Cursing under his breath, Ariakas analyzed the formi shy;dable foe. This was the first diligent ogre he had encoun shy;tered in the castle. Clearly the beast was guarding some shy;thing of great value. Hope flared within Ariakas-hope so strong that it acted as its own confirmation. There, just beyond the ogre guard, he knew he would find the lady!
Carefully, Ariakas crept up the stairs, one step each time the ogre passed. He was thankful that the shadows remained thick near the railing, and also that the ogre showed no inclination to look down. Instead, the brute kept its eyes to the front as it paced back and forth, its repetitive path forming the crosspiece to the T of the stairway.
Finally, Ariakas reached the edge of the shadows, about five steps from the top. Once again the ogre passed, marching to the warrior's right, and now Aria shy;kas drew his sword and gathered his feet below him. His mind vividly imagined the charge-a low rush from the darkness, his sword darting upward into the flab-rolled neck. A sure strike into the brain would bring instant death … the slicing of the jugular slightly slower, but no less certain.
Still tense, Ariakas suddenly realized that the ogre should be returning. Instead, he heard the guard's steps clomp some distance away. Abruptly the steps halted, and the warrior heard a telltale gush of water.
Springing upward, he quickly reached the corridor at the top of the stairs, mentally thanking whoever had compelled these ogres to use latrines. Ariakas first looked for another stairway leading up, but there wasn't one. Since the ogre was off to the right, he darted left. A gleam of torchlight spilled from a side corridor. Instead of sooty smoke, a scent like flowered incense washed outward with the light. The lady.
His heart thundered from more than lack of air as he turned down the lighted corridor. He burst through a doorway, gasping for breath and blinking in the bright light. At first he thought that the entire room glowed, but then he quickly narrowed his focus to three lanterns sus shy;pended from the ceiling. Fumes of foggy scent billowed around these lights. Beyond the chamber's lone window, black night hung. Ariakas knew that this was the aper shy;ture he had studied from the windswept mountain below-the beacon that had glowed seductively throughout the long night.
Then all other details fell into insignificance as she stirred. The lady lay upon a huge bed beside one wall, and now she shifted her head to look at him.
Ariakas's knees turned to jelly, and he staggered from the impact of her beauty. She was the mirrored reflection of the black-haired figure who had haunted his dreams. the image etched into the platinum of the precious locket.
Without thinking-perhaps it was the weakness that suddenly permeated his legs-he dropped to one knee before her and removed his helm. He bowed his head, seeking to hide the deep scar on his chin and neck. For the first time he felt its true grotesqueness. Reverently he knelt, consumed by ecstacy tinged with a kind of terror. Who was she? It didn't matter.
"Rise, warrior, and approach me."
He shivered, her voice piercing him with exquisite joy, and slowly he stood. His legs still felt wobbly beneath him, but he was pleased that he could walk steadily, tak shy;ing three firm steps. Daring to look at her, he finally let his eyes absorb the beauty that had already suffused his spirit. He no longer cared about the deep, disfiguring scar on his face.
Then, for the first time, he noticed the cruel iron collar that encircled her neck. Outrage exploded as he saw the heavy, dark chain, the sturdy bracket bolted to the wall beside the bed. His voice choked with anguish, he could utter no words to express his grief at this indignity.
Her body was long, he noticed-certainly she would stand as tall as he. Her face formed a perfect oval of sculpted allure, with high cheekbones framing black eyes that seemed to smolder with promise … or danger. Her cheeks tapered to a strong chin. Lips like the dark crimson of a royal robe parted slightly, glistening from the moisture that, he imagined, was left by her darting tongue. Her neck was long and supple, angling gently into narrow shoulders and a straight back. A gossamer gown of blue silk did little to conceal the full outlines of her breasts, her trim hips, or her long, graceful legs.
Only her feet altered slightly the image of his imagina shy;tion. In his mind they should have been tiny, and clad in immaculate slippers of some suitably ornamental mater shy;ial. Yet she was barefoot, and the skin of her toes was cracked and calloused.
Her captors had not allowed her the decency of foot shy;wear. Fury formed a film across his vision, and his hands clenched unknowingly into fists as he imagined the vengeance he would wreak in her name. But then she smiled, and all thoughts of violence and bloodshed van shy;ished from his mind.
"You have come for me … I thank you," she said, and her words were the silken tones of music that had nearly held him spellbound before. There was no hint of ques shy;tion in her words-she knew why he was here.
"What-what is your command, Lady?"
"Take me from this place, warrior!" The weakness in his legs disappeared, replaced by a steely determination that-almost-told him that he could slash his way through an army of ogres.
"Yes-that's why I've come. How many ogres are there in the tower, do you know?" he asked.
"I suspect there are several score-perhaps half a hun shy;dred."
"I thought so, too," he agreed. Crossing to the win shy;dow, he peered from the opening, suppressing a sense of vertigo as the extreme height of his vantage opened before him. There would be ho escape that way-the tower wall plunged downward for hundreds of feet, and then it met the mountainside itself, which was nearly as steep. Even the darkness couldn't conceal the vast scope of the fall.
"Do they know you're in the tower?" she asked softly.
"No-we have that going for us, at least." He gestured miserably to the chain and iron collar. "But how do we get you out of that?"
She sighed, and sank back on the bed. "Oberon is a cautious lord-it will not be easy."
"Do you know Oberon?"
There was a bitter tint to her smile. "Would that I didn't," she replied. "But it is Oberon who keeps me here, like this." She gestured to their surroundings.
For the first time Ariakas noticed the true splendor of the lady's apartment. Soft draperies lined the walls. Deep, plush couches and gleaming tables of marble and teak rested on the floor. Indeed, except for the iron collar and chain, he might have entered the formal chambers of some countess, even a princess or queen.
Sight of that confining chain brought raw hatred to Ariakas's heart. He wanted to meet Oberon, to plunge his sword into the villain's breast with a sneer of tri shy;umph on his face. And even that, Ariakas knew, would be insufficient to right this grievous wrong.
"With your permission …" He reached for the chain, and the lady nodded. Seizing it in his powerful fists, he first tried to bend the links, and then to pull the bracket from the wall. Though the veins stood out on his fore shy;head and a film of red crept across his vision, he could not so much as bend the solid metal.
"I was a prisoner in a dungeon cell before Oberon brought me here. I know that he keeps a master key ring there, in the catacombs below," the lady offered. "The chief warden-he's a big brute of an ogre-keeps it on his belt. You'll usually find him sleeping on a bench right outside the main guard room."
Ariakas sank on the bed, heavy with despair. "Below the castle? I am willing, but I must warn you the chances of my capture are great."
"There's another way. Often Oberon visits me by the secret stairway, avoiding the main part of the castle. It's concealed in the outer wall, and will take you all the way down."