In the House of the Worm Read Online Free PDF

the only way here; all three burrows were bricked-in. It was easy to see; the chamber doors were open, and light streamed out.
    They watched from the shadows near the air duct, Groff crouching low with his ax in hand, Annelyn drawing his rapier.
    The chamber was a large one, perhaps the size of the Chamber of Obsidian; there all resemblance ended. Inside, the Meatbringer had mounted a throne, firing two torches that slanted from brackets atop the backrest. Their flickering light mingled with a stranger radiance, a glowering purplish gleam that came from huge fungus-encrusted globes along the walls. Vermyllar was visible, sobbing incoherently, manacled to a wheeled bed close to the Meatbringer. From time to time his body shook as he strained fitfully against the shackles that held him down, but his captor ignored his struggles.
    The rest of the chamber, in the curious mixed light, was like nothing Annelyn had ever encountered before. The walls were metal, time-eaten, rust-eaten, yet still bright in places. Panels of glass studded the high, dark flanks; a million tiny windows—most of them broken—winked at the flames. Along the side walls, fat transparent bubbles swelled obscenely near the ceiling. Some of these were covered by dripping, glowing growth; others were dry and broken; still others seemed full of some faintly moving fluid. A gulf of shadows and chaos lay between the walls. There were a dozen wheeled beds like the one Vermyllar was bound to, four huge pillars that rose to the ceiling amid a web of metal ropes and bars, a heavy tank of the sort the yaga-la-hai used for breeding foodworms, piles of clothing (some piles fresh, others covered by mold) and weapons and stranger things, metal cases with vacant glass eyes. In the center was the Meatbringer’s throne, a high seat of green-black stone. A theta of some impossibly bright silver metal was sunk into the backrest, just above his head.
    The Meatbringer had closed his eyes, and was leaning back on his throne. Resting, perhaps, Annelyn thought. Vermyllar still made noises; whimpers and groans and choking sounds, words that made no sense.
    “He is mad,” Annelyn whispered to Groff, certain that Vermyllar’s noise would cover their speech. “Or he soon will be.”
    “Yes,” Riess said, crawling close to him. “When are we going to save him?”
    Groff turned his head to face Riess. “We are not,” the bronze knight said, in a flat low voice. “He deserted us. He has no claim to my protection. It is better for the yaga-la-hai to watch and to follow, to see what the Meatbringer does with the great-grandson of a Manworm.” His tone gave no room for appeal or argument.
    Annelyn shivered, and moved away from Groff, who was once again watching intently with no flicker of movement. Briefly Annelyn had lost himself, allowed himself to trust and obey the older man, simply because Groff was a knight, because Groff knew the groun-runs. Suddenly he remembered his pride and his revenge.
    Riess came to him. “Annelyn,” he said, his voice trembling. “What can we do?”
    “Vermyllar brought this on himself,” Annelyn whispered. “But we shall rescue him, if we can.” He had no idea how—it was one thing for Groff to face the Meatbringer with his great ax, but if the knight would not help  . . .
    Groff looked over his shoulder at them. He smiled.
    Annelyn saw with a start that inside, the Meatbringer had risen. He was undressing, stripping off his suit of milk-white grounskin and his cloak of colorless groun-hair. He turned his broad back to them, a well-muscled expanse of mottled flesh, while he tossed his clothing over an arm of his throne and rummaged through a pile of other clothes.
    “Groff,” Annelyn said firmly, “we must save Vermyllar, useless though he is. He amuses me. There are two of us, you know, and only one of you, and you need our help.” Riess, behind him, was making faint choking noises.
    Groff looked at them again, and sighed. “Do