Read Demon's Fire for Free Online Page A
Authors: Emma Holly
of the site.
Hhamoun was large palace complex—a small city, really—from the period known as the Old Kingdom. Approximately two thousand years ago the complex had been swallowed in its entirety by a freak sandstorm, allowing its inhabitants time to flee but not to save their belongings. Now it was an archaeologist’s dream come true, preserving a picture of a bygone era that was unmatched. During the preceding season, Herrington’s team had uncovered a beautiful temple adorned with graceful alabaster statues. On its own, the temple was the find of a lifetime, but Herrington claimed to hold even higher hopes for the residence of the queen, where he’d been focusing his team this summer.
A sandy ramp led down into the partially exposed building, clear now except for a pair of burly guards, who nodded at Herrington. Some waterboy had left his empty goatskin lying at the top. At the bottom, a solid square of blackness loomed. Beth was no coward, but seeing that gaping mouth made her grateful for the torches they’d picked up.
“Watch your step,” Herrington said, taking her arm as they descended.
She’d known his spirits were high, but it wasn’t until he touched her that she felt the wound-up buzz of his energy. Her heart kicked a fraction faster. If Herrington was this stirred up, whatever his team had found was big.
“It’s that good?” she asked, just a little breathlessly.
Herrington’s mouth twitched on one side. “Wait and see.”
There wasn’t much to see at first, just a roughly square, sandy, compacted tunnel, stabilized by thick wooden ties. The air was close and musty, the shadows strange as their electric torches caught on irregularities in the excavated walls. Here and there they passed hints of doorways or building blocks, but Herrington had obviously known they didn’t lead where he wished to go and hadn’t instructed his workers to dig there. She’d heard whispers that he’d taken special pictures of the landscape from a flying car, but unless his demon camera could peer through dunes, she didn’t know what good that would have done.
And then she could see a door that wasn’t filled with sand, its lintel and frame constructed of black-veined gold marble.
“Here,” said Herrington, his voice hushed but excited as he gestured her ahead of him. “Welcome to the Old Kingdom.”
She hadn’t known her heart could beat so hard. This was what she’d come to Bhamjran for, this blood-pumping glimpse of a forgotten world. Her kidskin boots scraped on the marble lintel. She swung her powerful Yamish torch up from the floor…
And promptly lost her breath.
“Heavens,” she said when the musty air agreed to fill her lungs again. “I can scarcely believe it’s real.”
Though a layer of fine, sandy dust coated everything around her, she stood in a clearly recognizable bedchamber. An ornate ebony couch, large enough to sleep four, stretched across the center of the room. One of its pillows lay on the carpeted floor, its bejeweled silk tassels hanging in a tangle. The covers on the couch—very fine dyed linen, from the looks of them—still bore the imprint of a female body, as if the long-ago sandstorm had interrupted the great queen’s nap. A pair of elegant beaded sandals had tumbled under the couch’s foot, suggesting there’d been no time to put them on. The leather looked desiccated but hardly two millennia old. In truth, the shoes were stylish enough that Beth wouldn’t have quibbled to wear them herself.
She could see they had interested the other excavators, because fresh foot tracks led through the dust to them. Deciding it was safe to follow their example, Beth stepped farther inside.
What her light fell on next went beyond fashion: The most beautiful drinking cup she’d ever seen sat on an adjacent table. Big enough to be the Old Kingdom version of a loving cup, it was made of soft yellow gold and shaped like a pair of intertwined swans. The artistry of it awed her.
Hhamoun was large palace complex—a small city, really—from the period known as the Old Kingdom. Approximately two thousand years ago the complex had been swallowed in its entirety by a freak sandstorm, allowing its inhabitants time to flee but not to save their belongings. Now it was an archaeologist’s dream come true, preserving a picture of a bygone era that was unmatched. During the preceding season, Herrington’s team had uncovered a beautiful temple adorned with graceful alabaster statues. On its own, the temple was the find of a lifetime, but Herrington claimed to hold even higher hopes for the residence of the queen, where he’d been focusing his team this summer.
A sandy ramp led down into the partially exposed building, clear now except for a pair of burly guards, who nodded at Herrington. Some waterboy had left his empty goatskin lying at the top. At the bottom, a solid square of blackness loomed. Beth was no coward, but seeing that gaping mouth made her grateful for the torches they’d picked up.
“Watch your step,” Herrington said, taking her arm as they descended.
She’d known his spirits were high, but it wasn’t until he touched her that she felt the wound-up buzz of his energy. Her heart kicked a fraction faster. If Herrington was this stirred up, whatever his team had found was big.
“It’s that good?” she asked, just a little breathlessly.
Herrington’s mouth twitched on one side. “Wait and see.”
There wasn’t much to see at first, just a roughly square, sandy, compacted tunnel, stabilized by thick wooden ties. The air was close and musty, the shadows strange as their electric torches caught on irregularities in the excavated walls. Here and there they passed hints of doorways or building blocks, but Herrington had obviously known they didn’t lead where he wished to go and hadn’t instructed his workers to dig there. She’d heard whispers that he’d taken special pictures of the landscape from a flying car, but unless his demon camera could peer through dunes, she didn’t know what good that would have done.
And then she could see a door that wasn’t filled with sand, its lintel and frame constructed of black-veined gold marble.
“Here,” said Herrington, his voice hushed but excited as he gestured her ahead of him. “Welcome to the Old Kingdom.”
She hadn’t known her heart could beat so hard. This was what she’d come to Bhamjran for, this blood-pumping glimpse of a forgotten world. Her kidskin boots scraped on the marble lintel. She swung her powerful Yamish torch up from the floor…
And promptly lost her breath.
“Heavens,” she said when the musty air agreed to fill her lungs again. “I can scarcely believe it’s real.”
Though a layer of fine, sandy dust coated everything around her, she stood in a clearly recognizable bedchamber. An ornate ebony couch, large enough to sleep four, stretched across the center of the room. One of its pillows lay on the carpeted floor, its bejeweled silk tassels hanging in a tangle. The covers on the couch—very fine dyed linen, from the looks of them—still bore the imprint of a female body, as if the long-ago sandstorm had interrupted the great queen’s nap. A pair of elegant beaded sandals had tumbled under the couch’s foot, suggesting there’d been no time to put them on. The leather looked desiccated but hardly two millennia old. In truth, the shoes were stylish enough that Beth wouldn’t have quibbled to wear them herself.
She could see they had interested the other excavators, because fresh foot tracks led through the dust to them. Deciding it was safe to follow their example, Beth stepped farther inside.
What her light fell on next went beyond fashion: The most beautiful drinking cup she’d ever seen sat on an adjacent table. Big enough to be the Old Kingdom version of a loving cup, it was made of soft yellow gold and shaped like a pair of intertwined swans. The artistry of it awed her.