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Verrick
The human man who holds Pellia laughs, his hands digging into her sides like claws. “I knew you were perfect! Heartless and bloodthirsty, my exact equal.”
Pellia titters, but I can tell it is an act. Each time the man touches her pheromones spike, causing the smell of revulsion to roll off of her in waves. But she sits on him with practiced ease, leaning into his grip. Without the nose of an orc, it would be impossible to tell what she is truly thinking. She says, “I want to punish him for every time I was forced to endure his touch. To take my own vengeance against the orcs. For me and for Yorian. Please, Antony, let me be the one to do it.”
Her eyes slide over to me, and I can smell her guilt over her words. I wish she wouldn’t feel so conflicted. I don’t care what she says, as long as she masks her true feelings and survives. She has forgotten that I can smell her every emotion since she obviously has not had herorikiritea this morning. Everything she is thinking is clear in her scent. She is playing a dangerous game. I can tell that she is trying to put together some sort of plan, though I can’t tell what she truly wants. But she is manipulating the human lord for some end. Nervousness spikes in her scent, though her smile never slips. Her hands come up and stroke the male’s chest, a teasing caress I have experienced, but it never looked so rehearsed. The human doesn’t seem tonotice, though.
His hands come up and take hers, replying, “While I would love to see you with blood on your hands, unfortunately, the ritual requires me to drain him myself. It is how the ritual ends, binding Lord Grazrath’s strength into my body permanently. I must drink from him like a vampire, take the power of my enemy inside myself.”
“Then let me help,” insists Pellia. She strokes his face and places a lingering kiss on his lips. “I will hold the blade that you will use and give it to you when the time comes.”
Antony gives her a considering look, and for a moment, everything seems to freeze. The last light of the setting sun pierces into the room, illuminating the throne where he sits with Pellia. Has he realized that she is trying to use him? Has she overplayed her hand? Will they hurt her? My sluggish limbs tense in their cursed bonds and, for a second, I feel like strength is returning to me, as if I could burst out of my confines to protect my love if need be. Then the man laughs and gives Pellia another kiss. Another wave of disgust rolls off of her and then he says, “Alright, Pells. So be it. I never could really say no to you—besides, our Cabal owes you for your sacrifice of having to take this creature to bed. You will stand beside me as we complete the ritual and hold the knife. An honor, to be sure.”
“Oh, thank you Antony,” she smiles, and then pulls herself off of his lap. “You said the ritual had to take place at sunset? Shall we begin?”
The human male laughs again, sounding manic. “So impatient, Pells. But you are right. Sting!”
The skull-masked human next to me starts. “Yes, sire?”
“Bring me the sacrificial knife. Pellia will be my assistant for the ritual.”
Sting tenses next to me, smelling affronted. I wonder if he was meant to have the honor of assisting Antony before Pellia intervened. But aloud he says, “Of course, sire. Here it is.”
He pulls out a wicked-looking blade with a gold hilt and a long, jagged edge. It smells of dark magic and death and hasobviously been used many times before. Sting carries the blade over to Pellia, who takes it with gravity. She shares a cruel smile with Antony and looks at me with cruel intent on her features, even as worry spikes in her scent. What is she planning? I want to tell her not to worry about freeing me, but to worry about her own escape, but I know I can’t say anything without giving away her game. Her eyes dart to Antony, who steps forward, standing in the center of the room, at the nexus of all the bloody lines and runes the cover every inch of the chamber’s surfaces. Pellia’s hand grips the knife and I suddenly get the feeling that she is going to attack Antony with the knife. My muscles tense, weak as they are. When she moves, I’ll launch myself forward to create a distraction. Hopefully she times it just right, or she’ll fail and we’ll both be dead.
“Brothers! Sisters!” exclaims the human male, pulling his raven mask back onto his face. “Intone the chant! It is time!”
Dark speech fills the chamber, the hooded figures beginning a chant from around the room. The lines and runes on the walls and floor start to glow with sinister red light. Pellia’s eyes go wide, even as she steps forward, standing next to Antony. The air grows heavy and thick; the room darkening as the last light of the sun dips below the horizon, leaving us in the shadows of night.
Antony lifts his hands up above his head and chants along with his followers. I am no student of cursed languages, but I can tell they speak in the tongue of demons and catch the word “Grazrath” several times. The ritual continues as the hooded figures along the walls lift their hands as well, making an “x” with their arms above their heads. The glowing runes become more intense and Antony in the center of the room rises in the air, the red glow encasing him.
He shouts a triumphant laugh, “It’s working! It’s working, Pells! I can feel the power . . . my soul is opening, receiving the boon of Grazrath!”
“That’s amazing Antony!”
Pellia steps forward, closer to Antony, her grip tighteningon the knife in her hands. She is standing behind him and I can feel her intent. She’s going to stab him before the ritual can proceed further. I try to catch her eye, to communicate that this isn’t the time, that if she spills blood in the middle of such a dark ritual, there could be untold consequences, but I can’t get her attention without pulling the room’s attention to her and her slowly rising blade.
Then a pulse of power rockets through the room, centered on Antony. Pellia is pushed back, almost losing her footing. At that moment, Antony flies up higher in the room, his body pulsing with dark energy. His triumphant laughter chokes off and he suddenly says, “Wait, something . . . something is not right . . . stop! Stop!”
But it appears to be too late, his body bowing backwards at an unnatural angle. He screams, a high-pitched, inhuman sound, then wings, huge and batlike rip out of his back. The chanting stops as the room looks at him in horror, his shrieks rending through the air. His hands reach back and feel the wings, moving with panicked haste as black claws suddenly erupt from his fingers. His new talons rip into his flesh and he twists and writhes in the air, when horns burst from his forehead, twisting up into the air like mountain spires. The dark red power continues to pulse through the room, when his screams suddenly cut off and his body falls through the air. He lands in a heap on the floor, the runes still glowing malevolently.
Sting steps toward him, hesitantly reaching out a hand. “Sire? Are you well?”
Pellia stands behind him, knife still in hand. Her eyes finally find mine and we look at each other. I keep my face unreadable, but I try to tell her with my gaze to run. To leave this place. Whatever is happening is dark, foul magic and we are all in danger. She must see something in my eyes, because she steps back, one step, then two.
Deep, disjointed laughter grows from the heap in the middle of the room. The figure of Antony rises, pulling himself to his feet, showing that he is now at least a foot taller than hewas. Claw-tipped fingers come up and rip the raven mask off of his face, even as the laughter grows, a distorted, inhuman sound.
“At last,” the monstrous figure says, his voice an unnaturally low bass. “At last I am free from the Nether. I am free from my fetid prison and my thirst can finally be slaked!”
He looks up, his skin pulled taut across his bones, pale with black veins showing through. His eyes pierce through the dark, yellow and red with a snake’s thin pupil.
“At last!” he shouts, “Lord Grazrath is free!”
Chapter 24
Pellia
Lord Grazrath, in Antony’s body, laughs, a horrible aberrant sound. “Well? Bow to your lord, Cabal of Grazrath. For I have returned! Show how glad you are to serve me!”
