Around her, four unadorned stone
walls loomed up to a ceiling that was too high to make out. There were no windows,
and the darkness threw a thick, foggy blanket over everything. Painstakingly,
she rose to her feet and began to grope around for some sort of door. She found
it in the middle of the third wall. From the feel of it, the door seemed to be made
entirely out of iron or some other heavy metal. There was no knob or handle to
speak of.
Kristin finished her inspection and
sat down in the middle of her room, unsuccessfully trying to process just
what exactly had happened to her.
Clara was dead.
That was all she could think about. The little bright-eyed child, whom Kristin
had spent many nights holding and many days scolding, was gone. The pain in her
heart grew until she could not contain it and it ripped out of her in a great,
soul-piercing wail.
She couldn't remember when she quit screaming.
She lay in a heap on the floor sobbing, with tears streaming down her nose, off
her chin and onto the floor. Her weeping was rudely and quickly cut off by the
large iron door banging suddenly open. The man with the scar and half a score
of guards strode into the room.
“I wish to
politely enquire as to how you are enjoying your lodgings, and humbly request
your presence in the throne room,” jeered scar-face with a malicious smile and
a low, sweeping bow. He smiled all the more when two of the guards lifted her
off the floor by her arms and he could see her messy, tear-streaked face. They carried
her out the door of her room and into a bleak, sparse hallway, lined with other
iron doors similar to hers. These doors had one very noticeable difference,
though. Some were much, much bigger, as if they housed monsters or
giants behind them, and some were much, much smaller, as if to imprison fairies
or gnomes.
“What,” Kristin thought
to herself, “Could they possibly be keeping here?” They turned left and continued
to the end of the hall, where there was yet another iron door. This one opened
to stairs behind it. Up, up, up they went, never stopping, never talking, with
Kristin sagging in their grip. After
what seemed an age, they reached the top of the stairs, opened the (iron) door
leading out, and marched into the most opulent room Kristin had ever seen in
her life.
The room was a
perfect circle. Everywhere, there was gold and diamonds, marble and velvet, any
and every type of extravagance that could possibly be imagined. The floor had
great pillars rising up to a domed roof. In the center rose a tall platform,
with an imposing throne rising over that. All of it, the floor, pillars, roof,
platform, and throne, was one gargantuan carved slab of black marble. Kristin
stared in awe. The pillars were draped with blood-red velvet and gold tassels. Diamond
chandeliers, lit with a strange inner blue light, hung from the ceiling by a
gold rope ten feet in front of every pillar. The throne was carved with strange
runes and draped with a gold-fringed velvet sheet. Above the throne, a bright,
sun-like sphere hung, seeming to float on its own.
The door they had
come through was on the far left of the throne. The guards hauled her around to
the front, dropped her on her knees and forced her forehead down onto the cold,
unyielding floor. Two of them stood at her sides and the rest lined up in two
ranks of four behind her, at attention. Scar-face knelt on one knee before the
throne.
There they stood.
Nothing happened. Time passed slowly, it seemed to Kristin, whose knees and
forehead were beginning to hurt. Why were they kneeling in front of an empty
throne? Her question was soon answered. A feminine voice, as dark, unyielding,
and cold as the marble on which Kristin was kneeling, cut through the silence.
“Rise, Lucifer, and
tell me what you have taken from the far desert foothills.”
Scar-face rose
and, in a voice with a subtle mixture of pride, awe, and envy, gave his report.
“Fifteen small farms, twenty head of cattle, thirty pounds of potatoes,
assorted farming and cooking tools, sixteen pounds of strawberries, ten horses,
seven pigs, and one very old mule.”
“Hardly anything,”
the voice remarked sharply. “Unless you wish to be promoted to the honorable
position of head swineherd, or perhaps spend a day or three in the courtyard as
entertainment for my soldiers, I suggest you work very, very, VERY hard at
boosting your numbers.”
Kristin tilted
her head, almost imperceptibly, and caught a glimpse of the being behind the
voice. It was a woman, beautiful in face and form, with long, blond, curling
hair, unnaturally long eyelashes, and blood-red lips. She was dressed in a gown
of black silk rimmed with silver lace, and lounged on the throne as if born in
it.
“Yes, Milady, of
course, Milady,” Scar-face groveled. “Milady, I have also retained this young
girl to serve you.”
The voice gave a
harsh, eerily beautiful laugh. “What do I need this pathetic creature for? You
have seriously botched your assignment this time, Lucifer. Getting me nothing I
need and everything I don’t. Perhaps I shall move you residency to the
courtyard for a few days, simply to remind you who’s in charge.”
The tremor of
fear in Scar-face’s voice was audible. “M-mi- milady, I-I thogh-thought that
sh-she…”
“You thought? You
are not here to think. You are here to execute my will. Thinking is reserved
only for the intelligent, and you, Lucifer, are most certainly not intelligent.
As of right now you are demoted to the rank of soldier, until perhaps you can
learn to follow orders and not think so much. You will be taken out into the
courtyard, tied to the post and whipped until unconscious at noon every day for
the next three days. Remove him.”
Two soldiers
stepped out of the ranks and grabbed a stunned Lucifer. He was
marched out of the room through a large golden door behind them.
“Now,” said the
voice, this time silky smooth, “Finabard, step forward.” One of the soldiers in
the front rank stepped out in front of the throne. “You are replacing Lucifer. You
may take up residency in the upper floor of the barracks.”
“Yes, Milady,” he
answered, in an impressively impassive voice.
“Very good,” she
remarked. “Your first assignment is to find something to do with this girl. If you
can find no use for her, you may kill her.”
“Yes, Milady.”
“Oh, and
Finabard, when you have finished with that, come up to my chamber, I wish to
talk with you.” The coy sweetness was practically dripping from her words. It
made Kristin want to throw up.
“Yes, Milady.”
