“See to it that she is cleaned up before you arrive.Hehas been impatiently waiting for days now. What took you so long?” the Adviser demands. It sounds as if his voice is coming from the direction of the water. I try to sit back up to look but the searing pain in my shoulder keeps me hunched over.
“There was a slight hiccup… Uh this is the target’s sister,” Garr speaks up, bowing his head at their blunder.
“He will not be pleased! Report directly to his study when you arrive. I will let you explain yourself then,” Nerius barks at the vargs. I hear a splash and the vargs start muttering to themselves.
“Well you heard him, get her cleaned up and let’s get a move on fellas!” Garr orders the others and I am scooped up in one of their arms and tossed into the water.
The shock of cold takes over my body’s movements for a moment and I can feel myself sinking to the bottom, when a big hand shoots down and grasps me by the arms and pulls me back up.
“There, that ought to do it,” the varg who is now standing in the water with me calls back to shore. Garr gives him a quick nod before I am tossed over this one’s shoulder and hauled out of the water. The pain in my stomach is intensified from the slight break it had from being repeatedly bumped on a bony shoulder and I can feel my fresh wound burn as it starts to slowly stitch itself back together.
I had never been aware of the healing of my body before but perhaps the feeling only comes when the wound is this large. It feels as though thousands of tiny hands are stabbing miniature sewing needles into the rough edges of my flesh and pulling them back together. The dark sack is pulled over my head once again and all goes hazy. I am left with only the various pains along my body and the grunts and stench of the vargs to tell me I am still alive.
We carry on for a few hours and I now know that the purple-grey sky from before was indeed dawn because I can feel the searing midday sun on my back, drying my soggy clothes, turning me into a ball of steam. I am suffocating in this sack as each inhale is full of condensation.
“Please, I can’t breathe. I have no idea where we are and won’t run away, please remove the hood!” I beg, the varg carrying me grunts as he pulls the sack off my head. We left the shade of the forest behind a while ago and the blaring sun makes my eyes water. From this distance I can see that the vargs must have hiked down a mountain similar to the Easthelm Mountain when I was unconscious.
This is all so familiar… are the two realms mirror images of each other? I couldn’t tell we were at such an altitude when we were in Inverdell, it was so warm. Similar to Granny Mog’s glen I suppose…
I am trying to decipher the layout of this realm as we all come to a halt and I am set down on my feet. The feeling of standing upright after being airborne for so long has my feet feeling like there are a thousand needles sticking in them and I sway forward, losing my balance.
The varg that was carrying me grabs my arms and his big claws dig in almost to the point of breaking skin and I wince at the pain in my left shoulder.
“Release her hands and feet. We are close enough now and we don’t want the Master to think wemistreatedthe girl,” Garr chuckles, signalling the varg who is holding me to untie my bonds.
“You eventhinkabout running and I’ll whack you across the head again,” he bares his teeth.
I rub my chafed wrists and give my feet a little shake when they are finally free and turn around to see an expansive estate sprawling before us. The soft rolling hills level out to a small lake with swans and geese floating on top and fluffy bulrushes swaying in the breeze. A herd of majestic horses similar to Durga, except black, roam freely, grazing on the waving grasses. Past the lake there is a gravel road lined with big oak trees thatlean over the path like lovers reaching for an embrace, leading up to a massive red-brick house.
The house itself is stunning, with dark wood trimmings around the windows and two pointed towers on either side. I can see some smaller buildings to the left of the house, slightly removed, which I guess are stables or housing for servants. I have only ever seen such places in period piece movies with frustratingly slow-burn love stories. Delia loves watching them. I know that this is definitely not that as I am shoved in the back by a hairy snarl-toothed varg.
“Keep walking!”
I snarl back at him. “Who is thisMasteranyway? What does he want with me?” I say with a little dash of snark in my tone, feeling not so afraid of the vargs after the commands they received in the woods. Whoever that Nerius guy was, I owe him big time.
“He does not wantyou,little creature, so I would watch the tone. Master Pyralis is a force to fear. He is one of The King’s trusted advisers,” Garr replies in his usual snarling voice, but I also sense a note of pride in his Master.
These are not The King’s minions as Oleander had thought. They belong to this Pyralis guy.I wonder why I am being brought here instead of directly to The King.
The house looks much grander when I am standing directly in front of it on the gravel path. There are three floors with small wooden framed windows all along its length and big floor to ceiling glass on the bottom level of both of the towers. The apex of each tower holds a beautiful stained glass window, as does the large window spanning from the second to the third floor in the centre of the house. I would bet that is where the staircase leads within its walls and can imagine the beautiful colours washing the whole interior in rainbow as the sun sets. The large frontdoor is made up of a sturdy dark wood with large iron bolts and curved, elaborate iron handles.
A smartly dressed man with dark skin and tightly curled hair is standing in front of the bottom of the steps, waiting for us. His face is bleak and stern and I guess that this must be Nerius, awaiting our arrival. How he got here so much quicker than us and looking clean and well rested is beyond me.
“He is waiting for you in the study. Garr you will do, the rest of your ilk may skulk off somewhere,” Nerius says with his chin lifted high and his nose crinkled at the gathered vargs.
“You heard him, to the kitchen lads,” Garr chuckles as he dismisses the others. He grabs onto the back of my neck and gives me a shove, causing me to stumble in front of Nerius.
“A pity,” Nerius says, looking down at me with one eyebrow raised, then stepping ahead to lead the way into the house. Garr takes up the rear as we walk in single file. Nerius swings open the huge double doors sending a gust of deliciously spiced aroma coming from within the house into our faces. It smells of crackling fires and winter baking, even though it is the middle of an extremely hot summer.
As we step inside, we are met with an open foyer with high ceilings that open up to a red velvet-lined staircase directly across from the front door. I tilt my head, taking in the grandeur of the space, noticing the many doors lining the halls on each of the floors.
Nerius directs us through a set of doors to the left which opens up into what I believe is called a drawing room, a term also gleaned from my mother’s period piece romance movies. The walls are painted a dark red, with matching red, straight-backed, uncomfortable looking sofas and elaborate red rugs that partly cover a hardwood floor. There is a low table set in between the sofas in front of a large, white stone fireplace. An enormous painting of the wolf headed king standing next toPyralis sits proudly on top of the mantel. I can now confirm that the menacing figure in my vision was indeed this same king and try not to shudder at the memory. In the far right corner there is another door which we are being guided to. Nerius pauses before giving it one swift knock.
“Enter,” a deep voice replies. I can’t avoid my audible gulp.
Nerius opens the door and walks in ahead of us to announce our arrival. We step into the room and I can see a fierce looking man in his forties, with close cut, red hair sitting in a high back leather chair behind a large mahogany desk. He has a well-groomed beard and a face that is all sharp angles. He looks as if he wouldn’t know the meaning of a smile.
The room itself must be the bottom level of the tower because I notice the floor to ceiling bay windows, and I wonder if there is a hidden staircase somewhere in this room. I look around but all I can see are walls lined with books and Pyralis’ large desk with two smaller leather chairs sitting in front of it. I wonder what the nature of his work is and catch the smallest glimpse of maps spread over his desk.
