Free Key of Solomon: Relic Defender, Book 1 by Cassiel Knight Page A

man exhaled a ragged sigh. His chin lowered until it almost touched his chest.
    “It is done,” he repeated her very words as if by speaking them out loud, he could be certain.
    He lifted his head and regarded the large boulder behind which his attendants cowered. “Come, it is time,” he called. “Remove the vessel.”
    At first cautious, the four men came out from behind the rock. They looked around, their eyes wide. She knew they would have heard the sounds, if not the offers, of the Fallen.
    “Do not fear,” he said. “The spirits are contained.”
    To her surprise, instead of remaining wary and thus cautious, the men surged forward. In their haste, one bumped up against the vessel. She choked as the jar rocked and tilted. The man’s hand slapped down on bare metal. When skin met the vessel’s surface, the sigils under his palm erupted. He screamed and fell to the ground. Heels drummed the ground and his back bowed until he was nearly bent in half. The other men cried out and stumbled backwards, tripping over each other as they retreated.
    “God save us!” she heard a cry as she moved. “A land-bound demon.”
    Her robes snapped in the air, loud pops of sound like old branches cracking underfoot, as she ran toward the downed man. As she neared, he raised himself up into a crouch. No longer in the guise of a devoted servant, the man’s eyes, as black as the darkest part of the night, glared at her. The attendant’s thin lips stretched away from brown teeth, and he hissed. A forked tongue tasted the air before disappearing.
    Without slowing, she unsheathed her sword from under the dust-covered robes and slashed at the land-dwelling demon possessing a mortal’s body. The whistle of the blade as it cut through the air was followed by a wet, sucking noise, like that of walking in the thick mud that lined the Nile’s edges. His head rolled into the sand before coming to rest against a large stone. Dead eyes turned skyward. From the severed neck of the body, a dark oily mist rose, spun into a column, then burst outward like an exploding piece of fruit before it dissipated.
    She wiped dark blood from the blade then returned it to its resting place. How long had the attendant been possessed? And what would have happened if he hadn’t stumbled? Her stomach twisted and her meal from the morning soured.
    She pivoted and her gaze met his. She read horror in his wide eyes and in the white edging his lips. Even while her own mind screamed with frustration, she said nothing. What could she? A demon had resided in his own house, among his most trusted, and he’d not known. If she’d needed more proof that King Solomon, once the most powerful and revered man in all the lands, was little more than a shell of his former self, she had it.
    Ignoring her for the moment, he faced his remaining attendants. Pale faces, grayed by dust or terror, turned toward him. He jerked his head. “Move the vessel, but carefully. Do not break the urn or dislodge the seal.”
    His words were harsh. Good. His attendants risked everything with their careless haste. No repetition of the ritual was possible. Not for another passing of the seasons. Grunts and soft curses filled the morning as the three men struggled to load the bronze jar into the cart.
    Once fresh straw hid the vessel from prying eyes, Solomon walked over to the cart and handed one of the men the animal skin wrapped book. “This must go. Do not allow anyone to take the book. Bury them together.”
    The man bobbed his head and climbed into the cart. With a loud clatter over the rock-strewn path, the oxen-drawn wagon rumbled away. She closed her eyes, relief flooding her body from top to bottom. For a moment, she listened to the fading sound of the beasts’ hooves striking against the rocks. Heat crawled over her exposed skin, irritating the abrasions from the earlier barrage of sand and rocks. She opened her eyes. Again, she met his gaze.
    He turned his head, angling it toward