Page 44 of Jailer to the Death God
I sink onto a snow-powdered bench, propping my elbows on my knees and setting my forehead against my hands.
I can’t do this. I don’t know whom to choose.
A frill of icy wind ruffles the loose waves of my hair. Something rustles in the hedge to my right, and I look up, half-curious, not really alarmed.
Until I see a pair of orange orbs glowing in the depths of the hedge.
Is the hedge on fire?
No, that’s silly. That’s the wine and the weariness talking.
Another rustle, and the snap of a twig, this time from the flowerbed on my left.
That hulking black shape isn’t a bush, or a tree. A second pair of glowing orbs shines from it.
Not orbs. Eyes.
My wine-soaked brain glitches, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. A pale canid skull is emerging from the hedge to my right, and a black bulk with disjointed legs is hitching nearer on my left. The second shadow has a bulbous tail that glows orange like its eyes—a tail curved to a wicked sharp tip, like a scorpion’s stinger.
Monsters.
I should probably run.
I flee along the dark garden path, cursing myself for not bringing my bodyguards with me. I’m cut off from the entrance to the ballroom, but maybe I can make it to the shrine of the goddess Aine. Then I can put a door and some walls between me and these things, these creatures I’m still not certain are real…
Something slams against the center of my back, and I fly forward, crashing onto my belly. My palms scuff against rough ice.
Instantly I flip over, just in time to roll aside and dodge another incoming paw.
These things look like dogs. Huge dogs—hounds—demented, deformed hounds, one with an exposed skull and the other with a scorpion tail.
The skull-hound’s neck snakes forward, jaws snapping.
I throw myself aside again, then scramble to get up. A blow from a paw strikes my shoulder, sends me skidding into a flower bed. The icy stalks crack and crunch as I struggle to rise.
One of the hounds stalks closer, slavering fire from incandescent jaws, while the second monster lurks in the background, flicking its glowing stinger.
My fingers close on a wooden stake, a prop for some flowering vine. I jerk at it, and it breaks free from the cold ground. Madly I swing my weapon, and it strikes the skull-hound across the snout, snapping in two instantly.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
The hound opens its jaws, yawning fire from its throat.
An inky form explodes out of the dark, and a hand clamps around the beast’s neck, forcing its jaw shut. The hound gurgles and jerks, struggling, but the tall, antlered figure doesn’t let go. His teeth flash white and menacing in the gloom, and his eyes flicker green.
Shadows pour out of Arawn’s fingertips—shadows thicker than clouds, rivers of blackest night. They flow between the teeth of the skull-hound, into its flaming eye sockets. The hound groans and whines, but the shadows keep pushing, a flood of inky void blotting out the beast’s flame, quenching its inner fire until it goes lax, hollow and limp.
Arawn tosses the monster aside, where it continues to melt and fade until it is nothing but a wisp of black ash on the path, scoured away by the wind.
The death god strides over to me. Pulls me up, drags me against his chest. He’s jade-skinned now, with towering antlers branching from his dark hair and sharp claws protruding from his fingertips. I cling to him, looking over my shoulder at the second hound, the one with the scorpion tail.
Arawn snarls and lifts his hand. Green light glows from his palm—a threat of dangerous magic.
With a howl, the beast turns and bounds off into the darkness.
Arawn seizes me by the shoulders and shakes me a little. “You didn’t scream,” he says hoarsely. “Why didn’t you scream? I almost couldn’t find you fast enough!”
