A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(15)

The area around us lay covered in dense fog. To the left, stone rubble dotted a grassy field. The outline of a large building was visible among the weed-choked wreckage.

“What’s that?” Magnus followed my gaze.

“The ruins of Tintagel Castle,” I said sadly. This was supposed to be where Arthur’s home had once stood. To think Ralph Strangewayes had made his house in such a storied place. Magnus slid his pack from his shoulders and onto the ground, opening it and retrieving a map with a well-thumbed, weathered appearance.

“We’re here,” he said, pointing at the edge of the coastline. “Strangewayes’s house is supposed to be five miles inland to the east.” Not the worst walk ever, but we’d likely have to make camp; the sun was already heading toward the sea, and no one wanted to be stumbling around here in the dark. “You’re certain the house is still there, Howel?”

“Mostly,” I admitted. Whitechurch had drawn up a water glass to find the location and make sure something was there before Blackwood and I left. Thankfully, Strangewayes had been famous enough that his house used to be a popular tourist destination. As such, its location was listed upon maps. In the scrying glass, we’d found an area shrouded completely in mist, so thick it was difficult to see through. But there’d been the outline of a building, enough to send us out here.

We headed along the rocky path, the sea at our backs. As we made our way deeper into the countryside, the mist sat heavily on my clothes, chilling me. It felt as though the mist were touching us, as though it were sentient. As though it wanted to keep us.

“I’m just glad the Spider didn’t turn up,” Magnus muttered.

“She doesn’t come up the cliffs, does she?” I asked.

“You never know.” His expression hardened.

“Are you all right?”

“Do you always talk this much when you’re on a quest, Howel?” I’d never heard him sound snappish before. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. It’s just—”

“Quiet.” Blackwood stopped in his tracks and slowly took out his stave. On instinct, I grabbed Porridge from its sheath as well. “Do you hear that?” His green eyes narrowed as he surveyed the terrain.

“No,” I said, then instantly shut up. The world about us seemed to be holding its breath. No birdsong, no breeze. Only dead silence.

I could feel it, the movement of something in the mist. Something incredibly wrong. Blackwood warded a blade on his stave; I saw the dim yellow outline of it.

“Get down!” he shouted as a Familiar with eight horrid legs and gnashing fangs attacked.





I exploded in blue flame, throwing a fireball at the monster. It dodged far too nimbly and sprang into the air with its legs splayed wide. Magnus and I rolled out of its way as it landed, jaws clicking.

This was one of Nemneris’s lice. I’d seen them before, but only from the safety of a water glass in Agrippa’s library. Their bloated abdomens and eight legs were spiderlike, while their pale, grotesque torsos, bald heads, and arms were almost human. This monster had gnashing pincers where a mouth should have been. A long, gooey stream of venom dripped from its fangs.

The louse screeched as it leaped for Blackwood. He weaved and slashed with his blade. A plume of black blood gushed from the creature’s leg, and it retreated a few steps, clicking in pain.

Magnus slammed down his stave and sent a shock wave through the earth, throwing the beast off-balance while I fired again. This time my magic found its mark, and the Familiar shriveled as the flames consumed it, the eight legs curling into its body. There was a grotesque popping noise as its black eyes exploded, gushing viscous ooze. The acrid smell of its death burned my throat.

“Howel, look out!” Magnus barreled into me, shoving me roughly to the ground. Another louse leaped out of the mist, landing on top of Magnus. My movements were too slow, too sluggish.

“Hold on!” Blackwood shot warded force at the thing and got it in the chest. It tumbled off Magnus, who lurched to his feet, clutching a bleeding arm. But he was alive. Thank God.

I twirled a spell I’d designed before, a blend of my sorcerer and magician powers. The earth formed a great hand to drag the monster down, but the Familiar scrambled out of its grip too fast. Damn it all.

Magnus lifted his stave…and collapsed onto his back. His head lolled to the side, his body limp. The Familiar raced forward, pincers clicking with glee. I screamed, trying desperately to think of another spell.

Something sliced out of the fog, slamming directly into the Familiar’s head. The louse jerked backward as black ichor sprayed over the ground. The beast twitched once and became still, its hideous face cleaved neatly in two by an ax. I hurried to Magnus and knelt by his side.

“Who’s there?” Blackwood called, whirling around. A small boy, no older than twelve or thirteen, approached out of the mist. He was clad in worn trousers and a threadbare vest, a cap atop his head. The boy looked to Magnus, who was groaning in pain.

Magnus. His arm sported two swollen puncture wounds, hot and already throbbing with infection. The Familiar had poisoned him.

“No,” I whispered, thinking fast. Were there healing spells or medicines I’d brought with me? What had I learned from Fenswick about slowing poison? There was no bloody time to lose.

“If we don’t treat it, he’ll die.” The boy echoed my frantic thoughts. He yanked his ax out of the monster’s skull. It came away with a wet sound, like pulling a knife from a pumpkin. “We’d best leave. They hunt in packs.” The boy wiped the ax blade on the grass. “Follow me.” He motioned to us to follow, and Blackwood and I each took one of Magnus’s arms. We hoisted him to his feet and pulled him along between us.