Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [101]
Hugging the wall, not daring to come any closer to the newly pockmarked man than he absolutely had to-those punctures were fresh, and weeping-Arvin made his way to the other door. The floor felt uneven under his feet; curious, he scuffed the ashes away and saw that it was made from a thick metal mesh. More ashes lay below this grate; he wondered how deep they went. As he stared at the floor, his legs and feet suddenly appeared. Nicco’s prayer had at last worn off. The fact that he was visible again was going to make his escape more difficult-assuming the second door really did offer a way out.
As he reached for the handle of the door, he heard a voice behind him.
“You’re not… one of them,” it gasped. “Who-”
Whirling around, Arvin saw that the new convert had risen to his knees. He stared at Arvin, pressing a hand to his temple. His face was ghastly with streaks of ash, yet something about it was familiar.
“Did you bring… the potion?” the man asked, his eyes gleaming with hope.
Arvin had no idea what the man was talking about. As the fellow crawled toward him, he shrank against the door. “No,” he answered. “And stay away from me.”
The fellow sank back down into the ash, the hope in his eyes fading. “But I thought Zelia-”
“Zelia?” Arvin echoed. He stared at the fellow more closely, suddenly realizing where he’d seen him before-on the street near Zelia’s tower, two nights ago. Suddenly he realized why the fellow had been holding a hand to his head.
“She did it to you, too, didn’t she?” Arvin whispered. “She planted a mind seed in you.”
The man nodded weakly. “Three… nights ago.”
“Abyss take her,” Arvin swore softly.
“Yes.” The latter was no more than a faint sigh; the blood-streaked man was fading fast. A tremble coursed through his body and sweat beaded his forehead. Arvin stared at him, wondering what to do. If this fellow provided Zelia with the information she wanted, Arvin would become superfluous. Would Zelia remove the mind seed-or simply dispose of him? He fingered his dagger, wondering whether to use it. Would killing this man be a mercy-or a selfish act? It looked like a moot point, however. The fellow had his eyes closed and was lying prone in the ash, his body still except for the occasional tremor.
He was dying.
Of plague.
As quickly as he dared, Arvin eased the second door open. He was relieved to see only an empty hallway beyond it. The hallway ran a short distance, meeting up at a right angle with another, wider hallway.
As Arvin slipped through the door, something under the layer of ash brushed against his boot-another rat. Within heartbeats, his foot grew unbearably hot. The rat-as hot as an ember fresh out of the fire-was burning through the leather of his boot! Arvin kicked it away from him. The rat sailed down the hallway and thudded into the far wall. It shook itself, sat up-and stared at Arvin with its glowing orange eyes. Then it opened its mouth and squealed, shooting a gout of flame from its mouth that licked at Arvin’s trousers, scorching them.
“By the gods,” Arvin muttered. He’d never seen a creature anything like this. He whipped his dagger out of its sheath, but even as he prepared to throw, squeals immediately sounded from the room where the initiate lay. The layer of ash began to hump and move as dozens of rats scurried up through the grated floor and moved in a wave toward the door. Worried now, Arvin whirled and kicked the door. It slammed shut with a groan of rusted hinges. In that same moment, the first rat attacked. This time its gout of flame struck Arvin’s chest, setting his shirt on fire. Tearing at the burning fabric with his free hand, Arvin simultaneously threw his dagger. He grunted in satisfaction as it sank into the rat’s chest. The rat fell onto its