Читать книгу Volumes 7 and 8 - Death’s Shadow/Wolf Island - Darren Shan - Страница 13

→There’s a moment of total, frozen disbelief. Then Dervish grabs a sword from the wall and pushes past Meera. I follow close behind. I try to pull the sword I’d thrown earlier out of the door but it’s stuck tight. While Meera hurries to get a weapon of her own, I step into the corridor after Dervish, working on a spell, not sure if it will work—there’s so little magic in the air to draw on.

I hear panting. It comes from the far end of the corridor. Something growls and something else yaps angrily in reply. No sight of them yet.

Meera steps out behind us, swinging a mace. She’s stuck a knife in her belt. No trace of the gentle woman who was applying make-up only minutes ago. She’s all warrior now.

“How many?” Dervish asks without looking back.

“At least three. They entered through the kitchen. I’d been snacking. I was just leaving, so I was able to jam the door and stall them. If they’d burst in when I was at the table…” She shakes her head, angry and scared.

The first of the creatures sticks its head around the corner. It’s recognisably human, but twisted out of normal shape. It has unnatural yellow eyes. Dark hair sprouts from its face and its teeth have lengthened into fangs. They look too large for its mouth—it must have great difficulty eating.

It skulks into the corridor, growling. Long, sharp fingernails. More muscular than any human. Hunched over. Covered in stiff hair. Naked. A male. Another two creatures appear behind the first, a male and female. The second male is larger than the first, but follows his lead. His left eye is a gooey, scarred mess. Maybe that’s why he’s not the dominant one.

As the once-human beasts advance, I step ahead of Dervish and Meera. I try draining magic from the air, but there’s virtually nothing to tap into. In my own time, these creatures would have been simple to deal with. Here, it’s going to be difficult.

The lead werewolf snaps at the female. With a howl, she leaps. I unleash the spell as she jumps. It’s a choking spell. If it doesn’t work, I won’t know much about it—she’ll be on me in a second and I’m defenceless.

The werewolf lands about a metre ahead of me, but instead of pouncing and finishing me off, she rolls aside, whining, the cords of her throat thickening, cutting off her supply of air. Score one for Bec!

The weaker male attacks on all fours. No time for a choking spell. I bark a few quick words and the creature’s fingers grab at each other. He roars with surprise and tries ripping them apart. I mutter the spell again, holding them in place. It’s more of a trick than a real spell. It will immobilise the werewolf for less than a minute, then he’ll break free and I’ll have to think of something else.

But there’s the dominant male to deal with first. He’s more cunning than the others and makes his move while I’m dealing with the one-eyed beast. He barrels across the floor, howling dreadfully.

Before I can react, Dervish and Meera cut ahead of me. Meera lashes out at the werewolf with her mace, swinging the spiked ball expertly, landing a blow to the beast’s right shoulder. Dervish jabs at him with the sword, piercing the creature’s stomach.

Neither blow is fatal but the werewolf screams with pain and surprise, and falls back a few steps. He roars at the others, summoning them. The female’s throat has cleared—she’s back on her feet, and although her cheeks are puffed out, she looks ready for business. Morrigan’s milk! In the old days that spell would have been the end of her. Curse this modern world of weak magic.

“We can’t get past,” Dervish says calmly. “Back up. They were human once. If we’re lucky, the protective spells of the study will halt them.”

“And if they don’t?” Meera asks.

“Fight like a demon,” he chuckles bleakly.

We shuffle back through the open door of the study. As soon as we’re in, I dart to the nearest wall and grab an axe—the swords here are mostly too big for me.

One of the werewolves howls. The female leaps into the study, fangs flashing, ready to tear us to pieces. But as soon as she crosses the threshold she screeches, clasps her hands to the sides of her head, doubles over and vomits. She looks up hatefully and reaches for Meera, then screams and vomits again. She rolls out. The males roar at her but she roars back more forcefully than either of them.

“It worked,” Dervish notes dully.

The stronger male approaches the doorway. He sniffs at the jamb suspiciously and leans through. His nostrils flare and the pupils of his eyes widen. He leaps back before he gets sick. Dervish strides forward and slams the door shut.

“What are they doing here?” Meera pants. “Where did they come from?”

“No time for questions,” Dervish murmurs, stroking his beard with the tip of his sword. “There are probably others with them, demons or mages. They might break the spells and free the way for the werewolves.”

The creatures are scratching at the door, their howls muted by the wood.

“The window,” Dervish says. “There are handholds down the wall. We can get out that way.”

“Handholds?” Meera asks dubiously.

“Call me paranoid,” Dervish says, “but I always like to have an escape route.” He crosses to the window and jerks hard on the strings of the blinds, yanking them all the way up. As he leans forward to unlatch the window, I get a sudden sense of danger.

“Down!” I scream.

Dervish doesn’t pause, which is the only thing that saves him. Because as he throws himself flat in response to my cry, the glass above his head shatters from the gunfire of several rifles.

Meera curses and ducks low. The bullets strike the wall and shelves, ripping up many of Dervish’s rare books, knocking weapons from their holders. A few ricochet into his computer and laptop, which explode in showers of sparks.

I’m lying face down, shivering. This is my first experience of modern warfare. I find the guns more repulsive than demons. I can accept the evil ways of otherworldly beasts who know nothing except chaos and destruction. But to think that humans created such violent, vicious weapons…

“What’s going on?” Meera screams as the gunfire stops. “Who’s out there?”

“They didn’t introduce themselves,” Dervish quips. He’s sitting with his back to the wall, beneath the shattered glass of the window. He has the look of a man studying a difficult crossword puzzle.

“We’re trapped,” I snap. Meera and Dervish look at me. Meera’s afraid, Dervish curious. “Do we fight the werewolves or the people with guns?”

“The werewolves would appear to be the preferable option,” Dervish says. “We can’t fight the crew outside—we’d be shot to ribbons in no time. But whoever set this up will have thought of that. I doubt we’ll have a clear run if we get past the werewolves—which is a pretty sizeable if.” He gets to his knees and grins. “How about we fight neither of them?”

“What are you talking about?” Meera growls.

“A paranoid person has one escape route, easy to spot if your foe has a keen eye. But a real paranoia freak always has a second, less obvious way out.”

There are two desks in the study, Dervish’s main workstation and a second, smaller table for the spillover. He crawls to that, wincing when he cuts his hands and knees on shards of glass. He reaches it and stands, having checked to make sure no snipers can see him. “Help me with this,” he grunts.

Meera and I aren’t sure what his plan is, but we both shuffle to his side and push as he directs. The desk slides away more smoothly than I would have thought, given the thick carpet which covers the floor. Dervish stoops, grabs a chunk of the carpet and tugs hard. A square patch rips loose. Beneath lies a trapdoor with a round handle. Dervish takes hold and pulls. A crawlway beneath the floor is revealed.

“Where does it lead?” Meera asks.

“There are a couple of exits,” Dervish explains. “It runs to the rear of the house. There’s a window. We can drop to the ground if nobody’s outside. If that way’s blocked, a panel opens on to one of the corridors beneath us, so we can sneak through the house.”

“If we survive, remind me to give you a giant, slobbery kiss,” Meera says.

“It’s a deal,” he grins and slides his legs into the hole.