Page 11 of House of Dusk
Well, at least she was no longer bored.
Grimly, Yeneris settled into a wary stance, her swords braced as she watched for an opening. She preferred an enemy she could sneak up on and take out cleanly, quickly, silently. Not this sort of raw, face-to-skull battle. At least there was only one of them. She could finish this quickly, and then get Sinoe away before anyone was the wiser.
Yeneris feinted and struck, slamming her short sword into the creature’s left arm. Bone snapped, crunching. But the limb didn’t fall. Some dark, slithery stuff boiled up at the shoulder, twining down to bridge the wound.
The ghoul slashed at her, finger bones sharpened to needlelike claws. Wonderful. Damaging it made it stronger. So much for her dreams of proving herself Akoret reborn.
Honestly, it was a bit embarrassing. That fire spinner had held the creature at bay for twice as long as this with only a torch.
The next slash of razor-sharp finger bones caught her sleeve, tearing a thin slice along her right arm, leaving a fine thread of pain. Yeneris bit down, regretting nearly all of her decisions that night.
Wait. She unwound her thoughts, back to the woman with the torch. The ghoul, cringing away from her. Not attacking until it knocked the burning brand aside. Fire. It feared fire. She sheathed her swords.
With an unholy gargling cry, the ghoul lunged. Yeneris danced to the side, not bothering to strike it. Instead, she dove for the fallen torch. It was still smoldering. She lifted it just as the ghoul swung round to face her.
The creature gave a low hiss, retreating a step.
“Don’t like fire, do you?” She scanned the stones. A pile of spare torches lay over to one side of the tomb entrance, beside a clay jar and a bundle of clothing.
As her own brand began to sputter, Yeneris backed up, slowly. The ghoul followed. She caught up a second torch, lighting it from the one she carried. It blazed to life, weaving strange shadows against the stones of the tomb.
She tossed the first torch at the creature. Then lunged, slamming the fresher brand into the ghoul’s torso as it tried to escape.
Whoosh!
The tattered shroud caught, flames spreading to withered flesh and the sad fringe of hair clinging to its skull. In a heartbeat the monster was wreathed in flame. The slithery darkness that animated the bones writhed and shuddered. A strange gray dust began to sift from it, clouding the air. Yeneris drew her sword again.
One swift slash, and the skull went rolling away. More greasy puffs of ash billowed from the thing. The body fell, consumed by fire. The dark gleam in the skull’s remaining eye winked out.
She stalked over to it, tearing her dagger from its eye. Then she stomped down, hard. The old bone cracked, crumpled, fell to dust.
Finally, she drew a ragged breath. It was done.
Except that Sinoe was yelling something. Shouting at her, and pointing at the tomb. “Skotoi!”
That was when Yeneris realized her mistake. A stupid mistake that might very well mean her death.Skotoiwas the plural, not the singular.
A dozen burning eyes filled the necropolis gates. A waft of cloying air struck her, sweet and dusty and terrible. The scent of a great many dead things. And something else, a strange, damp smell that made her skin crawl as if a thousand spiders were marching up her spine.
“Fire!” cried Sinoe. “I saw fire! You can stop them!”
This would have been reassuring, if Yeneris happened to have a bonfire handy. Or a firebomb. All she had were the last flickers of a dying torch. Unless . . .
Yeneris sprinted back to the pile of supplies abandoned along the steps. The spare torches, and that clay jar. Fates, let it be what she hoped it was!
She bent, sniffing the mouth of the jar. A noxious, sweet scent filled her nose. Naphtha, the same flammable stuff that the torches were soaked in.
Yeneris hefted the jar, spun, then threw it straight at the broken gates, into that terrible clutch of dark gleaming eyes. Then she tossed her lit brand after it.
Fwoom!Fire exploded from the mouth of the necropolis, and with it a high, wailing chorus. The wave of hot air sent her stumbling back. One foot slid off the topmost step. She toppled; stone slammed into her side as she rolled down to the square.
“Are you hurt?” A hand gripped her arm. Someone with the strength of a kitten was trying to heave her upright.
Yeneris groaned. The princess was beside her, brown eyes crinkled with concern.
“You tell me. You’re the one with prophetic visions,” Yeneris snapped. She felt like one enormous bruise.
The girl’s mouth quirked. “I saw you stopping the skotoi. I didn’t see you falling down the steps afterward.”
