She glanced around, puzzled. Had something gone wrong with the spell? The walls of Callador’s sanctum in the depths of Battlewaite were built of large, mortared blocks of stone, but the walls in this place were constructed of another substance. They were jet black and sleek, rough cut, yet with a dark gleam as if they had been polished with a jeweler’s wheel. They seemed to absorb what little light there was, which came from large black, fluted iron braziers placed at intervals along the walls, emitting flames perfumed by some sort of musky incense. Obsidian, she realized suddenly. The walls were made from blocks of obsidian. She was inside the aboveground portion of Battlewaite, the castle fortress of the Gorgon, Prince Raesene.
She started as she heard a voice behind her. “You are late.”
“Callador!” she said, turning toward him. “What is this? Why are we not in your sanctum?”
“There is no time for questions,” the old wizard said, approaching her. “Come. His Highness does not like to be kept waiting.”
His Highness? That could only be a reference to Prince Raesene. She realized she was about to meet her tutor’s master, none other than the Gorgon. Her stomach tensed, and her mouth suddenly went dry.
She had never actually expected to meet Prince Raesene. She only came to Battlewaite at night, for a few hours, and spent all her time in Callador’s sanctum, located in the subterranean chambers of the castle. During the time she had studied the mystic arts with the old wizard, she had stopped thinking about why he had returned to contact her in the first place. In all that time, he had never mentioned wanting anything from her, but of course, he did. His tutelage would not come without a price. Laera did not know what that price might be, but as time went on and he said nothing more, she had simply ceased to think about it. Now she was going to find out just what that price would be.
For a moment, fear seized her. What if the Gorgon wanted her? The legends did not speak of Raesene’s having a wife. It was something she had never thought to consider. But now she thought about it. He had been here ever since he fled the battlefield of Mount Deismaar, centuries ago. The city of Kal-Saitharak was old, but Raesene was older still. He had come here when there was nothing and had founded a settlement with his minions, raised this castle, and then over the years, the city had grown up around it. All that time, and he had never had a mate. What if that should be the price? What if, this time, she would not be going back? What if she would never be going back again?
As they walked down the corridor toward two mammoth, intricately carved ebony doors at the far end, Laera’s pulse quickened, and she bit her lower lip. She had been repulsed by Arwyn when betrothed to him. Raesene would be much worse. It was said the Gorgon wasn’t even human anymore. And if he wanted her, how could she refuse? He held the power. Laera felt a chill run through her, and it wasn’t just the dismal, unearthly cold within the castle.
The two huge doors swung open of their own accord. A perverse thrill of excitement ran through her as flames burst from braziers along the walls. 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 blood-red 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 blood-red 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.