Greenwillow doubled over laughing, so weak she could only wheeze. " 'S funny! You're so funny, make me laugh! First time in… long time. Elves're too dour! Do it again!"
"A' right!" Sunbright brought his head forward, then snapped it back against the wall with a thump. He still didn't feel it.
"Noooooo!" The elf covered her mouth and laughed so hard she fell out of her chair onto her knees. "Not your head, your hands!"
"Hands?" The man frowned at his hands, found nothing unusual. "Are they dirty?"
"No, warm! Not there, here!" She pointed at her chest, more or less. Sunbright reached for her and toppled from the chair, landing atop her. The amphora rolled off the table and crashed, spilling the dregs of the wine.
"Ooh, mustn't waste!" Sopping her hand in the spilled wine, Greenwillow stuffed her fingers into her mouth, then Sunbright's. Unclear on the concept, the barbarian bit her fingers. "Not bite!" she yelped. "Gentle."
The half-elf used both hands to grab his ears, tugged him close, and bit his nose gently. Their wine-misted breath mingled. "Help me…up!"
Holding one another and the furniture, they clambered to their feet, kicking cups and chairs every which way. Greenwillow towed Sunbright by his jerkin out the door into the cool of very early morning. "Come on. We can go to the women's barracks. 'S a'right if we're quiet."
Blundering against a wall, she stepped on an errant cat that squalled hideously. With a gasp, she leaped into Sunbright's arms, and they both landed squashily in the mucky street. Greenwillow, in his lap, caressed his hair. "You like elf-maids?"
"Oh, yes!" the barbarian assured her as his mouth found hers. "I want… Hey!"
The empty streets were very quiet, and even a soft footfall made enough noise to be noticed. Sunbright jerked as he pointed wildly. "Look! Look, 's her!"
Greenwillow peered down the narrow street, saw nothing, then was unceremoniously dumped on her rump as the man scrambled up. Traveling sideways as much as forward, he rebounded off the nearby shop walls and charged into an even narrower street beyond. Cursing, the elf clambered up and trotted after him.
"Ruellana!" the barbarian hollered, his voice incredibly loud in the sleeping city. "Ruellana, stop!"
Ahead, in deeper shadow, a slender white figure in a simple, short shift flitted away. Calling, pleading, swearing, the man blundered after, his war tackle rattling, his boots clumping. Behind him, Greenwillow called out that it was a trap, but he didn't hear.
The ghost-girl paused and turned, and Sunbright got his first good look at her. It was Ruellana; he'd swear it, for her hair was like living fire. She'd mysteriously appeared at his campfire half a world away, then disappeared to haunt his dreams, and here she was again.
She held out both arms enticingly, then flickered sideways into a dark doorway. Sunbright didn't notice the shops on this street had no signs hanging above the doors, and the windows were either shuttered or boarded over. He crashed down the street, calling her name, pivoted wildly, and plunged through the door into blackness.
And fell a dozen feet. The crash onto rubble crumpled his legs beneath him, stunning him. Blinking, he cast about, but could see nothing but pitch-blackness and, high overhead, the grayish outline of the doorway.
Then there came a hiss like that of a pit of disturbed snakes, and around him rose a wreath like black fog.
With an oath, he watched the smoke coalesce and harden. Within seconds, he was peering up at a black-cloaked monster with flaming red eyes and hair.
Chapter 8
Horrified he might have been, but it was an automatic gesture for Sunbright to haul Harvester from its sheath scabbard. The leather-wrapped pommel felt warm and comforting in his hands. The long steel shank stood up before his face, sturdy as a tree. But inwardly his guts felt pierced by a thousand icy knives, and it was all he could do not to throw the sword away and run in blind terror. Of all the legends of the tundra, the stories of undead monsters who sucked the life from men-and yet left them undead to do the same-were the most fearsome. And here Sunbright, exhausted and drunk but rapidly sobering, was trapped in a death pit with an undead fiend.
The thing provided its own hideous light. A wreath of flame enveloped its head, and empty eye sockets flickered with flames as if through a slot in an iron door. The rest was indistinct in the wavering light, but Sunbright thought he wouldn't see it well under any conditions. According to folklore, wraiths and wights and ghasts were not entirely of this world, but wafted between the seen and unseen planes, so there might be only a portion of the monster visible, or it might be seen as thinner than it really was. So its shape flowed and folded like shadows on a rippling blanket. And here in the dark, it was master of its element.
Still, whether the creature was dead or undead, a shaft of hardened steel could still dispatch it from this world to the next-or to none-if one could strike hard and fast without shirking.
But his assault started out badly.
His head still reeling, Sunbright kicked himself upright and dropped back to brace for a long swing… and stepped on open air.
His iron-ringed boot jingled across torn rock; then his knee banged excruciatingly on a jagged edge of stone. Yet the misstep might have saved him, for the writhing wraith hooked a taloned hand at him, like a net of fishhooks, but barely grazed the front of his bearskin jerkin.
Gasping in pain, the barbarian dragged back his shorn knee. His long shirt was sopping wet, not with wine this time, and the clammy touch of it chilled his skin like glacier runoff. Shoving the sword straight at the beast to fend it off, he gingerly tested his leg, found that it wasn't sprained, only smarting. Afraid to fumble another step and cripple himself, he whipped his head around to study the trap.
By rippling hell-flame, he'd first thought the walls were coal, square-cut, and faintly glistening, or else somehow painted black. But neither idea made any sense for a simple cellar in the abandoned part of town. Wary of the advancing ghost-thing, he swished his sword right and left at the glistening walls, but touched nothing.
Frantic, he stabbed far to his left. Still nothing. Yet a glance overhead showed he was almost underneath the threshold he'd tumbled over. So either this cellar undercut the street tremendously, and the threshold sat on nothing, or else…
… or else he'd blundered into another world, another type of space altogether.
A world where wraiths stood triumphant.
The monster undulated like a hovering snake and snatched at his scalp with one hand, then the other, testing. A jab, a poke, and the slashes were turned. But for how long?
Chills raced down Sunbright's spine, raised hackles on his arms and neck and legs. If this were some other vacuous world, he might stumble into any kind of pit, fall down any slope, become lost in a world of blackness and death.
Or something worse than death.
"Sunbright!" Greenwillow's shrill brought him back from the edge of fear, back to life. The elf-maid hunched in the doorway, one hand on the jamb, the other dangling her slim sword blade. She's going to jump, the barbarian thought in terror.
"Don't!" His voice was unnaturally high. "Don't come down here! It's not real! It's somewhere else!" He was blathering, spouting nonsense that conveyed no information. "Stay there!"
He had to twist in a half-circle as the wraith circled him, as a fox would circle a caged bird. He tracked the thing, which mimicked his turnings. Sunbright had about screwed himself as far around as possible without moving his feet, when the ghast swooped in.