Kara, spider legs supporting Amanda’s shoulder, craned her neck up and stared at the ascent. “What does that mean?” Cinnamon crackled a musical refrain at her ankles.
Annika followed her gaze. No sooner had she asked the question than something shifted above. A low rumble, followed by a rush of air. “Oh, shit!” She darted to where the others stood and grabbed Amanda’s left arm. She shifted the girl’s weight upon her shoulders and shoved Chelsea away with a flat-footed kick that sent her sprawling. “Scatter! Scatter!” Annika turned at a sharp angle and dove, mindful of which of Amanda’s sides was playing sheath to the dagger. Kara needed no further instruction and leapt in a lateral trajectory with the Leng cat scuttling after her.
A large stone crashed into the gravel from above, splashing sharp fragments of rock in all directions.
Annika hit the ground, the loose stone bedding cutting her palms. “That’s where your fucking rope went!”
Shouts from above echoed off the high ceiling. Two voices, crying the same words over and over again: “A-hai, Urn-ma Nemo! A-hai, a-hai!”
Another rock struck nearby and fractured in two, kicking another hail of stones across the ground. Amanda’s breathing quickened, and Annika gave the girl’s hand a squeeze. “Word travels fast in Tartarus, I guess.” She slipped her other hand toward her holster and wrapped her fingers about the butt of her revolver. She stopped short of drawing. She had no target. There was only the face and lip of the cliff and the flickering fires above it. She ground her teeth and pushed herself back up to her feet, fighting Amanda’s inertia. A rock struck the wall behind her, and she strained her eyes to see the projectiles.
Chelsea was across the room, shaking on her knees. “Oh my God, what do we do? Without the rope, this is just a dead end.”
“Astute observation.” Annika crept along the wall, one hand on the arms strung about her neck. Thanks for this, Spinzie. Thanks so goddamn much. The rumble of the hordes of cultists in pursuit droned through the tunnel behind them. There was no time to turn back and take a different path.
On the other side of the chamber, Kara stood with a conspicuous twist of her legs. “I’ll take care of this!” She flourished her appendages and leapt upon the face of the ropeless cliff just as another pair of rocks struck the ground and bounced past her. After only a moment of adjusting to the vertical surface, she began to scramble upward as naturally as a fish in a stream. Cinnamon was quick to follow and moved up the cliff no less fluidly than Kara.
Annika wrestled with a moral dilemma. It felt wrong to entrust the task to the girl, what with child endangerment generally being frowned upon, but there was little chance of anyone else making it to the top. “Counting on you, Kara!” she yelled, and stumbled out of the way of another falling stone. She snatched her Ruger from her holster and raised it one-handed, scanning the upward ascent. One hand on Amanda’s arm, one holding her revolver at the ready, she slunk back toward the center of the room. A rock crashed a few feet from Chelsea’s hiding place, and the girl shrieked in response. Can at least draw the rocks away from the others, Annika thought.
Just as Kara neared the halfway point, an indecipherable shout boomed from above. Then, a loud clattering began to race down the wall. Kara’s whole body tensed, and she jumped to one side. A stone raced right through where she’d been. The rocks stopped raining upon the rest of them, and now clacked and rolled right down the cliff face in a clear attempt to dislodge the spider-girl.
Annika’s chest tightened. “Shit, be careful, Kara!”
With a yelp, Kara scuttled laterally, avoiding another pair of rocks. Her legs fumbled as she struggled to regain her grip.
Annika cursed and raised her Ruger again, peering up its length toward the ledge. If they were dropping stones on Kara, they had to have been peeking their ugly heads out enough to see where the girl was. She held her breath, waiting for a head to show itself.
But before her target appeared, the droning from behind grew imminent. The darkness of the room changed to a fiery gleam that washed away Annika’s perception of light and shadow. Their borrowed time had burned out. She tensed and spun about, her shoulders heavy with Amanda’s weight. Ten feet away, in the mouth of the entrance tunnel, a torch shone. She adjusted her aim dead center of the glowing mass and squeezed the trigger. The Websworn stumbled back, scream silenced by the ringing shot. Its spear fell to the ground, and its torch tilted over to one side, pouring loose embers over the cobbles.
Annika jerked her head toward the girl in the corner. “Chelsea, take care of Amanda!”
The girl got up and obediently rushed to her side. As soon as Annika felt the weight shift off her, she rushed forward. She closed upon the Websworn and threw her heel into his chest. The man-thing fell, and its torch shattered against the ground. The blazing heat diminished in a flurry of rising sparks.
She backpedaled a few steps just as two more tribal Websworn appeared from around the bend of the tunnel. Their shouts of a-hai, a-hai were interrupted as they tripped over their fallen, shaking comrade. They collapsed over him, and then each other. Annika pulled back the hammer and fired twice. Two more Websworn, two more executions. The chanting and pounding footsteps beyond were no longer echoes. The greater tide had arrived.
Annika hissed. Three bullets hot, two in the cylinder. Though she hated to waste ammunition, she had to reload while she still could. She threw the cylinder open, slammed the reloading arm, and fished five fresh bullets from her pocket. As soon as she clicked the cylinder shut, the tide came in again from the cavern’s mouth.
Another rock cracked off the wall just above Kara’s head. She twisted her body to the side, and the projectile grazed her shoulder. Her muscles clenched and she scrambled upward, limbs sore from gripping the stone face. Three steps clawed, as measured by her anterior legs, and another projectile appeared. Her legs reacted and threw her to the right with a graceless bound. Her still-soft legs, already raw and bruised from the fighting, shook as they retook their hold of the wall.
Crap, she thought, I’m never going to make it at this rate.
Another stone bounced nearby before vanishing into the vacant dark below her. She bit down hard and threw herself up another few leg-lengths, straining her appendages and begging them to move faster. The shouts above were now clear beneath the ringing in her ears.
“Glory to the Dawn! Death to the Yellow!”
“Die, Kingseed!”
“A-hai, a-hai!”
She stopped her scuttle to read the air above. Two stones. With a glance to the left, she swung her girl-legs for momentum and jumped. A moment of pure gravity turned her stomach, and then she attached to the wall again. Her pulse hammered in her chest and rang in her ears. Hands splayed along the contours of the rock wall, she tried to squeeze even the slightest relief for her exhausted legs from it. Getting hit by even one stone could be fatal.
Another pair of rocks clattered down. Her breathing grew strained. Come on, give me a freakin’ break! Her legs reacted, clawing her up and to the left with a short leap. The first rock passed harmlessly below. But as she readjusted to the wall, another one ricocheted from an obtuse angle. Kara realized too late that she’d dodged right into its path. Her legs half-buckled, but she could make no other movement. Paralysis, and then a surge of adrenaline. She scrambled to one side, but the stone struck, a hammer to the joints of her anterior leg.
She screamed in pain. Teeth tight, she clung desperately to the wall, the broken leg limp at her shoulder. She tried to imagine that the warm fluid dripping down her back was sweat. Another rock tumbled toward her. Her muscles were heavy. She couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t make it to the top. She couldn’t save anyone. She couldn’t even save Spins. Her eyes closed, a feeble cry on her lips, and she braced for impact.
The stone struck her shoulder and tore her from the wall. Gravity took hold. Her stomach twisted and rose. Her shout grew more strained and hopeless. Her eyes quivered behind her tight eyelids as she fell toward death.
But then something seized her by the wrist.
Her body swung around that pivot point until gravity slapped her against the stone wall again, jarring her eyes open and setting her lip alight with a wet burning. A wall of yellow cloth clung to the wall just above her. Faul. Heart leaping, Kara grabbed his arm with her other hand and as many legs as she could force to move.
The Vant’therax’s face, covered with even more weeping black patches of chitin than before, wore a stern mask. “Why do you insist on endangering your life, child?”
Kara shook her head and thrust one leg up toward the ledge. “Up! Take me up!”
Faul closed his eyes in irritation. Then, his whole body jerked from an unseen impact.
“False One!”
“Death awaits all the King’s servants!”
“A-hai! A-hai!”
The Vant’therax peered upward behind the shielding of his arm. A deep growl rumbled from his chest. “Very well. Grab my back.”
He lifted her up toward him, his arms rippling with strength. She wrapped her uninjured spider legs around his shoulders and sides. Once she’d secured herself, Faul again turned his face to the wall and began to climb. One hand at a time, he drove his fists into the stone face. Amid gut-wrenching cracks of bone, he’d find a handhold and slide another arm-length up the cliff. The stones and boulders spilled down from the ledge with an even greater malice behind them, but he made no attempt to dodge them. They struck him in the arms and chest and head, but they seemed to have no effect at all. His posture was slanted, purposefully top-heavy so as to shield her from the attacks.
As her legs quivered, joints burning from exertion, she noticed the deep splotches of blood that stained his robe. Whole segments were painted red, and his garment bore great tears and rips that concealed massive growths of black chitin. He’d been fighting. Just as Annika had asked, he’d stayed behind to hold off the advance. He’d paid a great physical price for the time he’d bought them. Kara now regretted doubting their intentions, as well as Mark’s.
Below, Cinnamon had caught up to them. Her agile leaps and dodges allowed her to avoid the ricocheting stones effortlessly, and soon she was slinking up the wall right beside Faul. Gunshots pounded the silence. Screams and shouts formed a dizzying song of death below. Kara’s heart beat wildly in her throat. They were going to make it.
Only twenty feet from the ledge, a heavy boulder-strike slammed into Faul’s face. At last his upward motion ceased. Blood splattered against the cliff. Kara felt his grip shift, slipping as the stone clattered on its way down to the chamber below them.
Kara growled. “Cinnamon!” A crackling call answered. The Leng cat sprang upward, zipping from side to side at sharp angles. Kara patted Faul’s shoulder. “Thanks! I’ll take it from here!” With a renewed fervor, she leapt off Faul’s back and grappled the wall again. Zeal flooded her, and the Hunting drove her legs to an unholy frenzy. One leg still limp at her shoulder, she flew up the wall, rapid gait flirting with gravity with each step. A few seconds later, Cinnamon’s galloping form fell in beside her. Amid the pounding beat of the shots below, and accompanied by the trumpets of inhuman screams, she vaulted up onto the ledge.
She landed in a loaded crouch, squinting into the blazing light of the torches. Two Websworn greeted her, their faces contorted in fear and shock. A large length of rope, staked into the stone shelf, ran along the ground in a tight coil. A shadow from below seethed up, and Faul’s battered form emerged beside her. With a snarl, the three of them leapt upon the terrified Websworn.
Annika put two bullets into a pair of robed servants. They clutched their chests and fell over the others in the entrance hall. Three. A small unit of dark robes was next to emerge, followed by a pair of thralls in filthy street clothes. She fired into the front two robes—one. When they staggered from the impact, they all crashed together and fell prone over the growing pile of bodies.
She reloaded—a mechanical movement—dumping her single unspent bullet. As she snapped the cylinder closed again, a shriek from above reached her throbbing eardrums. A body fell to the ground not ten feet from her. The Websworn’s body snapped and twisted upon impact, its spine bent in the wrong direction. A few moments later, the second scream landed upon outstretched legs. Those bones seemed to liquefy on landing with a wet crunching sound.
A rush of hope filled Annika’s chest. “Way to fucking go, Kara!” She put a single bullet in the head of the one that survived the fall with smashed legs—four—mercy and revenge, two birds with one thirty-eight special. At the mouth of the tunnel, some of the Websworn and servants clawed at the gravel, trying to pull themselves out of the pile of bodies. Behind them, more and more plain-clothed thralls rushed toward the opening, shouts and chants echoing.
“Kara, hurry up with the damn rope!” On cue, a length of rope unfurled from the top of the cliff, writhing and twisting like an angry snake. “Chelsea, you go first. Leave Amanda to me.”
The raven-haired girl, shivering in fear, gave a slow nod. She gently let her friend down in a reclining position against the wall and made her way over to the rope. She looked it up and down, hesitating, and then began to climb.
Annika unloaded three shots into the servants that attempted to climb over the flesh and cloth barrier. One of their torches tumbled to the floor and rolled half a foot forward. With only a single bullet left in her Ruger, she moved forward and scooped the torch up from the ground. Heat from the flames burned her sweat-covered face, but she held it high and listened to the sound of the coming horde.
“A-hai, Urn-ma Nemo! A-hai, a-hai!”
With a howl, Annika hurled the torch onto the pile of bodies. The robes and ragged clothing immediately began to catch the tongues of flame. She fired her last bullet at the next drone squeezing through the bottleneck just as the blaze grew high enough to block her line of sight. The fire spread along and between the fallen. Anguished screams of the still-living filled her eardrums. It was a funeral pyre worthy of her Viking ancestors.
There. Let’s see you get through that. She turned her attention back to the task at hand. Lungs filled with the sick fumes, she rushed over to where Amanda lay reclining against the wall. She crouched down and put her palm against the girl’s clammy forehead. “You okay, sweetie?”
With clenched eyes and shaking muscles, Amanda nodded feebly.
Annika couldn’t help but be impressed. For a girl her age to have come so far, endured so much, was incredible. Reminds me of . . . She shook the thought away. Now wasn’t the time. She lifted Amanda up and wrapped the girl’s arms around her neck again. The added weight made her steps uneven and heavy as she slogged her way over to the hanging rope. An upward glance found Chelsea halfway up the climb. Her heart fluttered as the cries from beyond the wall of fire grew more desperate and angry. Slipping her fingers about the rope, she gave it a quick tug to test its strength.
“Hang on tight,” Annika said over her shoulder. “Whatever you do, don’t let go. I need you to be strong. Can you do that for me?” Amanda nodded against the back of her neck. Annika grabbed the rope above one of its knots and took a deep breath. She lunged upward and gained a foot of distance, groaning through her teeth. Their combined weight tried to push the knot through her grip like a knife, but she kept her fists tight and white-knuckled another upward lunge. Her feet found the rough cliff face and tried to wrestle some extra support out of it.
From the alcove behind them, the voices grew in number. The noxious stench of burning fat and skin stung her nostrils. She strained, forcing her lungs to take in more of that poisoned air. Another climbing lunge put her a few hands higher. The girl on her back was clinging with all of her strength, which was no small feat, all things considered. The muscles in Annika’s arms were already burning, but she couldn’t let the pain stop her.
She filled her lungs with another choked breath and began to yell. “Quit fucking around and pull that goddamn rope!” Some yelling from up above echoed off the walls, and
then a tenseness propagated down the rope and fed into her arms. The Vant’therax must have been helping pull the rope, for had it been Kara alone she could never have moved three humans’ worth of weight. Though the heave was slight, it was progress, and progress was life. Hand over hand she crawled up two more knots.
“Don’t you dare let go,” Annika growled, and again Amanda nodded. She pushed with her legs for just a little more vertical lift and threw her arm up to the third knot above her. Her entire body shook as she pulled the two of them up. Shouts rang above, and inch by inch the rope dragged them upward. Her muscles were going to split apart if she didn’t rest, but rest was for the weak and she was anything but.
“Heave!” Kara’s voice rang. “Heave!”
The hellish screams below were pierced by a muffled but familiar voice—the one belonging to the archon Zurt. “Do not let them escape! Forward, cowards!”
Fuck. One hand above the other, above the other, above the last. Amanda’s muscles squeezed tight about her shoulders, and her breathing grew uneven. “Hang on,” Annika whispered, lungs nearly empty. “Just hang on.” I’m not going to let you die. I’ll repay my debt no matter what.
The shouts grew more fervent. The light painting the walls shifted. Burning bodies began to tumble from the orifice as the cult forced their way through the fiery blockage. They spilled into the room amid the ashes of the pyre, some carrying the flames on their clothing. Twenty-five feet off the ground wasn’t going to cut it. Only a glance below. At least fifteen, most mindless thralls. Their sunken eyes and splinter-worn spears glistened in the torchlight. And he was there. The archon. The monster.
Annika stopped climbing, planted her feet upon the wall, and coiled a length of rope around one hand. “Hold tight. Stay still.” She slipped her knife from her ankle-strap and shoved the hilt between her teeth before returning her hand to the rope. Using one foot to hold the trailing end of the rope taut, she craned her neck and pressed the blade into the woven fibers. Muscles quivering from exertion, she began to saw.
Tatters of the King (The Warren Brood Book 3) Page 60
