Philip Athans - The Halls of Stormweather

Larajin's heart pounded in her ears. Should she scream? The snow fell thickly, muffling all sound. Her lips began to move in a whispered prayer for mercy.

"Please," she begged. "Please don't…"

Larajin suddenly smelled flowers. The elf's nostrils quivered. He sniffed-then his eyes widened.

The elf's hand clamped back over her mouth. His other hand fell to his waist, to the spot where his knife was sheathed. Suddenly realizing that he could draw it and slit her throat in an instant, Larajin threw herself backwards as hard as she could and wrenched her head to the side.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed. Then, "Help! Guard!"

Strangely, the fragrance of Sune's Kisses was even stronger now, as if Larajin were standing on a crushed field of flowers, instead of on snow. Stranger still, the elf released his hold on her wrist. His body stiffened, and his brow furrowed as if he were fighting against some inner demon. Then he turned on his heel and walked briskly away, his soft leather boots padding on the snow.

Larajin sagged back against a wall, trembling with relief as she saw a member of the Selgaunt Guard round the corner at a run. By the time he reached her, the elf was gone, swallowed by the shadowy streets. The only assistance the guard could offer was to help her scoop her soggy loaf of bread out of the snow, then escort her home to Stormweather Towers.

"Are you sure it was the Hulorn?"

Tal's voice echoed out of the darkness behind Larajin. He splashed through the sewer behind her, just at the edge of the pool of yellow light cast by the lantern in her hand. As soon as he'd spoken, he clamped the perfumed handkerchief that Kremlar had given him back over his mouth and nose. The tunnels reeked, even at low water when the retreating tide had carried most of the effluent away.

"Don't you believe me?" Larajin asked.

"I believe you," Tal said.

He probably meant it. At nineteen, Tal was four years younger than Larajin. He'd always listened respectfully to whatever she had to say, even though she was just a servant and he the second son of the noble Uskevren House that Larajin served.

Last night, when Larajin had told him about the Hulorn and how she used the sewers to sneak into the Hunting Garden, Tal had insisted on accompanying her when she went back. He tried to talk her into waiting a day or two, saying that he needed time to memorize his role in Mistress Quickley's new play, but Larajin insisted on rescuing the injured tressym as soon as possible. Tal at last gave in after being assured they'd be back well before dark.

"The person you saw in the Hunting Garden may have been someone who just looked like the Hulorn," Tal continued. "Or if it was the Hulorn, perhaps he was wearing part of a costume. I heard that the Hulorn's face and hand were injured when a lantern spilled flaming oil on him. Maybe he's wearing a mask and glove to cover his burns. Theatrical devices can be quite realistic-"

"The scales and talons were part of his body," Larajin asserted. "It was magic-I'm sure of it. Now hush, or we'll be discovered."

They were approaching one of the street gratings. Pale morning sunlight poured in from up above, together with the sounds of street vendors hawking their wares. The skies had cleared since yesterday, and a trickle of meltwater dripped off the long icicles that hung from the grate. The clouds were breaking up. Larajin could see the full moon in one of the patches of blue sky.

They passed under the grate and turned down a side tunnel, then down another. Tal's splashes were uneven now, and Larajin paused to wait for him. When he caught up to her again, his face looked gaunt. Then she saw it was only a growth of beard, giving his normally clean-shaven face a shadowed appearance. Odd, that it had grown so quickly. He was sweating, despite the fact that the air in the tunnel was cold enough for Larajin to see her breath.

"Are you all right, Tal?" she asked.

"How close are we?" he asked.

Larajin studied the tunnel. They'd reached a point where it was reinforced; the high stone walls surrounding the Hunting Garden must have been directly above. "Almost there," she answered.

Tal nodded and waved Larajin on.

She continued up the tunnel for a few paces more but paused when she saw a pair of small bright eyes glinting at her out of the darkness ahead. After a moment, their owner scurried into view along one of the raised ledges: a large brown rat.

Larajin stepped to the opposite side of the tunnel to let it pass. She froze in mid-step as it crawled into the light. That was no ordinary rat. It fumbled along the ledge, crawling with one front leg that was a feathered wing and another covered in thick white fur. Its rear legs clicked against the brickwork like tiny hooves. Its face…

Larajin raised the lantern. "By all that's unholy, Tal, you won't believe this," she said in a trembling whisper. "This rat has a human face."

In that same moment, Tal-who once more was well back of the lantern light-turned and fled. His feet splashed rapid echoes around the corner the tunnel.

"Tal!" Larajin shouted. "Where are you going?"

She turned to follow Tal-and the movement of her swinging lantern illuminated dozens of pairs of eyes, up on the ledge. The tunnel filled with the whispering, clicking, dragging sound of dozens of malformed legs scurrying. With soft splashes, the rats began dropping from the ledge. They swam toward Larajin, their malformed bodies leaving rippling wakes through the murky water.

One of the rats clawed its way up Larajin's leg. She felt a sharp, stinging pain in her thigh and the hot trickle of blood. She slapped at the writhing creature, knocking it from her, then felt another rat land on her shoulder. It had the beak of a bird and pecked her ear. Screaming, she whirled around, only to lose her grip on the lantern. It plunged into the sewage, and the light snuffed out with a loud, hot hiss.

Larajin could feel rats everywhere on her now. Their teeth tore into her skin; their feet plucked like human hands at the fabric of her shirt. She slapped at them furiously, knocking more than one off her body, but others replaced them. One twined itself into her hair.

Larajin turned and ran. Though the tunnel was in near-total darkness, she knew every step of this sewer. Her eyes were keener than most, especially in dim light-she could just make out the dim reddish-brown blurs of the rats that covered her body. She turned right, then left, back the way they'd come, shedding rats with each step. Several still clung to her, rending her flesh with their teeth.

Praying she wouldn't slip and plunge face-first into the sewage and be eaten alive by rats as she floundered helplessly in the stink, Larajin ran on. She nearly cried when at last she saw the patch of light looming ahead. When she was under it she jumped-and her flailing hands snapped off one of the icicles. She caught it on the way down, landed miraculously on her feet, and used the pick-sharp icicle to stab at the half dozen rats that still clung to her body.

She punctured her own skin by accident once, and after killing just two of the rats, the icicle broke. She leaped again-missed and splashed down into the sewage-then leaped a third time and managed to snap off another icicle. Holding it with cold-numbed fingers, she continued stabbing furiously. One by one the rats dropped from her and either floated or swam away.

Larajin stood panting in the barred patch of sunlight. A dead rat with the lolling, forked tongue of a snake floated in the water at her feet. Above the grate, carts rumbled past, their drivers oblivious to the battle that had just taken place in the sewer below.

Now that it was over, Larajin's shoulders began to shake. She found herself crying: not so much at her near brush with death but at the fact that Tal had abandoned her when she needed him most.