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wary of its snapping teeth. Our mounts were led away to stable. No one asked Joscelin to surrender his weapons. The soldiers made jests under their breath, eyeing us with unpleasant interest. One rapped at the massive doors with the butt of his dagger, giving a password at the grate.
On the far side, a bar was drawn, a bolt thrown. The doors creaked open onto the darkness within.
“Come,” said the Skotophagotis and strode inside.
I stood where I was, utterly paralyzed with fear. With a spat curse, Joscelin grabbed my wrist in a painful grip, dragging me after him as he followed the priest. It was dark inside the palace and my veil obscured my vision. I stumbled, tripping over the hem of my gown as I sought to keep up with Joscelin’s long strides, filled with a terror so vast it seemed to stop my very mouth. At the rear, Tizrav hurried to keep up with us.
It was cold in Daršanga palace, cold and dark. At the time, I thought it was poorly built, or mayhap the city lacked for fuel. Now I know better. It was at the Mahrkagir’s order, despising as he did light and fire. The torches in the wall-sconces were unlit, save every third or fourth one, shedding a guttering light. The walls themselves were bare, and no carpet adorned the floor. I saw dark stains in the cracks between the flagstones, and shuddered.
It is said that La Dolorosa, the fortress on the black isle of La Serenissima, is one of the most foreboding places on earth. Well, and I should know, having been a prisoner there. This was worse. La Dolorosa, for all its ills, is steeped in grief and madness. Folly was committed, terrible horrors, but it was the eternal mourning of Asherat-of-the-Sea that drove men to madness. Mortals are not made to bear the grief of gods.
The palace of Daršanga stank of deliberate human cruelty.
And it had invoked something worse.
I felt it on my skin, a crawling darkness, filling my mouth with the taste of foulness. I had not reckoned, before this, what it would be like to enter the stronghold of Angra Mainyu, enemy of life, Lord of Darkness. D’Angeline though I am, I have stood in the presence of other gods and known no such terror. Respect, yes; and fear. Never had I felt myself so utterly despised . It was ... it was like nothing I can describe.
There are a thousand gods in the world; angry gods, vengeful gods, jealous gods. There are gods who delight in cruelty and mischief, gods who demand tribute in blood, gods who punish the weak and reward the tyrannical. Gods, yes; and goddesses, too. I know this to be true. There are gods who devour their young, gods whose followers sing as they slaughter, gods who raise the seas and shake the earth in their wrath, heedless of the count of mortal lives.
This presence was different.
It was all of these things at once; wrath, retribution, jealousy and hunger-Elua, the hunger ! Demanding, unthinking, a bloodlust that could never be slaked, no, not if it devoured a thousand lives, a hundred thousand, for the fulfillment lay in the destroying and not the consuming. If the world itself lay desolate and barren, still it would howl for more, its maw agape, yearning and ravening. It was destruction, pure and simple, almost beautiful in its absoluteness.
And if it had been mindless, it would have been terrifying enough ... but it was not. It was a presence that thought, cunning and aware.
“Angra Mainyu,” I whispered.
“Ah.” The Skotophagotis halted outside the doors to the great hall of the palace and looked at me with eyes slitted with thoughtful pleasure. “The lady senses his presence. Come, then, and meet his greatest servant, who shall become your Master.”
We entered the hall.
It was dark, of course, and draughty. A sullen fire burned in the hearth at the near end and a few hanging lamps made pools of light in the air. The hall was vast, and mostly empty. A carved frieze ran the length of the walls depicting a tribute procession, but the faces were chipped and smashed. There were holes and blank spaces on the walls and furnishings where gilt trim had been stripped away.
A dais and throne stood at the far end of the hall, but no one was seated on it. Guards idled nearby, and a handful of men stood conversing. One was clad all in furs; the others wore long brocade coats over trousers and tunics. They fell silent as the Skotophagotis entered, and the guards straightened to attention, a giant of a man among them, with a chest like a bull, towering over the
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