Wraithblood: The Elixir, Episode 15a
You snatch one of the acid vials from your pocket, break the seal, and dump it upon the daevagoth’s leathery, hairy hide. At once the acid sizzles, and the daevagoth springs backwards off Khaenset with a scream, blue-glowing eyes wide. The spider-creature swivels to face you, face contorted with rage, smoke rising from her hide.
“Did the Master buy you, too?” hisses the daevagoth. “Did you replace me in his bed? I’ll…”
The creature’s diatribe comes to an end when Nasser’s scimitar comes down in a steely arc and severs her head. Black blood jets across the stone floor, and the head rolls away. Silver light engulfs the carcass, and when it clears, the naked body of a young woman lies upon the floor.
Nasser lets out a long sigh and cleans off his blade.
“What the devil was that thing?” says Azaces.
“Formerly, one of Callatas’s slaves,” says Nasser. “Should one of his slaves displease him in any way, Callatas will…transmute them. The lucky ones, he only transmutes into statues. The less lucky ones…” He gestures at the dead woman. “The College of Alchemists does not count kindly men among its ranks.”
“And it killed Khaenset,” you say, turning towards the corpse.
Only to find that Khaenset is standing, the ghastly wounds in his neck shrinking. Blood soaks his collar, and yet his face shows neither pain nor pleasure, only the usual blankness.
“That is highly improbable,” you say.
“The Alghol,” says Azaces, “are hard to kill.”
For a moment something almost like an expression comes across Khaenset’s face. “You cannot kill that which has already died to the world.”
“Come,” says Nasser, “time is limited. We must move.”
###
Nasser leads you through the gleaming marble corridors of Callatas’s mansion, and you pass a dozen slaves in orange kilts or shifts, lying sprawling unconscious upon the floor. Evidently Riordan and Tarquin succeeded in drugging the wine.
A few moments later your reach the mansion’s great hall.
It is a huge space, three stories high, built of gleaming red marble. Hundreds of niches line the walls, holding statues of crystal and marble and granite. And every last one of the statues wears an expression of horror or fear, some of them on their knees, others of them with their hands outreached in supplication.
Callatas’s enemies, you realize. Men and women and children he turned to statues of crystal and stone…save for those he transformed into daevagoths.
Riordan and Tarquin wait near one of the statues. Riordan seems calm as ever, but sweat pours down Tarquin’s face, so much that his orange slave’s robe is stained with darker patches. You wonder if he is about to snap from the terror.
“There you are!” says Tarquin. “What took so long? We’ve been waiting for hours!”
“It was six minutes,” says Riordan.
“Did the drug work?” says Nasser.
“Aye,” says Tarquin. “I slipped into the the wine. All the slaves and guards drank it as soon as the Master departed, and slipped into stupor. No one else is left awake in the mansion…”
No sooner do the words leave Tarquin’s lips then you hear the sound of boot heels ringing against the marble floor. Someone is approaching a pair of double doors on the far side of the great hall.
“What is this, eunuch?” says Azaces, lifting his bow. “You said you drugged all of Callatas’s slaves!”
“I did!” says Tarquin. “All of them! I don’t know who else is here!”
“You’re planning to betray us,” says Azaces, “and…”
“Silence,” says Nasser, his eyes narrowing as he begins to come to a decision.
And by “hide” I mean “hide in a position that gives tactical advantage should we have to attack.”