Her breathing grew rapid and more shallow. The fear was intoxicating, sensual … carnal.
They had entered the great hall of the castle. It was huge, cavernous.
The vaulted ceiling high overhead shimmered with dark crystals.
Black, winged creatures flitted between the sharply curved stone supports and buttresses, creatures she thought were bats until she noticed they made no cries and floated rather than flew, their shapes undulating like amorphous shadows, like primordial organisms floating in a waterless sea.
On the opposite end of the chamber, a large, frayed and tattered tapestry hung upon the obsidian wall.
Laera recognized the crest of the Roeles, but it had been modified. A single bloodred dragon, rampant, crimson dripping from its gaping jaws and claws, upon a field of black cracked with stylized, jagged golden lightning. Beneath the ancient tapestry, upon a raised dais of murky black and silver crystal stood a huge throne carved from a single giant block of obsidian. It was three or four times larger than the Iron Throne of Anuire, built to accommodate a giant, and from its back sprouted two huge horns carved from faceted bloodred crystal.
Callador stopped her in the center of the chamber, upon an inverted arcane rune of inlaid silver circumscribed by glazed red tiles set into the black stone floor. For a moment or two, they simply stood there, waiting. And then Laera heard the footsteps, and cold sweat trickled down her spine.
Nothing human could walk like that. The sounds came from somewhere in the shadows, through an archway to the left side of the throne. They echoed through the hall like fantastic drumbeats, and Laera held her breath.
Thoom, thoom, thoom, thoom …
A huge shadow loomed beneath the archway, and Laera felt her knees start to tremble violently. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed heavily through parted lips, her gaze riveted on that darkened archway.
And then Raesene appeared.
Laera’s chest felt constricted. He was huge, easily three times the size of a normal man, with a thick, muscular, bare chest; immensely strong arms with bony spikes rising from the elbows and the shoulders; a wide, powerful back that tapered sharply to chiseled stomach muscles; skin that seemed the
color and texture of dusky stone; and the lower extremities of a satyr.
Large, powerful, goatlike legs covered with thick black fur ended in hooves that gleamed like the black stone of the castle walls. But it was his face as he sat upon the throne and gazed down at her that made Laera’s heart start beating like a wild thing trying to claw its way out of her chest.
Whatever Raesene may have looked like once, he was unrecognizable now.
The face that stared at her with unblinking yellow eyes was a nightmare.
The stories said the Gorgon had the head of a bull, but even that would have been preferable to the reality.
There were gray-black bullish horns sprouting from his head, and he had bovine ears, but any resemblance to a bull ended there. The shape of the face and head was roughly human, but Raesene had no hair. The top of his head was covered with spiky, bony projections, like the shell of some tortoise armored for battle. The once-human nose had spread out until it was almost a snout, and the jaw was elongated, allowing for a gaping mouth with sharp teeth and prominent canines. From the upper part of his cheekbones and the lower part of his jaw, on either side of the chin, sharp spikes protruded, smaller versions of the upwardly curving horns on his head.
Callador was ancient, and he had used magic all his life without its altering his human appearance, so the only explanation for such a grotesque mutation had to be the divine essence Raesene had inherited from Azrai, the dark god. Augmented by centuries of bloodtheft, these powers had twisted and transformed him into a horror. Laera recalled the stories
about Raesene’s being insane and remembered doubting them. However, seeing him in the flesh made her wonder how anyone could possibly experience such a terrifying transformation and still retain his sanity.
Callador stepped forward one pace and went down to one knee, bowing to his lord and master.
“Allow me to present the Duchess Laera of Boeruine, Your Highness.”
Laera did not know what to do. She was numb with fear, but despite that, told herself she was still a princess of the House of Roele, and Gorgon or not, Raesene was a prince, albeit illegitimate, of the same house. Her relative. By rights she would not bow down before him. I must not let my fear show, she thought as she made an effort to stand erect and proud, gazing directly at him.
Raesene simply looked at her for a few moments, then spoke.
Incongruously, his voice sounded completely human, deep, and resonant, well modulated and precise. The accent was Anuirean, but somehow slightly different. And then she realized it was not so much Anuirean as Andu, the way her people spoke centuries ago.
“Callador has told me much about you, my lady,” said the Gorgon. “He tells me that you have made unusual progress with your studies, that you are very gifted.”
“I try to apply myself, my lord,” she said, choosing thL-formally polite yet neutral address.
“That is most commendable,” the Gorgon said. He paused briefly. “Does not my aspect frighten you?”
“In truth, it is most fearsome, my lord.”
“Do you find me repulsive?” Laera swallowed hard. Where was this conversation leading? “I find you terrible,” she said.
“You choose your words most carefully,” he replied. “That, too, is commendable. I can sense your fear of me, yet you refuse to show it.
You are proud and canny, both admirable traits.”
“Thank you,” she replied. Time to take the bull by the horns, she told herself, then suppressed a hysterical giggle at
