love you, my wife.”
“Don’t make me,” she cried.
Krystin ran for the ropes. Both were free. Reisz already had helped Shandower and Lucius over the side. Without a look back, she started climbing. The swarm buzzed angrily and had started to drift in their direction.
“Myrmeen, go. This is private,” Varina said solemnly. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Nodding, Myrmeen crossed to the ropes and took hold of the one that Krystin was not using. Then she hauled herself upward.
Below, Varina took her husband’s head in her hands and said, “I love you.”
“Forever,” Burke replied.
Behind her, Myrmeen heard the sharp crack of bones snapping. She hurried up the rope and felt hands upon her, helping her over the edge, and suddenly she was facing a blinding white curtain of midday sunlight.
“Varina, come on!” Myrmeen shouted as she heard the swarm’s flapping wings and high-pitched squeals. She pictured their razor-sharp mouths and talonlike claws; they would be like piranhas.
In the near darkness below, Varina rose from the body of her husband and quickly disrobed. She took her knife and opened several cuts in her flesh, then began walking in the direction of the swarm, diverting its attention from the Harpers who waited above.
On the second floor, Myrmeen saw this and had to be dragged from the edge of the ruined floor. Her last sight of her friend had been as the swarm descended upon her, covering her instantly. Varina never screamed.
Reisz shoved Myrmeen outside, to the gallery. “Don’t make her sacrifice count for nothing. Come on!”
Something in the kitchen caught her attention. She broke from him, tipped over a large oil lantern, and struck a piece of flint. In seconds the fire she had started began to bloom. Reisz dragged her outside and together they swung over the side and slid down the ropes that had been anchored by the fountain below. The others were already waiting.
“Where—where are they?” Ord stammered, looking back to the building, which already belched clouds of black smoke.
“They loved you very much,” Myrmeen said. Then she struck him in the solar plexus, just beneath the rib cage, with the stiffened fingers of her right hand. He collapsed in a heap, and Reisz loaded him onto his mount, securing him quickly as he eyed the burning building, expecting a new host of monstrosities to erupt at any time. Shandower took the first of two mounts that had been left behind by the deaths of Myrmeen’s friends, and said, “I know a place.”
“Show us,” Myrmeen said.
The Harpers rode out, Myrmeen taking one last look at the remains of her childhood quarters before she quietly followed the others to safety.