Alistair blanched but upon feeling Kael’s hand on his shoulder followed his mentor back into the row of knights.
Barrow didn’t say anything to Ember but simply turned and continued along the corridor. She hurried to keep up with him, her heart racing as much from the angry set of Barrow’s shoulders as from anticipation of whatever lay ahead. She also felt the sting of Alistair’s words. Did he believe she was too weak to live by the rules of the Guard? Part of her was resentful of his poor opinion of her, but another part worried about what could make him so afraid for her.
Barrow stopped when they reached another door at the end of the corridor.
“I leave you here,” Barrow said, reaching beneath his cloak. “Take these and use them as you see fit.”
He handed Ember a lantern and a dagger. The short, thick blade was coated in a viscous, bile-colored liquid that gave off a pungent odor.
The door groaned in protest when Barrow pulled it open. All Ember could see were the first three stone steps in a staircase that spiraled down.
“That is your path,” Barrow said.
Ember looked up into the knight’s steel-gray eyes but found no hint of his feelings there, only a steady gaze. Dozens of questions swirled in her mind, but she already knew they would be asked to no avail. She forced herself to nod and began to descend the stairs. She’d barely stepped into the darkness when the door closed behind her, making her gasp. Her heart stuttered when she heard the door’s lock click into place. The only way now was forward, into the darkness.
With the lantern in her left hand and the dagger gripped in her right, Ember moved down the steps. The darkness closed around her while the candle in the lantern bobbed and winked in her trembling grasp. She could see very little, only what was revealed by the pale cloud of light cast by the lantern—the stairs’ tight coil, the rough stone walls. Her descent wasn’t long, and she soon found herself at the bottom of the staircase. The darkness hadn’t abated, and she walked cautiously, trying to identify her surroundings. The air was musty and full of a damp chill.
Shapes began to appear at the edge of her lantern’s sphere. Tall and rounded, the objects rose from the floor to the low ceiling. Ember reached out, running her hands over the wooden casks. The wine cellar. She was in the wine cellar.
Ember didn’t know whether to laugh or scream because this could be nothing other than some sort of joke meant to frighten her for the entertainment of the more seasoned knights. Poor Alistair, no wonder he’d tried to warn her. He’d only been attempting to save her from this humiliation.
She had imagined Barrow’s stern face and made a silent promise to herself to one day trick him into an equally embarrassing predicament when something turned her away from the wine casks.
Had there been a noise?
Her vengeful musings had captured most of her attention, but at the edge of her mind she’d sensed something. A wheezing sound. The hard-won breath of a sick man.
Ember raised her lantern, keeping her back to the wooden casks. She stayed very still, listening so hard her temple began to throb. The darkness remained silent. She cursed her heart, which was pounding against her ribs.
Her eyes widened. There it was again. This time accompanied by a scuffling sound. Feet dragging over the floor. The thick wet drawing of breath.
“Who’s there?” Ember kept her tight grip on the dagger and took a step forward.
Something came whistling from the blackness beyond her lamp’s glow. A clay jug cracked into her wrist. She cried out, dropping the lantern. It didn’t go out when it hit the ground but rolled away, letting shadows pour over her. The jug smashed against the floor and beer spilled around her feet.
The shuffling became scuttling. The wheeze a cough. A hunched figure lurched at her.
Ember cried out again, falling back against the wine casks. The thing was reaching toward her. Whether it was a man or a woman, she couldn’t tell. It stood on two legs, but its skin was gray and in some places torn away; it flapped like loose cloth when the creature moved. It was staring at her, but it had no eyes. Only black pits that were somehow full of hunger.
And the smell. Terror was all that kept Ember from retching. The thing reeked of spoiled meat and worse. With each cough and ragged breath it seemed the creature was choking on its own putrefying lungs.
It gaped at her, swaggering forward. She didn’t know if it was trying to speak. Its mouth opened and closed, and sloppy, gibbering sounds emerged. It leaned over her and she couldn’t move. A maggot dropped from the rotting flesh of its jaw and squirmed over Ember’s cheek. She screamed. She could see its teeth. See how sharp they were.
The instinct to survive freed Ember’s body from fear’s paralysis. She dropped to her knees, crawling across the floor toward the lantern. She reached the flickering lamp and rolled over, thrusting the light up toward the thing, which had followed and was already bending over her. It moaned, clawed hands covering its face as if the light were painful. As it backed away from her outstretched arm, Ember scrambled to her feet.
The creature scuttled into the shadows, its labored breathing faster now, its groans frustrated. It wanted her. Ember knew the light would only keep it at bay for a short while. She had to find a way out of the cellar. Keeping her back to the wine casks, she began to move along their length. She held the lantern away from her body, creating a barrier of light between herself and the thing. She could hear it moving with her, following her.
Without warning it lunged, a thick, bubbling scream pouring out of its throat. Ember swung the lantern at the creature. It flinched, flinging one arm up to protect its face even as it reached for her throat with its other hand. With the thing half-blinded, Ember struck at it with her dagger. But she quickly discovered that fighting this beast was nothing like attacking her lifeless straw targets, much less her playful battles with Alistair. The creature feinted from her unskilled hand, the blade catching in the tattered rags that hung from the monster’s skin.
Ember stumbled back as it attacked with renewed fury. Its arms flailed, one at last knocking away the lantern, and this time the glass shattered upon hitting the floor. The candle snuffed out and Ember was plunged into darkness. She sobbed, gripping the dagger in both hands. Slowly she moved back, sliding each foot along the ground.
She couldn’t see the creature, but she could smell it and hear it. She knew it was only a few feet in front of her. She knew it would attack again.