Empire of the Worm by Jack Conner Read Free Book Online Page A

been
seen lurking in the catacombs. The vanished servants are attributed to them.”
    “You fear it will continue?”
    “What do you think, my lord?”
    Davril ran a hand through his hair.
“Scour the catacombs,” he said.
    “Yes, my lord. Though I do not
think that will help.” Hastus paused. “My lord, my I ask—it is past time I did
so: deadly mists, earthquakes, dark shadows in the Palace—what the hell has happened ?”
    Davril looked away. “Just do your
job, General.”
    General Hastus frowned. “You know,
you are my son now. I would help you, if I could.”
    “I know. There’s nothing to be done
about it.” In his heart, though, Davril was unsure. No , he thought. I won’t
appease the thing. No matter what reprisals It visits against us, I won’t bow
to It. I’ll starve It of sacrifices and It will wither, and Qazradan will be
free.
    When the games ended, Davril
departed with his train. The shadow of the Emperor’s Tower was once more
stretching toward the Jade Ziggurats. A cool breeze blew through the buildings,
and the hackles on the back of his neck stood on end. His procession thundered
down the streets, and many citizens turned to look. Wearing his slim golden
crown, on his golden chariot drawn by two beautiful white stallions, Davril knew
he looked his part. Sure enough, some Sedremerans bowed or nodded from the
courtyards and terraces and sidewalks—but most did not. Most just stared,
hollowly or sullenly. Some even made obscene gestures, but Davril did not send
his soldiers to rebuke them. Dark times had come, and it was his fault, not
theirs.
    As they passed the Flying Gardens
of Ibrum, screams erupted from the mounted soldiers at the front of the
procession. It had grown so dark that Davril couldn’t see what the problem was,
and when more screams sounded out, he called, “Hold! Draw up, men! Draw up!”
    His soldiers drew rein. The screams
continued, growing louder, sounding like they came from many mouths. Then Davril
smelled it: the stench of sulfur, gusting on the breeze.
    “The mists!” he cried. “They’ve
come!”
    A dark, billowing cloud flooded up
the street from a nearby alley, overcoming the men in the front of his
procession, who were instantly obscured from sight. The black cloud approached,
so near that the street-lamps illuminated it, all swirls and eddies and
malevolence. When Davril’s men burst from the mist, they set on Davril’s
unchanged soldiers, ripping at them and feasting on their flesh with bare hands
and teeth.
    “Gods!” said General Hastus.
    Fighting the maddened men would
only delay the sane men, Davril saw, giving the red mists time to overwhelm
them, too.
    “Back!” Davril called. “Fall back!”
    He wheeled his chariot about and
led the retreat, but even as he did misshapen wretches seized his chariot and
the cart spilled, falling on his right leg. Fire filled him, and he screamed.
His men took him under the arms and carried him away, at the same time
performing a rearguard action to fight off the changed men.
    Davril’s leg was shattered, he discovered
when they arrived back at the Palace. Broken in too many places to mend. He
would never walk normally again.
    It
will be worth it , he told himself—it had become a mantra—even through the
agony of setting the splints. When the
Patron is withered, and Qazradan is free, it will be worth it.

 
        

 
    The General found Davril in the Palace Baths. “Another courtier’s
gone missing, my lord.”
    Davril cursed in the steaming air. “First
servants, now courtiers—what’s the cause this time? Is there any indication?”
    “None can say, of course, but the
shadowy figures have been reported higher and higher in the catacombs. They’ve
even been seen in the Palace proper.”
    “Send out the troops again. Search
every inch.”
    “I’ve already ordered it.” With a
grimace, the General added, “It’s a big place, though, my lord, and there are
supposedly innumerable secret