Sandkings by George R.R. Martin Read Free Book Online

operative removed his nails and planks. “Is that safe in here?” he found himself muttering, pointing at the flamethrower. “I don't want a fire, either, you know."
    “I have the laser,” Lissandra said. “We'll use that for the kill. The flamethrower probably won't be needed. But I want it here just in case. There are worse things than fire, Simon."
    He nodded.
    The last plank came free of the cellar door. There was still no sound from below. Lissandra snapped an order, and her underling fell back, took up a position behind her, and leveled the flamethrower square at the door. She slipped her mask back on, hefted the laser, stepped forward, and pulled open the door.
    No motion. No sound. It was dark down there.
    “Is there a light?” Lissandra asked.
    “Just inside the door,” Kress said. “On the right hand side. Mind the stairs, they're quite steep."
    She stepped into the door, shifted the laser to her left hand, and reached up with her right, fumbling inside for the light panel. Nothing happened. “I feel it,” Lissandra said, “but it doesn't seem to..."
    Then she was screaming, and she stumbled backward. A great white sandking had clamped itself around her wrist. Blood welled through her skinthins where its mandibles had sunk in. It was fully as large as her hand.
    Lissandra did a horrible little jig across the room and began to smash her hand against the nearest wall. Again and again and again. It landed with a heavy, meaty thud. Finally the sandking fell away. She whimpered and fell to her knees. “I think my fingers are broken,” she said softly. The blood was still flowing freely. She had dropped the laser near the cellar door.
    “I'm not going down there,” her operative announced in clear firm tones.
    Lissandra looked up at him. “No,” she said. “Stand in the door and flame it all. Cinder it. Do you understand?"
    He nodded.
    Simon Kress moaned. “My house ,” he said. His stomach churned. The white sandking had been so large . How many more were down there? “Don't,” he continued. “Leave it alone. I've changed my mind. Leave it alone."
    Lissandra misunderstood. She held out her hand. It was covered with blood and greenish-black ichor. “Your little friend bit clean through my glove, and you saw what it took to get it off. I don't care about your house, Simon. Whatever is down there is going to die."
    Kress hardly heard her. He thought he could see movement in the shadows beyond the cellar door. He imagined a white army bursting forth, all as large as the sandking that had attacked Lissandra. He saw himself being lifted by a hundred tiny arms, and dragged down into the darkness where the maw waited hungrily. He was afraid. “Don't,” he said.
    They ignored him.
    Kress darted forward, and his shoulder slammed into the back of Lissandra's operative just as the man was bracing to fire. He grunted and unbalanced and pitched forward into the black. Kress listened to him fall down the stairs. Afterward there were other noises—scuttlings and snaps and soft squishing sounds.
    Kress swung around to face Lissandra. He was drenched in cold sweat, but a sickly kind of excitement was on him. It was almost sexual.
    Lissandra's calm cold eyes regarded him through her mask. “What are you doing?” she demanded as Kress picked up the laser she had dropped. “ Simon! "
    “Making a peace,” he said, giggling. “They won't hurt god, no, not so long as god is good and generous. I was cruel. Starved them. I have to make up for it now, you see."
    “You're insane,” Lissandra said. It was the last thing she said. Kress burned a hole in her chest big enough to put his arm through. He dragged the body across the floor and rolled it down the cellar stairs. The noises were louder—chitinous clackings and scrapings and echoes that were thick and liquid. Kress nailed up the door once again.
    As he fled, he was filled with a deep sense of contentment that coated his fear like a layer of syrup. He