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Episode
II Return of the Dragon
Vehan Noric dismounted from his gray
palfrey. It was hardly the steed
expected of so feared a man, but none of the guards so much as cracked a
smile. Instead they stepped fearfully
aside as he swept up the main staircase leading to the throne
room. Halfway up he met Chargav,
Khan’s bodyguard and manservant.
“My lord Noric,” Chargav said partly
blocking his way, “your return was not expected for another
week. I trust you met with
success.”
Noric
paused. He was not used to anyone
standing up to him. Chargav was
only doing his duty, but the act annoyed him just the
same. “Lord Khan was successful
in securing his right to the throne?” he asked, ignoring Chargav’s
question by asking one of his own.
The black bearded bodyguard
nodded. “There was some
delay. The princess proved stubborn,
but Khan consummates the union tonight.
Shall I tell him you are here?”
“I will tell him myself,” Noric
replied. He looked down at the
heavyset bodyguard who still stood in his
path.
Chargav licked his
lips. No one was supposed to
be admitted into Khan’s presence unannounced, but few men stood up to
Vehan Noric and lived to tell about it.
He bowed to the tall black robed figure in front of
him. “I will escort you
there directly,” he said, bowing.
Noric smiled and swept up the staircase as
Chargav scampered ahead of him. The
man was more clever than he looked.
He had given in to Noric’s demands and at the same time still
appeared to be doing his duty.
Khan looked up as Noric entered the
room. He smiled as the dark-visaged,
black-bearded figure stepped toward him, but his countenance hid his true
feelings. The dark-robed sorcerer
was one of the few men who could make him feel
uncomfortable. “Welcome
Lord Noric,” Khan said, without moving from
his throne. Standing next to
him were several of his lieutenants.
All of them nervously avoided meeting Noric’s
eyes.
The wizard
smiled. It was good to be
feared. “I am sorry not
to have been here for the fall of Narum, but my business took somewhat longer
than I had expected. I am, however,
here to serve you now.”
“Come, old friend” said Khan, rising
from the throne. “Let us
go where we can be more comfortable.
The private rooms of the palace are quite well
furnished.”
Khan ordered his guards to remain outside
as he entered the private apartments of the
palace. Seating himself on a
low divan he waited while Noric sat across from
him.
“I thought you would have secured the
throne by now,” Noric said, a hint of anger in his
voice. “I promised the Duke
of Dakmora that you would be able to support him within the
month.”
“I was delayed,” Khan
replied. “The murder of
the king seemed to anger the Sandorans rather than demoralize
them. It took me two weeks to
overcome the city’s defences.
Fortunately, I was able to capture the king’s daughter, but she
proved unusually stubborn. Slahn
was unable to break her and I was forced to resort to a sham
marriage.”
“Sham?” inquired
Noric. “You mean that you
are not yet married?”
“The legal requirements have been met,
and I had the priest who performed the ceremony
killed. So far as the holy orders
are concerned the princess consented freely.”
“Then why is it,” Noric asked,
“that you are only just now about to consummate your
marriage?”
“As I said,” Khan said irritably,
“the princess proved stubborn.
She has just now recovered from her ordeal in the
dungeon.” He glowered at
the wizard. He would have killed
anyone else who dared question him in this way, but Noric was not just
anyone. He was the only man Khan
truly feared.
Noric caught the look, but ignored
it. Khan owed everything to
him. Without his help the new
king of Sandor would still be nothing more than the captain of a band of
nautical cutthroats. He did,
however, need the Sea Warrior chieftain, at least for the time
being. He phrased the next question
more diplomatically. “Forgive
me, my friend. I am tired after
my long ride from Dakmora. I
should have congratulated you on your
victory. However, I am curious
as to why you did not simply consummate the marriage
earlier. Surely it does not matter
whether the princess is in good health or not.”
“Perhaps not to you,” Khan replied,
but this one is worth waiting for.
I have already bent the mother to my will and I wish the daughter
to be fully aware of what is happening to her.”
Noric hid his
displeasure. Khan’s weakness
for rape, violence, and torture were endearing traits, but sometimes they
got in the way of common sense.
“Tell me about Zirhan Khan,
captain.”
Dragoth turned to the redheaded woman who
stood next to him by the wheel. He
was alone on the quarterdeck with the exception of the four women who had
slaughtered the Sea Warriors. No
other members of the crew would go near them, leaving him as the helmsman
until they went below.
“My lady,” he said
deferentially. “I know only
a little of his history. A few
years ago Zirhan Khan was no more than a one of the chieftains of the Sea
Warriors. Through his leadership
and it is rumoured, through sorcery, he managed to unite the various Sea
Warrior clans and turn them from a horde of lawless raiders into a force
to be reckoned with. He first
conquered all of the Black Isles and then turned his attention to the
mainland. Now it appears that
Sandor is his.”
Dragoth emphasized this last remark by glancing
toward the smoke rising from the burning buildings on the
mainland.
“Thank you, captain,” Melissa
said. “I understand your
reluctance to go any closer to such
danger. I will speak with my
companions and we will decide on our destination.”
“Do not take too long, my lady,”
Dragoth said. “I sense that
there is a change in the weather and it might be best if we were not caught
in such dangerous waters.”
“Thank you, captain,” Melissa
replied. She left the quarterdeck
followed by her three companions and their
servants. On her way she mulled
over the situation. She did not
like what she had seen of the Sea
Warriors. They seemed a brutal
and rapacious bunch, and the smoke of the fires burning on the mainland concerned
her. Innocent people were being
hurt and enslaved. On the other
hand, the fate of the people of Sandor was none of her
concern. Perhaps it was just
the natural order of things that piratical leaders like Zirhan Khan attacked
and conquered others.
Undecided she entered the
cabin. Here she could speak with
her companions privately, but first she and Che Sha needed to clean some
of the filth from their bodies. She
would discuss her thoughts over supper.
An hour later, refreshed and clean from her
bath she sat at the long table in the main cabin and lifted her wine
glass. She was about to speak
when there was a knock at the door.
It was Dragoth.
“Begging your pardon, my lady,”
he said, but I am afraid that the storm I spoke of moved faster than I
thought. Prepare yourself for
some rough sailing. There is
a small inlet close to here and I will take the ship in there until the storm
abates.”
Melissa nodded her
thanks. “We better eat
up,” she said to her friends.
“If the ship starts to roll we won’t have the opportunity
to dine in comfort.” She
emptied her wine glass and tucked into the
meal. Her discussion of Zirhan
Khan would have to wait.
One of the serving girls screamed as the floor
tilted suddenly. Melissa leaped
up from her chair, her companions
following. “I think I better
have a look at this.” She
strapped on her sword before she left the room, an almost habitual
action. She was more than familiar
with the volatility of the sea.
What might start as a minor weather disturbance could turn ugly on
very short notice.
On deck all was
chaos. The “change in the
weather” Dragoth had spoken of had manifested itself as a full-blown
storm. Somewhere to port was
the mainland, but it was completely obscured by driving rain and
spray. Waves were breaking over
the bow of the ship and sailors scurried among the yards, attempting to shorten
sail while Dragoth and the helmsman attempted to keep the ship moving into
the waves. Familiar with the
sea, Melissa had seen a number of storms, but this one rivaled anything she
had witnessed.
“What can we do?” Vayasha
asked. Much happier in her forest
environment, the Sylvani ranger was still new to the
sea.
“Stay out of the way,” Melissa
replied. In just the few moments
she had been on deck, her clothing was wet
through. Her eyes went to the
ship’s two boats. Like most
of the merchant vessels sailing the
“Tell our maids to get rid of their
dresses,” Melissa ordered.
“They can change into our spare
clothes. The serving girls were
below deck, having wisely decided to stay out of the
rain. The full length dresses
they wore would provide all the buoyancy of an anchor if they were forced
into the sea. Vayasha turned
and went below. Melissa’s
eyes swept the deck looking for anything else that might
float. “Come on,” she
said finally and headed for the main hatch leading to the
hold.
The other two girls followed her and helped
with the heavy hatch. For the
most part the crew, busy with the sails and attempting to keep the ship on
course, ignored them and if any noticed what they were doing, decided not
to interfere.
In the hold it was almost pitch black, and
Melissa cursed her lack of foresight in not bringing flint and steel with
her. Steadying herself by bracing
her hands against an overhead beam, she waited for her eyes to
adjust. Gradually the gloom of
the hold dissipated as her eyes grew used to the dim
light.
“Over there,” she said, pointing
into the shadow. The three of
them moved in the direction she had
pointed. A number of large casks
were stacked and bound with cordage to prevent shifting in rough
seas. “These will do,”
she said. Drawing her knife she
cut through a few of the cords and released several of the
barrels. As she had hoped they
were filled with water or some other
fluid. It mattered not, she
wasn’t after the contents.
“Knock out the bungs,” she ordered,
beginning to work on the first barrel
herself. Her companions, guessing
what she was up to followed suit.
In a short time they had a number of barrels
ready. Tipping them over they
drained the contents onto the floor of the
hold. By this time Vayasha had
returned from her errand. With
her help the women muscled the empty casks up the
gangway. Melissa uncoiled a length
of rope stowed on the deck.
The crack of the mainmast as it broke, told
Melissa that her precautions had not been an
overreaction. “Get the
maidservants up on deck,” she said to
Vayasha. “Make sure that
they are appropriately dressed.”
She watched the frantic sailors struggling with the broken
mast. The ship heeled over broadside
to the waves.
“Come on,” Melissa
said. “See if we can find
some way to get some rope around the barrels so that it won’t come
loose. I don’t think the
ship is going to last much longer.”
The girls hurried to do as Melissa
ordered. It was extremely difficult
to maintain their footing on the deck.
By now every wave was breaking over the deck and the ship was heeled
over at an alarming angle. Most
of the crew had abandoned their efforts to save the ship and were desperately
trying to launch the two boats. All
except Dragoth. The captain struggled
across the heaving deck to the women.
To Melissa’s surprise the heavyset captain
picked up a length of rope.
“Here, let me help you!” he shouted above the noise of the
storm. With practiced ease he
looped the rope about one of the barrels and tied it so that the rope would
not slip off. Melissa watched
impressed. “I’m a
sailor,” Dragoth yelled.
“Tying knots is one of the things I do
well.”
Without asking why the captain should be so
interested in helping them, Melissa and the others went to work fixing ropes
to barrels in the same way. It
was difficult work and it was touch and go as to whether or not they would
make it. But finally they
finished. Looping a length of
rope from each barrel around the waist of each of the women, they
waited. There was no point in
abandoning the ship until it was certain that there was no other choice,
but there seemed little doubt.
Abandoned by her crew it was only a matter of
time. The ship wallowed deeper
in the waves as its hold filled with
water. There was no point in
waiting further.
“Let’s go,” said
Melissa. She herded the nervous
maids toward the side of the ship.
None of them wanted to jump into the raging sea, but there was no
chance of survival if they stayed aboard the sinking
ship. One by one Melissa and
her companions forced them into the sea and then
followed.
The shock of the water almost took Melissa’s
breath away. Although she was
soaked through before jumping ship, being completely immersed was still a
blow to her system. As she clung
to her barrel she wondered how the rest of her companions were
doing. All she could hope for
was that the waves would push them toward shore and that the crude life
preservers would keep everyone from
drowning.
Noric surveyed his
room. It would
do. It had once been the room
of the princess and was luxuriously
appointed. A fire blazed in the
hearth and a mug of mulled wine was on a table next to his
chair. Outside the rain pounded
against the windowpanes and lighting flared across the
sky. He rubbed his hands and
went to the window. He loved
nights like this. Especially
when he was safe and warm. He
smiled, pitying anyone who might be caught out in such hideous
weather.
He went to the table and removed a cloth from
an object set in its exact centre.
Seating himself, he placed his hands over the small dark
globe. It began to pulse with
a strange light, flickering from luminescent red to green and back
again. Gently he caressed it,
almost as if he were massaging a woman’s breasts; then drawing back
his hands back he curled then on either
side. His dark eyes seemed to
glow and blue tendrils extended from his
fingertips. The stone changed
colour, seemingly absorbing the light from his fingers until it blazed like
a star sapphire. Deep within
the stone images seemed to form, but they changed so quickly that no normal
eye could have followed them.
Noric’s eyes, however, studied them unblinkingly, beads of sweat
bursting forth from his forehead.
For several minutes his luminous orbs burned into the globe until
the top of the table was covered in droplets of
perspiration. Then with a sigh
he collapsed into his chair.
With trembling hands he seized the cup of
wine and drained it at a gulp.
“A woman,” he murmured.
“A woman with hair like
fire.” Picking up a bottle
he refilled his cup and heated the wine with a red hot poker taken from the
fire.
He drank
again. “A noblewoman and
something else,” he muttered talking to
himself. “An
image of a dragon. All mixed
with the signs of the sea and a violent
storm. Only one thing seems definite
and that is that the woman is a danger to Khan’s success, and therefore,
to my ambitions as well. But
the stone reveals nothing else about her, not even a name, just the hair
and the dragon image. I shall
have to watch for her. I have
invested too much of my time and energy into Khan to see him fail
now.”
He covered the now dark stone with the cloth
and sat back. He sipped at his
wine. The images were
vague. He went over them again
in his mind. A red haired
noblewoman. Yes, the stone had
emphasized the concept of nobility.
A dragon. A
storm. Lightning flared outside
the window again. Perhaps it
was this storm. He shook his
head. Sometimes the images sorted
themselves out. Perhaps by morning
they would be more clear.
He gulped down the rest of his
wine. It was time for bed and
he was very tired. The session
with the stone had exhausted him.
He would speak with Khan about his visions
tomorrow. He
smiled. It was Khan’s much
delayed wedding night. He wondered
how he and the princess were getting
along.
Vanora waited, her heart in her
throat. It was almost the appointed
time. Zirhan Khan would come
soon and then he would have his way with
her. And she was helpless to
do anything about it. She had
delayed the event as long as she could, feigning a slow recovery from her
ordeal with Slahn, but eventually Khan had run out of
patience. Tonight was to be her
wedding night and there was nothing more she could do to delay
it.
From her chair by the fire her eyes swept
the room one more time, looking for some avenue of
escape. There was
none. The two female guards were
posted one on either side of the bed and she knew that there were other guards
only seconds away outside the door.
Every precaution had been taken to keep her
from taking her life. The two
large windows overlooking the courtyard were shuttered and nailed shut,
preventing her from throwing herself to her
death. She was closely watched,
both day and night, the two female guards sleeping in shifts and always remaining
close to her. She couldn’t
even snatch a weapon and use it on
herself. Although the
two women were always present they carried no weapons, relying on the fact
that they were both bigger and stronger than she was to prevent her from
doing anything rash.
She was not allowed near anything resembling
a pointed object. Even her so-called
wedding night feast had been nothing more than stew served in a wooden
bowl. It would have been very
difficult to stab herself to death with the wooden spoon she had been given
to eat it. And so she waited,
trying not to show her fear, each palpitation of her heart bringing closer
the moment she feared.
A commotion in the hallway announced Sirhan
Khan’s arrival. The Sea
Warrior chieftain was not capable of doing anything
quietly. “Tonight I finally
claim my bride,” he announced.
Vanora could hear him clearly through the locked
doors. She flushed in shame and
anger.
The heavy key turned in the lock and the new
king of Sandor entered.
“Leave,” he ordered the two
guards. He smiled in triumph
as he crossed the room and stood before
Vanora. He was dressed in a
loose-fitting gray tunic of the finest silk, belted at the waist in black
leather. His pants matched the
belt as did his fine calf-skin boots.
On his head he wore a circlet of gold, the crown of Sandor seized
by dark treachery from her father.
“Tonight, princess, I finally take what
is rightfully mine and secure my claim to the
throne.”
Vanora rose to her
feet. She was dressed in a white
silken nightdress that was shockingly
revealing. At first she had refused
to wear it until she understood that her only other choice was to greet Sirhan
Khan unclothed. It hid very little
of her lithe, strong body. Her
pink nipples could be clearly seen through the sheer fabric and it was cut
so low that most of the rest of her breasts were almost fully on
display. Her hair was no longer
in the fighting braid she had worn when she had first seen her conqueror;
now it was combed out and fell in midnight waves to the middle of her back,
contained only by a small circlet of
silver.
“I would rather die than submit to
you,” Vanora said evenly, controlling her voice and her
emotions. She did not intend
to submit without a fight. If
Khan took her then it would have to be by force.
“You are free to do that, princess, Khan
smiled. “Just so long as
the sheets are stained with your virginal blood as proof of the consummation
of our union.”
They were separated by less than an arm’s
length. Khan towered over
her. Without taking his eyes
off her, he began to unbuckle his belt.
Vanora watched, her blue eyes wide, unable to decide whether to fight
or flee.
Khan’s smile
broadened. “That’s
it princess,” he said, mistaking her indecision for
compliance. “It will be
so much easier if you cooperate.”
He tossed his belt on the floor and began
to undo the ties on his shirt.
Vanora stepped forward and brought her knee up into his
groin.
Or at least she attempted
to. Khan stepped back and reaching
out caught her leg just under the knee.
Off balance, Vanora was toppled onto the bed, the powerful Sea Warrior
chieftain on top of her, using his weight to pin her to the
bed.
Vanora made no sound other than a startled
grunt as Khan grabbed her wrists, and then holding them in one hand, proceeded
to undress her.
There wasn’t much to
undress. It took him only one
powerful tug to rip the flimsy nightdress from her writhing
body.
“No!” The cry burst involuntarily from
Vanora’s lips. She was instantly
ashamed at having shown such weakness.
Desperately she tried to break Khan’s grip on her wrists, but
he forced her arms over her head and using his weight pinned her to the
bed. Then he finished undressing,
ignoring her futile attempts to break free and admiring the way her supple
breasts bounced as she fought to escape.
Vanora twisted her body in a frenzied attempt
to break free. She couldn’t
allow herself to be taken so easily.
She was like a doll in the hands of the powerful man who held
her. Slowly she watched as Khan
divested himself of his clothing.
She almost broke his hold as he shifted his weight to remove his trousers,
but his grip on her wrists was so strong that he quickly reasserted his
control.
She gasped as she saw his
manhood. The huge member seemed
much more menacing than the first time she had seen it when he raped her
mother. The thought of what it
would do to her spurred her on to greater
efforts.
Khan laughed, enjoying the gyrations of the
princess. Rape and brutality
excited him much more than making love and the efforts of the princess to
preserve her virtue had his already impressive member throbbing like a
drum. She was incredibly beautiful,
even more so than her mother. Her
youth and virginity added to his desire.
Spreading her legs he shifted his weight and prepared to enter
her.
Vanora fought frantically as Khan spread
her. Droplets of perspiration
flew from her straining body as she contorted her
body.
“NO!” she
cried again as his hand closed over her left breast, clamping it like a
vise. Khan’s phallus parted
the lips of her vulva. With a
sob she arched her back, whimpering in
terror. Then she
screamed.
“Aaaahh!
Aaaahhh!”
Vanora’s screams
could be clearly heard in the hallway outside the
bedroom. Khan’s guards exchanged
knowing grins.
Inside the room, Vanora wept as Khan penetrated
her, rupturing her hymen in one swift
thrust. Then he slowly pumped
in and out of her, enjoying his conquest to the full while she sobbed
helplessly. The rape continued
for another half hour before Khan spurted his seed into her womb.
Vanora had given up her struggle
and lay quietly while he finished her off and withdrew, panting in
triumph. Then he climbed off
the bed and ignoring the exhausted girl, stripped off the sheet now marked
with her virgin blood.
Pulling on his pants and boots, Khan strode
bare-chested to the door. Throwing
it open he entered the hallway and stalked through the palace to the great
hall. Standing in front of the
throne and a number of assembled dignitaries he had ordered to be present,
he flicked out the bloodstained sheet.
“Witness the culmination of my
triumph,” he roared. “I
have conquered Sandor and taken its princess as my
bride. With the union of her
body with mine I have made the kingdom truly mine.”
The assembled Sea Warriors
cheered. In her bedroom princess
Vanora lay on her bloodstained bed and wept.
“Murdered?”
The Supreme Brother rose from his
throne. The sea barbarian goes
too far. To murder a priest of
the Divine Goddess is something that cannot be
tolerated.”
“I agree Excellency,” Brother Almornos
said, “but right now Zirhan Khan is too
strong. To oppose him openly
would lead to his troops being sent to sack the
temple. We must move carefully
in our opposition.”
“It is not Zirhan Khan’s horde that
is the chief threat. It is the
power behind the throne. The
wizard, Noric, must be eliminated if we are to have any chance of destroying
his underling.”
Brother Almornos
nodded. The wizard was indeed
the problem. No one in the
brotherhood had the power to match him.
And if left alone he would grow
stronger. Even now he might be
recruiting followers to his service.
He must be dealt with. The
question was, how?
“Find a weakness and exploit it,”
the Supreme Brother said, as if reading Brother Almornos’
thoughts. “He must have
one. Even the most powerful and
evil of creatures has some chink in its armour that can be
exploited.”
“I shall endeavour to find one,
Excellency. Sooner or later Noric
will overstep himself and then we will have
him. In the meantime we must
hope that he does not find a way to crush us before we are
prepared.”
Noric
smiled. “You have five of
them?”
“Yes, Lord Noric,” the Sea Warrior
captain replied. Noric remembered
that his name was Vadan.
“And none of them have been
touched?”
Vadan
nodded. “They were hiding
in the lower levels of the palace.
In the kitchens. We ferreted
them out, but I did as you ordered.
My men did not make use of them.”
“Then bring them
in.” He sat back in the
elaborately carved oak chair and lifted his wine glass to his
lips.”
Vadan returned driving five young women before
him. He was accompanied by five
other Sea Warriors. The oldest
girl Noric guessed at being in her early twenties; the youngest perhaps
seventeen. Their clothes were
torn and dirty and their hair uncombed.
Two of them sported large bruises on their faces and Noric guessed
that their bodies might be bruised as
well. All of them seemed completely
terrified and two of them wept.
“How came they by these marks?”
Noric asked idly. “I gave
orders that any maidens were not to be harmed.”
My
Lord…” The man
hesitated. Fear flickered across
his face. “They resisted when we found
them. We had to use some force
to get them here.”
“I am not pleased,” Noric said,
coldly. He raised his hand and
a bolt of bright blue light flashed from his palm to Vadan’s
chest. A stench of burning flesh
filled the air and the captain dropped to the floor in a smoldering
heap. The girls screamed in horror
and the other guards backed away.
“Hold,” Noric
ordered. “I gave no one
permission to leave.” He
got to his feet and gestured toward Vadan’s
body. “Remove this
rubbish.” Then he got to
his feet and moved two steps closer to the quavering young
women.
“Your name?” Noric asked the oldest
girl.
The girl dropped to her knees, her tangled
dark hair fell across her torn bodice, hiding her full
breasts. “Doria, if it please,
my lord,” the girl quavered.
“It does please me,” Noric replied,
softening his voice. “And
have you preserved your
maidenhead?”
The girl’s pale countenance darkened
in a blush. “Please, my
lord, yes.”
“It does please me,” replied Noric
slowly. He extended his
hand. “Rise
Doria.” He helped the girl
to her feet and went to the next girl, repeating his question, eventually
interviewing each of them in turn.
As he finished he nodded his
approval.
“Take them to the royal suites and see
that they are given the opportunity to bathe and properly attire
themselves,” he said to the remaining
guards. “And see that no
harm comes to them.”
The guards saluted and quickly headed for
the door, taking the girls with them.
“Oh,” Noric called after
them. “Just one more
thing. Have Lady Doria attend
me this evening.”
Doria stood between the two Sea Warriors who
had escorted her to Noric’s suite of
rooms. She tried without success
to control her trembling. All
afternoon and the early evening she had struggled to control her
fear. Several times she had broken
down in tears, streaking the makeup that was used to highlight her high
cheekbones and full lips. Now
she waited for the wizard’s guards to admit
her. What he wanted of her she
could only guess, but her instincts had her quaking in
fear.
The door opened and she was ushered into the
same room where she had been interviewed by the magician earlier in the
day. It was deserted except for
two other guards who stood before a door on the far side of the room and
an older women who she recognized as one of the palace
chambermaids. Princess Vanora
had sent all the servants away when the city fell, but obviously not all
of them had managed to escape.
The woman approached and pulled out a
chair. Doria perched on the edge
of the seat uneasily while the woman poured wine for her from a cut glass
decanter. “Lord Noric said
for you to make yourself comfortable, Lady
Doria. He will be with you soon,
but regrets that he has some unfinished business to attend to
first.”
Doria nodded dumbly and sipped at her
wine. It was a very good vintage,
but she hardly tasted it. Instead
she focused on trying to stop her hand from
trembling.
Time
passed. Doria was not sure how
long, but the water clock set in an alcove across the room chimed twice,
so it was at least an hour. She
drank her glass of wine and then another, and was on her third when the door
guarded by the two Sea Warriors opened.
Noric strode into the
room. He was dressed in a black
robe rimmed with gold that extended to his ankles and swished about his legs
as he walked. Its high, stiff
collar made him seem even taller than he
was. “Ah, Lady Doria,”
Noric said. “So good of
you to wait. Please come into
my private chambers.” He
nodded to the guards. “That
will be all. Wait in the anteroom
and make sure no one enters.”
The two men saluted and left the room leaving
Doria and Noric alone. “Do
not be afraid, Lady Doria,” Noric said
reassuringly. “What I have
to offer you tonight will raise you above the level of any woman in
Sandor.”
“My lord, I…” Doria
began. Noric’s words somehow
soothed her, or perhaps it was the influence of the wine, but she no longer
felt so afraid.
“Come my child,” he interrupted,
taking her hand.
Doria rose and allowed him to guide her into
the next room. A hollow feeling
filled her stomach when she saw that it was Noric’s
bedroom. “My lord,”
she said again, stiffening and trying to hold back, but behind her the door
closed with a sharp click, seemingly of its own
accord. She knew without trying
it that it was locked. There
was no way out of the room unless Noric let her out.
“You are trembling,”
Noric said.
“There is no need for that.
After tonight you will need fear no
one.” He smiled disarmingly
and reached for the fastening of the
robe. With a flick of his long
fingers he released the ties. The
robe fell from his shoulders. Doria
screamed and ran for the door.
Ripping at the wood with her fingers she tore off two of her
fingernails. Behind her Noric
laughed, mockingly. Doria turned
to face him. This time her screams
could be heard even in the anteroom where the guards
waited. The two men looked at
one another, but they did not smile; instead both turned pale and
shuddered. They had heard the
screams of terrified women before, but never like
that. The silence following the
horrific shriek was unnerving. One
of the guards knelt. “May
the gods have mercy on her.”
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