(eng) Jonathan Moeller - Ghost Night 03 by Ghost in the Amulet

Author:Ghost in the Amulet [Amulet, Ghost in the]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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“Do you think they know we’re coming?” said Stavros, frowning at the imposing stone edifice of the theatre.

Crailov hoped they wouldn’t damage the building too much. He did rather enjoy plays from time to time.

“Beyond all doubt,” said Crailov. He opened the vial Talmania had given him and felt the cold chill of its necromantic power. “I think you had better have your men transform.”

“Very well,” said Stavros. He turned to his men and nodded. “You may take your beast form.”

The answering smiles were unsettling. Or, at least, they would have been unsettling, but Crailov was far past the point where Talmania’s tame mavrokhi could frighten him.

He turned his attention to the vial and drew his dagger with his left hand, watching the mavrokhi from the corner of his eye. Crailov had seen mavrokhi transform many times before, so he knew what to expect. Their bodies rippled and distorted, swelling with new muscle, and greasy black fur covered their skin. Claws like black daggers sprouted from their fingers and toes, and he heard the cracking of bone as their legs bent and reshaped, becoming double-jointed. Their skulls elongated and swelled, becoming hideous, twisted parodies of wolves’ heads, their mouths filled with fangs, their eyes the venomous yellow of an infected wound.

Stavros didn’t flinch, either. No doubt working for Talmania Scorneus inured a man to horrifying sights soon enough.

Crailov tipped the vial over his dagger and poured the plagueblood over the steel blade. To his mild surprise, the black liquid sank into the blade, turning it pitch-black. He felt the chill of the necromantic force radiating from the weapon. Talmania had said the plagueblood would consume the steel blade and then go inert in about an hour, rendering both the dagger and the plagueblood useless, but until then, he held a weapon coated in lethal poison.

He shifted the dagger to his left hand and drew the Sword of Rasarion Yagar with his right. The Sword looked as if it had been forged of dark iron, an unremarkable weapon little different from thousands of others in Ulkaar. Yet in the pommel was a green gem carved into the shape of Rasarion Yagar’s dragon-head sigil, and as Crailov focused his will on the blade, the gem glowed as the Sword’s power unlocked.

“Kill her,” said the Sword in his head. “Kill the Balarigar.”

And for once, it was time to agree with the Sword.

“Yes,” said Crailov.

“Sir?” said Stavros.

“Let us begin the attack,” said Crailov.

Stavros turned and gestured, and the mavrokhi sprang forward in black blurs.

Crailov thought they would open the doors, but perhaps that had been expecting too much of them. The mavrokhi hammered into the doors like crossbow bolts, and their inhuman strength ripped through the wood and sent the creatures bounding into the interior of the theatre.

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