where are the doors? He should be there by now — and immediately there’s a flash of red in the corners of his vision, punishing him. Damn . A bat-bite; one won’t kill him, but another one might. Your HP is 3. You are dying. Find a doctor as soon as possible. You are dying. Find a —
Yes, yes, OK . . . ‘Hide the stats!’
They’ve tasted blood. Now he can’t see individual bats, only a shimmering fog of dark. And he still doesn’t know where he is. How the hell did Herkules404 get through . . . ?
He spins, his whole chest hurting now, the joints of his shoulders and wrists burning as if there’s sandpaper between the bones. No more, he thinks. No more. Five more seconds, and I’m going to let them kill me. He doesn’t know where he’s going: he takes a step back, then forward, giddy and off-balance. Sorry, Athene, you’re going to —
He steps back, and his ankle gives way, unexpectedly, throwing him down and sideways as deftly as a judo opponent. He’s on one knee, suddenly helpless; he watches in a kind of appalled slow-mo as one dagger skitters away across the floor. His kneecap suddenly flares into a blaze of pain. Something makes a noise like a portcullis dropping. Oh, for gods’ sake — there is a trap after all, he misread the map again . . . He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the silence and cold that’ll tell him he’s dead.
His heartbeat rattles in his ears. The bats are still screaming.
Slowly he opens his eyes again.
It’s worked.
He’s kneeling in the space where the trap should be, watching the storm of bats circle confusedly around him. They won’t touch him; they think the trap’s still there. Daed’s disabled it, but some of the code is still functioning: the sound effect, the clear space around him. He gets to his feet and stands, panting, in the pocket of safety. He’s giggling with exhaustion. Oh, thank you, thank you, Daed.
He doesn’t want to move, ever again, but he’s going to have to. He tilts his head back, wearily, and looks at the map. Herkules404 is at the opposite end of the next tunnel.
Too hard, he thinks. There’s no way I can fight someone in this state. But then Herkules404 had to do this, too; he might not be feeling any better. And Daed wants me to do it — wonderful, brilliant Daed, who disabled that trap for me . . .
He crouches, retrieves his dagger, and walks towards the doors, scuffing the floor with his runners. The bats swirl and hover, noticing him again, but they’re not quick enough to come in for the kill before he gets to the door. He pushes it open — he’s got just enough strength to do it — and slides through the gap. There’s no need to close it after him: the bats won’t desert their territory. He stands in the shadows, looking down the corridor. And there he is, running the traps at the far end of the passage.
Herkules404.
Chapter 5
Rick stands and watches him, making the most of the time before he notices he’s not alone. So, Herkules404, what’re you like? Short — even smaller than Rick — and stocky, silver-blond hair, flashy armour, faint glow of golden light . . . more gilt than sense, then. Sure, it looks good, but try a stealth assassination when you’re luminous , for gods’ sake.
And . . .
Rick squints, peering through the torch-light, wondering whether it’s safe to put his own light on. If only he could see more clearly — because there’s something . . . he can’t quite put his finger on it. Herkules’ speed is OK, just about — but the way he’s running the traps, it looks too . . . sloppy. No flips, just sprinting, a couple of leaps, a pointless cartwheel in the middle, as if he’s showing off. No precision, Rick thinks; no economy. He should be dead , running like that. Rick steadies his breathing, hissing through his teeth. That blade-trap — easy, of course, but . . . he could have sworn Herkules just ran through it. But he doesn’t falter. On to the next — and gods, he is just
Yes, yes, OK . . . ‘Hide the stats!’
They’ve tasted blood. Now he can’t see individual bats, only a shimmering fog of dark. And he still doesn’t know where he is. How the hell did Herkules404 get through . . . ?
He spins, his whole chest hurting now, the joints of his shoulders and wrists burning as if there’s sandpaper between the bones. No more, he thinks. No more. Five more seconds, and I’m going to let them kill me. He doesn’t know where he’s going: he takes a step back, then forward, giddy and off-balance. Sorry, Athene, you’re going to —
He steps back, and his ankle gives way, unexpectedly, throwing him down and sideways as deftly as a judo opponent. He’s on one knee, suddenly helpless; he watches in a kind of appalled slow-mo as one dagger skitters away across the floor. His kneecap suddenly flares into a blaze of pain. Something makes a noise like a portcullis dropping. Oh, for gods’ sake — there is a trap after all, he misread the map again . . . He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the silence and cold that’ll tell him he’s dead.
His heartbeat rattles in his ears. The bats are still screaming.
Slowly he opens his eyes again.
It’s worked.
He’s kneeling in the space where the trap should be, watching the storm of bats circle confusedly around him. They won’t touch him; they think the trap’s still there. Daed’s disabled it, but some of the code is still functioning: the sound effect, the clear space around him. He gets to his feet and stands, panting, in the pocket of safety. He’s giggling with exhaustion. Oh, thank you, thank you, Daed.
He doesn’t want to move, ever again, but he’s going to have to. He tilts his head back, wearily, and looks at the map. Herkules404 is at the opposite end of the next tunnel.
Too hard, he thinks. There’s no way I can fight someone in this state. But then Herkules404 had to do this, too; he might not be feeling any better. And Daed wants me to do it — wonderful, brilliant Daed, who disabled that trap for me . . .
He crouches, retrieves his dagger, and walks towards the doors, scuffing the floor with his runners. The bats swirl and hover, noticing him again, but they’re not quick enough to come in for the kill before he gets to the door. He pushes it open — he’s got just enough strength to do it — and slides through the gap. There’s no need to close it after him: the bats won’t desert their territory. He stands in the shadows, looking down the corridor. And there he is, running the traps at the far end of the passage.
Herkules404.
Chapter 5
Rick stands and watches him, making the most of the time before he notices he’s not alone. So, Herkules404, what’re you like? Short — even smaller than Rick — and stocky, silver-blond hair, flashy armour, faint glow of golden light . . . more gilt than sense, then. Sure, it looks good, but try a stealth assassination when you’re luminous , for gods’ sake.
And . . .
Rick squints, peering through the torch-light, wondering whether it’s safe to put his own light on. If only he could see more clearly — because there’s something . . . he can’t quite put his finger on it. Herkules’ speed is OK, just about — but the way he’s running the traps, it looks too . . . sloppy. No flips, just sprinting, a couple of leaps, a pointless cartwheel in the middle, as if he’s showing off. No precision, Rick thinks; no economy. He should be dead , running like that. Rick steadies his breathing, hissing through his teeth. That blade-trap — easy, of course, but . . . he could have sworn Herkules just ran through it. But he doesn’t falter. On to the next — and gods, he is just
Similar Books
Talk to Me
Allison DuBois
The Heist
Janet Evanovich
Jake's Thief
A.C. Katt
The Road from Coorain
Jill Ker Conway
The Dead Boys
Royce Buckingham
Squiggle
B.B. Wurge
Suddenly Sexy
Linda Francis Lee
The Threateners
Donald Hamilton
The Adored
Tom Connolly
Heart Murmurs
Suleikha Snyder