strange, inexplicable, perverse thrill engendered by the risk of it, by the thought that she would be the first woman he had known that way in centuries.
And despite his horrible appearance, he was still, at heart, a man …
or he had been once. And men could be controlled. She was a past master at the art. She would be the only woman who had lain with an awnshegh, the most dreaded and powerful awnshegh of them all. And to control someone like that, to conquer him …
“By all the gods,” said Callador slowly, staring at her with disbelief.
“The thought of it excites you!”
She had revealed too much with her expression, Laera realized.
Callador must not know. “Excites me? Are you mad?”
“The look on your face just now-“
“If terror that chills to the bone can be called excitement, I suppose that is what I feel,” she said, shivering to underscore her words. “What would you know about excitement? You who thrill to nothing save your potions and incantations? You are the one who got us into this! Because of you, I must do something … unthinkable! And if I should not survive or if I should lose my sanity as a result, it will be on your head! By Haelyn, if I were a man, I would strangle you with my bare hands! You have sold yourself to a monster, and in doing so have sold me as well! And now it is my lot to save us both! Damn you, Callador!
Damn you for a fool!”
The wizard hung his head in shame. “You are right, Laera. I’ve been a fool, blinded by my own ambition. Would there were some way I could make it up to you. I truly regret I ever brought you into this. I am so very sorry.”
“Words,” she said contemptuously. “Words come easy when it is I who must made this awful sacrifice!”
“It is true,” said Callador miserably. He brought his hands up to his neck and slipped off the golden amulet that held her lock of hair.
‘Here, take this. I release you from your bond. It is the very least I can do.”
Laera smiled inwardly. Perfect, she thought, as she took the amulet.
Right on cue. ‘Well, perhaps you really did mean it,” she said, her voice softening.
“You have been both a friend and teacher to me, Callador. You thought you were helping us both-you to find a better place in life and me to get revenge on an old enemy and on my brother for bartering me to cement a political alliance. I forgive you.”
“I shall send you back,” said Callador. “I cannot allow you to go through with this. I will take the brunt of Raesene’s vengeance.”
“No,” said Laera. “There may still be a way for us to turn things to our favor. We may yet win our goal.
But first you must be free of Raesene’s power.”
“You would still do this … for me?” the old wizard said with amazement.
“No, for us,” said Laera. “Wait here for me. I shall either return with your token or die trying.”
The corridors of Battlewaite were empty as she made her way back to the great hall. The braziers flickered dimly, their flames dying out. As Laera crossed the hall, heading toward the archway in the back, her heart pounded so hard she thought the
sound of it would fill the hall, echoing off the gleaming black walls.
She had never been so afraid in her entire life. And yet, the fear excited her. She had to go through with this somehow. Not only because she still needed Callador, but because without him, her plans would go awry. The wizard knew too much, and so long as the Gorgon controlled him, Callador remained a threat to her. There was only one way to neutralize that threat.
She went through the archway and down a darkened corridor that led to a flight of stone steps. As she climbed them slowly, her terror mounted, and her excitement as well. This was the greatest risk she had ever taken. If she were caught, she would surely die. But if she succeeded, she would not only have taken the ultimate risk and gotten away with it, she would do what no other woman had ever done. She would have conquered the Gorgon.
No one would ever know of it, of course, but that didn’t matter. She would know, and the sense of power and satisfaction she would derive from that would be intoxicating beyond anything she had ever experienced. The Gorgon, too, would know. Eventually. And there would be nothing he could do about it.
At the top of the stairs, she came to another, smaller archway. She passed through it into a darkened anteroom, illuminated only by several thick candles dripping on a table. The musky odor inside the room filled her nostrils and made her grimace with distaste. It smelled like the lair of some beast.
She crossed the anteroom, headed for a curtained archway in the back.
She tried not to look at the
objects in the room: the bones scattered on the tables; the rats scurrying among the grisly remains of the Gorgon’s last meal-she did not want to speculate what it had been-the human skulls, brown with age, arrayed upon the shelves, trophies of past bloodthefts. She tried to focus her attention on the task at hand. She tried to use her fear, to control it, to employ it as an impetus to see her through what she was about to do.
He was a man once, she told herself. Whatever he may be now, he was once a man, and men could be controlled. This would be her greatest challenge.
Her skin crawled at the thought of what she was about to do, but there was something incredibly compelling about it, too. She moved as if in a trance, heading toward the sounds of snoring coming from behind the curtain. It was a rumbling sound, a growling that made her knees shake.
She parted the curtain and stepped through.
She stood there for several moments, holding her breath as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.
She could make out a huge shape lying sprawled on a bed big enough to sleep six humans side by side.
An involuntary whimper escaped her throat. It was still not too late.
She could still turn and run….
“Who goes there? Who dares … ?”
Lambent yellow eyes stared at her from the bed, like the gaze of some feral, predatory beast.
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said, lowering her head. She didn’t need to make her voice tremble. It did so of its own accord. “Please ‘ do not be angry with me ‘ I beseech you. I. . . I could not stay away.
… Never have I beheld such power … such force …
such terrible mastery. . . .” She moved closer. “I was unable to resist…. May the dark lord help me! I …
I was simply overwhelmed. I do not even know what I am doing. Surely, this is madness, but it is a madness that has caught me in its grip and there is nothing I can do.” She slipped her gown off her shoulders.
“I sensed your power and was helpless and humbled in the face of it. I am lost. My will is not my own. I scarcely know myself. You may smite me down for my boldness, but I do not care. I had to come to you.” She was breathing heavily, and she made her voice husky with desire. “Do with me what you will. You are too strong……
She crawled up onto the bed.
It was nearly dawn when she returned to Callador’s sanctum, barely able to move. It had taken all her strength to stagger back to the old wizard. When he saw her at the door, his eyes grew wide, and he hurried to help her inside.
“May the gods have mercy! I was sure I would never see you alive again!” he said, easing her into his chair.
“Were I not of the bloodline of the Roeles, you never would have,” she replied weakly. “It took all my strength to regenerate myself after that filthy beast was through with me. He nearly killed me. The pain was beyond anything I have ever known.”
“Here,” he said, pouring a liquid from a potion bottle into a goblet.
“Drink this. It will restore your strength.”
She drained it, spilling some of it onto her chin and chest. It felt warm going down and, within
moments, the warmth began to spread through her body, suffusing her with invigorating strength. She took a deep breath and leaned back, shutting her eyes as the restorati
ve potion did its work.
“Centuries without a woman,” she said, her voice raw. “He was sure saving it up, curse him.”
“I still cannot believe you did it,” Callador said.
“But at least you have survived. You tried. You did your best.”
She looked up at him. “I did, indeed.”
She reached inside her gown and held up the locket.
Callador caught his breath. “You took it!”
“He fell into a stupor after he was spent. It was a simple matter to remove it.”
“But … you took the locket!” Callador repeated, with dismay. “You were only supposed to open it and retrieve the token! When he wakes, he will know that it is missing!”
“Then I suppose we had best be far away from here by then,” she said.
She let the locket fall back inside her gown.
“You have left me with no choice,” he said.
“That was my intention.”
“Give me the token.”
“I think not. After what I’ve just gone through to get it, I certainly deserve to keep it, don’t you think?”
Callador stared at her as the full import of her words sank in. “So, I see. It’s going to be like that, is it?”
“That’s right, it’s going to be like that. I have my token back, and now I hold yours, as well. And that makes me the master now. I know how to use it. You have taught me well, Callador.”
As I have said before,” the wizard replied, “I had greatly underestimated you, my lady.”
“Form the portal,” Laera said. “It is too dangerous for us to remain here long. Besides, it is almost dawn, and my dolt of a husband will need to be waking up soon so he can be prepared for the em peror’s arrival.”
“As you wish, my lady,” Callador replied. He began to form the misty portal.
“I will need some time to recover from this or deal,” said Laera, “and you shall need to find a place to stay. We will require supplies to replace those you must leave behind. I will make the funds available to you. Take only those scrolls and materials that are indispensable.
The rest we shall replace as best we can.”
As the portal opened in the center of the chamber, Callador quickly began to gather up those things he would be taking with him.
“It strikes me there is merit in both your plan and mine,” said Laera.
“The trick is in combining them.”
“Combining them?” said Callador. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” she replied. “I will explain it in good time. I have suffered much to reach this stage. What remains to be done now is simple. It will merely take a little time and patience. But when all is said and done, I will sit upon the Iron Throne as regent of the Empire of Anuire. And as my first official act, I shall have Aedan Dosiere’s heart on a platter.”
**chapter five**
Laera’s plan was made easier by the fact that the Empress Faelina was not yet pregnant when she arrived at Seaharrow. It was the first time she had ever met the woman her brother had chosen for a wife. Trust Michael to marry a tomboy, she had thought on meeting the new empress.
She was pretty enough, in a rather common sort of way, but she had no conception of how to comport herself like a real lady, much less an empress. She walked like a man, with no grace whatsoever, and was much too direct in her manner. Subtlety was clearly something the poor girl would never understand, thought Laera.
Faelina was polite and friendly to the other ladies of the court at Seaharrow, but evinced little genuine interest in their pursuits. She had no skill at dancing, embroidery, or weaving and could not play a dulcimer or lute. She was unschooled in the courtly graces, and though she was amenable to conversation with the other women, she much preferred to spend her time with the horses in the stables or galloping over the fields with Michael. She enjoyed hunting as much as any man and took delight in watching the guards at their weapons practice. The men all seemed to find her captivating and delightful, remarkably earthy and unprepossessing. The women did not quite know what to make of her.
However, it was obvious to everyone that Faelina and Michael were very much in love. They were birds of feather who understood one another, and everyone commented on what a perfect match they were.
Laera treated her like a little sister. Actually, she treated her much better than she had ever treated her real sisters, for whom she had had very little use.
It wasn’t difficult at all to gain her trust. Laera bestowed it freely from the very start. Manipulating her was not even a challenge. She was an innocent, completely without guile. Laera had nothing but contempt for her.
Faelina accepted Gella as her body servant without question, and from the day she arrived to one week prior to the summer solstice, Gella faithfully administered the potion that would prevent her from conceiving. Each night, she poured several drops into her mulled ale, which was Faelina’s preferred libation before bedtime. She even drank like a man, thought Laera. Michael had no taste whatsoever, marrying such a common wench.
Aedan diplomatically kept his distance. When the emperor’s party arrived, he had greeted her very formally and politely, with no hint upon his features or in his manner of what had passed between them.
He apparently preferred to pretend it simply had never happened. Laera would have liked nothing better than to plunge a dagger deep into his heart, but that would have been too quick. Besides, his turn would come. He was courteous, but after the emperor’s party had settled in, he avoided her as much as possible. That was fine with Laera. It meant he would not get in the way.
Toward the middle of the month, the army arrived, marching from Anuire for the long-anticipated punitive campaign against Thurazor, planned now for midsummer. There would be several weeks of preparation, and then they would depart around the middle of the next month. It meant that both Aedan and Michael would be kept busy drilling the troops in readiness for the campaign, which Derwyn would be joining with his knights and men-at-arms.
Rodric would be going, too. The young fool wanted an opportunity to distinguish himself in battle. It was just as well, thought Laera. He was becoming tiresome in any case. With luck, he would fall in battle, and she would be spared the necessity of getting rid of him.
On the night of the summer solstice, Laera gave Gella the little vial that contained the Gorgon’s seed.
She did not tell the girl what it was, merely that it was a new and more efficient preparation of the same nature she had used before.
Gella had accepted it without question, then returned later in the evening, as directed, to tell her that the deed was done. Now, thought Laera, all she had to do was wait. The child would quicken, and nine months later, when Summer Court was over and Michael and his party were long gone, the birth would take place.
She felt confident no one would ever suspect the truth of what had actually occurred. Aside from herself, only Gella and Callador would know, and she held both their tokens, giving her power over them.
Still, thought Laera, it would be best if Gella were disposed of as soon as possible. Callador was old and had too much to lose to think of betraying her.
He was too deeply involved himself, and he needed a patron. Besides, she still had use for him. But Gella was a loose end that would have to be accounted for.
She was the only one who could link her directly to the birth.
After everyone in the castle had gone to bed, Laera went to get the small bronze jewelry box she kept beside her bed. In the hidden drawer it contained, she kept the lockets that held the tokens of Callador and Gella, though she wore the one with Derwyn’s hair. She had given some of the lock to Callador so that he could effect the spell that lulled her husband into a deep trance each time the wizard came to her, but she had also kept some for herself.
She used Derwyn’s token now to make him sleep, but at the proper time, would use it to effect a spell that would make her a grieving widow.
She ima
gined what it would be like.
When the monster child was born, any effort to keep the birth a secret would be doomed to failure.
She and Callador would see to that, though indirectly, of course. The word would spread that Michael’s seed was cursed. The Fatalists would make sure.
They were already becoming known for spreading discontent and championing the cause of the commoners.
Michael still enjoyed the favor of the people, but they were growing weary of the years of constant warfare. It was a drain on the resources of the empire, and the long War of Rebellion, as well as Michael’s campaigns of expansion, had left many widows and orphans.
Nobles who were more concerned with the upkeep of their lands and their estates had become tired of Michael’s constant demands on them to supply manpower and supplies for the Army of Anuire, and the commoners were starting to grumble that the emperor was more concerned with conquest than he was with improving the lot of his subjects. It would not take much to cause these seeds of discontent to sprout.
A royal birth that had been cursed by the gods would mean the people were cursed, as well, so long as Michael ruled them. There would be calls for his abdication, and if he refused, a rebellion would soon follow. The priests of the temple of Haelyn would support her cause.
Her daily attendance at the temple had given Laera a reputation for uncommon piety and goodness. She had carefully reinforced that image by making lavish, regular donations to the temples in Boeruine, and she had sent money to the temples in Anuire and Alamie, as well, where the priests had the most influence. And she always took little Aerin to the temple with her so that the priests would see that the child was being raised in the favor of the god.
But there was still the Gorgon to consider. There was no way of telling what Raesene might do. He was
completely mad, of course, of that Laera no longer had any doubt. For centuries, he had waited, slowly but surely building up his powers and extending his domain. He now controlled the entire mountain range known as the Gorgon’s Crown, and he had pushed his boundaries north, into the Giantdowns, east to the Hoarfell Mountains, south to Mur-Kilad and Markazor, and west to the borders of Tuarhievel, an area covering over five thousand square miles.
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