Chapter 24 TAAR #3
Before she can answer, we are pushed from the narrow passage out into the great domed Moon Chamber at the center of the temple.
The last time I was here, Nyathri was bound to the altar, and Ilsevel, in a moment of wild impulse so characteristic to her spirit, cut her loose and set her free, hearttorn though she was.
It was a manic day which led to a series of increasingly manic events.
A wry smile pulls at the corner of my mouth; such has my life been since the moment I set eyes on my bride.
My eyes naturally seek Onor Gantarith, standing in his usual place by the altar.
With a jolt, I remember that he is gone.
Murdered—and by the very man who stands now in his place, adorned in the zhor wolf cloak of his father, his face painted in the traditional manner of a tribal leader, a black band across his eyes and another from forehead to chin.
He looks grim and solemn and more like Markildor than I have ever before seen.
“Kildorath,” I growl, as I’m pushed to my knees before him. “What am I to be? A sacrifice to Nornala to ensure your long and illustrious reign?”
He looks down at me without answering. The length of his silence disturbs me more than words. My heart begins to beat faster and faster, and despite my determination to face whatever is coming with stoic courage, I tremble to my core.
But I am not prepared for what appears suddenly behind Kildorath.
What lurches into the light on the far side of the chamber.
Her body is given way to greater rot than when last I saw her, her features crumbling to the ravages of slow decay.
She still wears the garb of a Licornyn rider, though it hangs off her emaciated body like a ragged shroud.
Her eyes are filmed over with death, and yet the spark of her spirit shines out from inside them, fixed on me with a fury and delight that turns my blood to water.
“Well met, Taar,” she says, shambling across the chamber.
Behind me I hear Tassa nearly choke on a curse. But I force my own voice to remain level when I answer: “Shanaera.”
She grins, her lips twisting back to reveal blackened gums. “Why are you surprised, beloved? Didn’t you expect to see me again? You must have known I would not abandon you forever.”
I tear my gaze from the ghastly visage of the woman I once loved and look up at silent Kildorath once more. “You lied to me.” I spit at his feet. “You’ve been in league with her all this while.”
Kildorath’s jaw tenses. “Shanaera,” he says slowly, as though uncertain of his words, “is a true friend of old Licorna. I believe in her plan to overthrow the Miphates and take back our world for our people.”
“You are a fool if you believe a word that falls from her cursed mouth.”
He bares his teeth and bends his head toward me, drawing his face close to my own.
“Don’t talk about my sister that way!” he snarls.
“You never loved her. You never understood her. You killed her, cut her down like a dog, when all she ever did was give heart, body, and soul to the service of Licorna. Yes, she was willing even to be damned if it would make the least difference against those shakhing Miphates. But what did that matter to you? You drove your sword through her gut, held her body as she died, and left her behind.” Spittle flies in my face, so furious are his words.
“Not like that little human bride of yours, oh no! Her you run after, and to hells with the rest of us. But my sister . . . my own sister . . .”
Shanaera’s hand grips his shoulder, rotten fingers pulling him firmly back. “Tut, Kildorath, you needn’t take on so for my sake. Every relationship has its ups and downs. So Taar had a little plaything . . . what of it? Can’t very well blame the man. He has his needs, and I was dead, after all.”
Every word that drips from her tongue is poison. I shudder but refuse to flinch. “You are dead, Shanaera. Dead and damned.”
“Yes, well, in a way we all are. Unless those Miphates are ousted from their citadel, every man, woman, and child of this world is little more than a walking corpse, just waiting to be swallowed up by hell itself. They simply don’t know it yet.”
I start to rise, fury surging in my muscles. The whisper of the virulium in my veins is louder than I like. Multiple restraining hands grab hold of me, even as Kildorath backs away, his arms extended as though to shield his sister. But Shanaera only laughs.
“You know what’s coming, Taar,” she says. Stepping out from behind Kildorath, she approaches me, cups my cheek with her festering hand. Her smile grows, and a cloud of putrid breath fills up my nostrils with such a stench, I nearly double over.
She’s right: I do know what’s coming. I see it in her dead eyes. And I am powerless to stop it.
“Give me to drink, Taarthalor,” whispers the voice in my head.
Shanaera tilts her head as though listening.
“Ah!” Her hand slips from my face to rest against my wildly beating heart.
“I knew you would do it. Once that little human pet of yours was gone, I knew you would turn back to the virulium. Did it give you ease, beloved? Did you find some satiation in the rending of flesh and the breaking of bones? Kildorath, good brother that he is, made every effort he could to get rid of the girl, but it was difficult with both you and your watchdogs hounding her every step. Halamar may be a useless hearttorn, but he’s a stubborn beast. And that brute, Sylcatha!
Who would have thought she’d take such a liking to a human? ”
She takes a step back from me, shaking her head, her gray eyes burning with pleasure.
“It would have been a blow to the Miphates indeed, had the hobgoblins succeeded in tearing her apart. As it is, I suppose it’s just as well she lives.
Much as I would like to put an end to her, she may prove useful sooner or later.
” She grins again then, her teeth flashing too bright, too hungry.
“In the meanwhile, we have unfinished business.”
“Bind him to the altar,” Kildorath commands sharply.
I utter a roar and throw myself against the powerful grips holding me.
There are too many of them. Tassa screams, and I believe she puts up a fight as well, but is swiftly driven to her knees, pinned roughly in place.
I, meanwhile, am thrown across the altar slab.
Black chaeora cords secure my limbs, constrict my chest, my waist, my legs, my throat.
I strain and struggle, to no avail. Shanaera stands over me, smiling.
She reaches inside her tattered garment and pulls forth a black vial. Virulium.
“No!” I scream, my whole body writhing, even as the voice in my blood cries out, “Yes! Yes, yes! Give me to drink!”
“Shanaera!” Tassa cries out, tears clogging her throat. “Let him go! For the love of all the gods, don’t do this!”
“The gods?” Shanaera turns to my sister for the first time.
“What have the gods ever done for me? Abandoned me in my hour of need, left my broken corpse to the clutches of enemies, to do with as they willed. But they learned a thing or two. They may not be able to bring back their own dead, but a virulium-laced ibrildian corpse . . . well now! That is far more to their liking.”
She turns her gaze back to me. I’m shuddering, sweating.
The raw heat of fury clashes with the cold of pure terror in my bones.
Shanaera touches my forehead, a tender caress.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to make your death hurt, of course—but you’ll be so wild with virulium madness, you’ll hardly notice. ”
Then she grabs my jaw and forces the contents of her vial down my throat.
Darkness roars up from inside me, from the deepest places of my being. The voice in my head becomes a tempest of furious power, screaming for violence, opening me up from the inside like a hungry, gaping maw. “Give me to drink! Pour out blood unto me!”
I yank at my bonds. The chaeora strains, and fibers begin to break. Shanaera takes a step back, surprised at the ferocity of my reaction.
“Taar!” Tassa screams, her voice nearly inaudible compared to this storm in my head. “Remember! Remember who you are! Don’t give in! Taar!”
Shanaera throws back her head and laughs. “It’s too late. He’s given over to it now.”
Some last vestiges of sanity scramble for a hold in my mind, but I feel it giving way. I sink down, down, into a ravening hell. Black bile pours over my chin, spatters on the altar stone beneath me, and my body convulses wildly.
“Good,” Shanaera purrs. “Now, because I can’t have you causing me any trouble on the journey back . . .”
I see the flash of a knife. It means nothing to me. I snap my jaws, eager to catch her by her rotten throat, to rip her head from her shoulders. But I cannot reach her, and she draws in close and looks me straight in the eyes. “I’ll see you again soon, beloved.”
Then she rams her knife up under my ribs, straight into my black-pulsing heart. The last thing I hear is Tassa, screaming my name.