against him, and he bound me in the glass with a spell. But do not fear. When you free me, I will deal with him.' Domenic's smoldering eyes bored into her. 'Go to the window, Clarisse.'
Before she even thought of whether to do as he asked, she found herself standing once more before the hundredth window.
'Look through the glass, Clarisse. Tell me, what do you see?'
Clarisse leaned forward and peered through the colored shards. She expected to see the village huddling meagerly at the foot of the tor below, or the endless, rolling moor. She saw neither.
It was a sea of monsters.
She felt a scream claw at her chest, but her throat, constricted by horror, strangled it. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead.
She should look away. She knew she should look away. But somehow she could not. The creatures beyond the glass held her morbidly in thrall. She could see no land, if indeed the beasts stood upon such, for the throng of creatures blotted it out entirely. They were shaped like people, but people from a nightmare, for their skin was a sickly green, and their bloated heads far too big for their twisted bodies. Those closest to the window turned as if they could see Clarisse, glaring at her with mindless, hungry eyes as hot as coals, baring fangs as sharp as shattered glass. Some were clad in rags that might once have been clothes, and here and there Clarisse saw the glint of a silver ring or a gold necklace. It was enough to make her wonder if these things had once been. . human.
'What. . what are they?' she finally managed to whisper.
'You needn't fear them, Clarisse,' Domenic answered from behind. 'Every great lord must have servants. These are mine. 'His voice seemed to coil around her like a soft cloak. 'Now, Clarisse. Reach up to the window. Take my hand.'
She shook her head. 'But how?' Fear made her entire body tremble. Or was it desire?
'Just reach into the window, Clarisse,' Domenic urged gently. 'Take my hand. Do it, Clarisse — if you love me.'
She could resist no longer. The fear in her breast melted into a powerful, heady warmth. Domenic was so handsome, so compelling. . so utterly unlike Gareff.
She reached toward the window. Her fingers brushed strangely slick glass. Then suddenly her hand closed about warm, living flesh. She backed away, not loosening her grip, and as though he was surfacing from deep, murky water, Domenic stepped from the glass, a living man.
'Ah, my Clarisse!' he cried. 'At last, I am free!' He swept her into his strong, encircling arms and kissed her passionately. His burning eyes seemed to light a fire in her. She clung to him fiercely, kissing him back again, and again.
Domenic whirled her about, and a faint, disconnected fragment of Clarisse's mind noticed that they were no longer in the attic chamber, but in the ballroom downstairs. Yet too much had happened for this small thing to disturb her. Domenic waved his hand, and suddenly a quartet of musicians played upon the dais, clad in coats of the finest red velvet. The musicians began a lovely, lilting waltz, and Domenic spun her about the ballroom in a sweeping, dizzying dance.
'We shall dance together forever, Clarisse,' he said joyously. 'Forever!' For a terrible moment, his smile was the mirror image of her father's.
'What have I done?' Clarisse whispered, but her words were snatched away by the sweet strains of music. She gripped Domenic tighter as they danced, spinning about the ballroom until she forgot herself in a sweet, burning dream.
'Clarisse!'
The cry shattered the air of the ballroom. Domenic halted the dance abruptly, and Clarisse's momentum spun her breathlessly away. She looked up to see Gareff in the doorway, his blue eyes blazing. He threw down his rain- soaked riding cape and strode into the hall.
'Domenic,' he hissed with contempt. 'I should have known you would find a way to free yourself. And I see you have brought your foul goblyns with you.'
Clarisse followed Gareff's gaze and gasped in horror. She saw now that the four musicians upon the dais were not men at all, but creatures like those she had seen beyond the glass. The beasts threw down their instruments and leapt to their feet, baring jagged teeth in hungry leers.
'Begone with you!' Gareff cried, waving his hand in an intricate gesture. The four goblyns screamed as each burst into flame. They writhed for a moment in agony. Then the flames died, leaving only four small piles of greasy soot.
'Clarisse, come to me,' Domenic beckoned urgently, holding out a hand toward her.
Gareff quickly interposed himself between them. 'Stay back, Clarisse,' he warned. 'I know you have heard rumors from the villagers, rumors of a goblyn lord. Know, then, that Domenic is he.'
'In the flesh,' Domenic bowed with a flourish. He and Gareff began to circle each other warily.
'Years ago Domenic ruled these lands with fear, Clarisse, capturing villagers and transforming them by unspeakable means into goblyns. 'Gareff's voice shook with loathing. 'But finally I put a stop to him, imprisoning him in the window. Since that time I've traveled the land, hunting down and destroying the last of his vile creations. I tried to conceal it from you Clarisse, to protect you. I see now that I was in error.'
'You defeated me once with your trickery, Harrowing,' Domenic spat. 'You will not do so again. 'He spread his hands apart. Crimson light crackled between them. 'This time you'll discover what it feels like to be transformed into a goblyn yourself. 'The shimmering energy between his hands arced toward Gareff. Clarisse screamed, backing up against the wall.
Just as the livid, blood-red fire reached him, Lord Harrowing crossed his wrists and chanted in a strange, dissonant tongue. A circle of green light flashed into being before him, blocking the crimson radiance. Domenic swore violently.
'Your magic has diminished during your confinement,' Gareff goaded. He muttered the queer incantation again, and the circle of green light grew until it surrounded him completely. Then an emerald tendril began to reach out, pushing back the searing crimson magic streaming from the hands of the handsome goblyn lord.
'And you are a weak old fool,' Domenic said between gritted teeth. Scarlet fire crackled around his entire body now, reaching out to entwine itself about the green glow conjured by Gareff's incantation. Clarisse shook her head in horror, watching as the two wizards assailed each other with all their powers. Sweat poured down Lord Harrowing's face, and Domenic's brow was furrowed in supreme effort. Halfway between them, emerald magic met crimson in a sizzling fount of sparks. Gareff was growing paler, his bushy eyebrows knit in concentration, and Domenic was trembling. Yet the violent juncture of their magics stayed even between them. It was a stalemate.
'Clarisse!' Domenic cried. 'You must help me!'
The anguish in his voice rent her heart. She took a hesitating step toward him.
'No, Clarisse!' Gareff shouted. 'You must not listen to him. I beg you, come to me. You can help me defeat him once and for all.'
Clarisse froze, gazing from man to man. Magic charged the air with the acrid scent of lightning.
'You are my wife, Clarisse,' Gareff grunted sternly. 'You must do as I tell you. Come to me!'
'No, Harrowing, she is yours no longer,' Domenic gasped. 'Her soul is mine. I own her now.'
Clarisse shook her head. 'No. . 'she whispered, backing away from the two wizards.
'You will never have her, Domenic!' Lord Harrowing cried furiously. The emerald magic surged forward. 'Clarisse is mine!'
Crimson fire leapt from Domenic's hands, countering the green incandescence. 'No, Harrowing. She is mine!'
Clarisse let out a wordless cry of anguish. Clutching her gown up above her ankles, she turned and fled the room. She ran down shadowed corridors, leaving the desperate shouts of the two men behind. She made her way through the grand hall. Portraits of Harrowing ancestors seemed to glare down accusingly at her from the walls. Afraid she had gone mad, she ran on.
Abruptly she stopped, blinking in surprise. The stained-glass window shone before her. She didn't remember coming here. But that wasn't important, for now a thought struck her, a horrifying thought, yet terribly compelling
