Page 61 of House of the Beast

Chapter

R elief flooded me at the mention of Kaim’s name, but so too did trepidation. If I closed my eyes, I would leave these newcomers at the mimic’s mercy.

I bit down a curse and began to speak, as evenly as I could manage.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I said. “Your companions were killed by a mimic. If I don’t keep my eye on it, it’ll kill me as well.”

“Alma,” said Aster sharply.

I knew what he was going to say. He was going to reprimand me for not following his orders. I didn’t even know these people, yet I was putting their well-being above his will because I didn’t want their deaths on my conscience.

He was not going to be pleased.

“A mimic?” another voice hissed. “Shit.”

It was a sentiment I could wholeheartedly agree with.

I wanted it dead as much as Aster—but not if it was going to cost someone else’s life.

My mind began to turn, trying to figure out a solution to our predicament.

“I’m going to walk over,” I said, still staring at the statue.

“I’d like to speak to my cousin. Can you bring me to him? ”

“Lord Kaim is busy,” responded the first Dreadguard coldly, halting my steps before they could begin. “I must ask you to leave.”

They clearly did not like me, and I could not blame them.

If they were loyal to Kaim, they must see me as his enemy—particularly after his father had announced me as his heir.

For years, everyone had believed Maximus Avera would favor his son as the next First Hand of the Dread Beast. My appearance in the Pilgrimage had thrown everything out of order.

“I don’t mean him any ill will,” I tried again. “I just wanted to make sure he’s all right.”

“My Lord Kaim is safe. And with all due respect, your intentions have been made clear, my lady,” the Dreadguard responded, not relenting.

“You wish to take my lord’s rightful title.

I consider that ill will enough. We were attacked without warning by another Pilgrim, so you’ll forgive me for my caution.

Now, feel free to turn around and make your way out of here.

We’ll keep an eye on the mimic ourselves. ”

“What now?” said Aster viciously. “They don’t want to help you. These are the people you want to save?”

I did not need his vindictive needling. Mouth tight, I turned to face the two Dreadguard. I almost expected a stone sword through my chest, but at least they were keeping their word and diligently watching the statue over my shoulder.

It seemed my attempt to save my cousin had been not only in vain but also unwelcome.

“You can’t handle this thing between the two of you,” I warned them. “It killed this whole retinue by itself. Let me help.”

“Thank you, Lady Alma,” said the Dreadguard coldly. “But no thank you.”

Curse these soldiers and their loyalty. They were asking me to let them die.

Jaw tightening, I began to make my way out of the courtyard.

Perhaps I could watch over them, and the mimic, at a distance.

I could follow them to Kaim—who I suspected would not welcome me any more warmly, but at least I could have helped keep his men alive.

I walked past the Dreadguard, already resolved to do just that.

One of them flicked his eyes to me, as if to make sure I didn’t try anything funny.

It must have been a terrible coincidence.

His companion must have blinked at the same time, or simply not been watching carefully enough.

There was that horrible slithering sound, and then the wet rip of parting flesh.

A scream. It happened so fast that when I snapped my gaze back over, it was already too late to help.

The mimic had taken advantage of our brief distraction to transform.

Gone was the body of stone, replaced now by reanimated gray flesh and clockwork.

It had taken the form of Iloise Goldmercy’s Thing.

Only its face remained the Lady’s, still smiling with perpetual calm.

In one vast hand it held the disconnected mass of the Dreadguard’s shoulder; in the other it held her head, torn right from her neck and dripping with fresh blood.

The remaining Dreadguard cried out and backed away in horror.

Aster cursed under his breath. “I told you to kill it sooner.”

There was no time to bite a retort back at him.

The mimic tossed aside the body and sang out a single note, pitched like a whistle, sharp enough to make my ears ring.

Shapes stirred in the shadowy buildings behind it.

Dismay washed over me as I realized what they were.

More terrors, poking their heads out from the doorways, roused by the call of their brethren.

A myriad of glowing eyes and drooling maws were directed our way.

We were fucked.

“Run!” I called at the Dreadguard.

At least this time, he did not fight me.

We took off at the same time, practically crashing our way out of the courtyard and back onto the street.

The mimic had abandoned its attempts at a trap; now it was a predator, intent on running down its prey.

I could hear its thundering footsteps chasing us, followed closely by a cacophony of skittering claws and hooves and mandibles as the other terrors joined the hunt.

“Shit!” the Dreadguard panted as our feet flew over cobblestone. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“We have to find Kaim!” I yelled at him. I was pumping my legs as fast as I could manage, but I could still hear the mimic keeping an easy pace behind us, its steps shaking the ground.

The Dreadguard did not answer right away.

But whatever higher ideals he had of protecting my cousin from my nefarious plans were chased away when a screech came too close behind us for comfort.

I chanced a look over my shoulder. A terror, skeletal and doglike in shape, had broken free of the pack and was closing in fast. With another screech, it pounced.

The Dreadguard cried out as it landed on his back, knocking him to his knees.

Cursing, I swiveled on my feet and swung my sword up to cleave its head from its neck. Then I grabbed the Dreadguard by his elbow and forcefully hauled him up and forward again. I was not gentle and he stumbled but by some miracle managed to catch his footing.

We ran.

The Dreadguard did not thank me. Instead, once he regained his breath, he called out, “Left! Turn left up ahead!”

It seemed he’d decided to trust me after all.

We tore around the next corner. I saw limbs reaching out of alleyways and shapes climbing out of the doorways as we sprinted past—more terrors, drawn in by the promise of a meal.

My lungs burned. My legs were growing numb with how hard I was pushing myself, but I dared not slow down.

I could still hear the nightmarish skittering and clacking of a dozen monstrous feet chasing after us—but dimly, I registered that the heavy footsteps of the mimic had disappeared.

“Turn right!” the Dreadguard panted. “We’re almost there!”

It was Aster who saved me. He was waiting there as we rounded the side of a building—and he flung a hand out to grab me, pulling me off my feet and sending me flying to the ground.

A great force crashed down right where I would have been.

Stone and dirt flew into the air, coating my throat and making me cough.

I scrambled to my knees, still clutching at my monster, and turned to see the statue of the Weeping Lady with her stone sword plunged into the earth like an avenging angel.

The mimic had transformed again, probably to try and catch one of us off guard.

“Don’t take your eyes off it this time,” Aster warned.

I was only too happy to listen, not wanting to give it another chance to turn into the Tinkerer’s Thing—but behind it, the terrors were closing in. Like a wave of shadows, they crashed around the corner, howling and screaming in anticipation of a fresh meal.

“Lady Alma!” the Dreadguard called.

I launched to my feet but could not do much more than stumble backward. My legs weren’t obeying me. I had pushed myself too hard.

Aster’s arms went around me, his hands closing over mine on the hilt of my sword. “You have to trust me, Alma,” he said low in my ear.

I would have to fight. With Aster, I might stand a chance against the terrors. I was less hopeful about the Dreadguard’s chances.

“Run!” I barked at him. “Get out of here!”

I gave him a second to get out of the way. One precious second as the horde closed in on me. Gritting my teeth, I readied my sword, and closed my eyes.

Aster guided my blade upward, though his grip on me loosened and he stumbled back with a hiss as we were met with a blow that set my bones rattling.

I opened my eyes to find the mimic had transformed back into the Tinkerer’s Thing—only, this time, it had kept the stone sword.

It swung its arm back in a heavy whoosh of air, ready to slash at me again, just as a terror finally came close enough to leap at me.

In the split second I spent deciding which threat to defend myself against, someone else rushed in.

A flash of black carved neatly through the terror, and then pivoted to butcher another.

Instinctively, I refocused on the mimic, parrying its blow as ichor splattered the ground around us.

I could feel the energy of it, the lifeblood of this place, seeping into my rescuer.

“Lord Kaim!” the Dreadguard exclaimed in near rapture.

My cousin dove into the mass of shadowy limbs and monstrous mouths. His sword flashed through the air, each swipe of steel vicious and efficient. His eyes blazed and his black coat rippled over his broad shoulders as he fought. He looked like one of the heroes in Sevelie’s book of fairy tales.

He barked at me, “What are you doing here, Alma?”

I gritted my teeth as the mimic began to rain blow after blow upon me with the stone sword. But with Kaim taking care of the rest of the terrors, I could handle this. I had fought a Tinkerer’s Thing before, and this was hardly any different.