It was over.
Little remained of the wizard's body and robe but crimson tatters.
For the first time, the feeling of self-loathing did not come to Von Kharkov as he observed the Beast's — and, this time, his own — grisly handiwork. Instead, there was a feeling of grim satisfaction. He would never atone for what the Beast had done in the names of its masters, but at least he had put an end to the human monster who had been ultimately responsible for those horrors.
And here, in the jungle of his birth, with no perverted master to serve, perhaps those horrors would come to an end. In time, even, perhaps the Von Kharkov shell itself would fade back into nonexistence, now that its creator was gone.
Perhaps that was why he had been brought here by the Mists — or by whatever power lurked behind them, using them to manipulate people and animals and even wizards for its own, impenetrable purposes.
Or so he could hope, though he feared it was more likely just the opposite. No power with any pretenses of goodness or justice could ever have brought an innocent like Malika here only to be pointlessly and cruelly slaughtered as part of its obscure plan for Von Kharkov and Morphayus.
And with that thought, his mind was invaded by a rumble of distant laughter.
And he felt the Mists closing about him once again.
Sight and Sound
"Open the door!" I cried as I pounded on the massive, metal-bound aperture that separated me from my purpose; neither the wood nor the brass gimmals ornamenting its ebon surface moved. "Open, I say!" I shouted, my voice rising almost to a scream. "Open in the name of justice!" Again I pounded on the portal with rage.
Lightning cracked behind me, silhouetting the black rain drenching this land. The heavens rumbled back — the expansive, pernicious murmurs of an alien sky I had quickly come to hate — and jags of lightning snapped again, momentarily illuminating the cold, forbidding stone of Castle Blaustein. I stared up at the double doors before me, which were fully the height of two men, and beyond to the walls surrounding the citadel's entrance. Snarling stone gargoyles, tortuous crenellations of slate, and shadows of black iron remained branded on my inner eye after the flash departed.
Rain poured down in sheets, engulfing me, soaking my woolen overcoat. It clung unpleasantly to my fevered flesh. I raised my bloodied fists high above my head and glared up at the monolith before me, oblivious to the rain pelting my face and eyes. With a feral moan, I hurled myself at the doors, crying aloud," Hear me, Bluebeard!"
Lightning responded above me, filling the night sky with white light and sound, nearly blinding and deafening me in its turbulent response. But my senses were abruptly riveted by the doors before me: They were moving.
My eyes bulged in their sockets as I strained to catch that minute movement. I know that only seconds must have passed before the doors swung open to grant my admittance, but time seemed somehow suspended then. I heard the creak of those massive doors swing back upon badly oiled hinges. I saw the faint glimmer of light flicker on the gimmals marking the doors as they swung inward. I smelled the dank decay of stale rushes and rancid candle tallow as the warm air within the castle greeted me; it was a false warmth, unpleasant to me even in my cold and sodden state.
I stepped forward immediately, intent on the manservant lurking beside the door, and entered the keep. "Show me to your master at once," I demanded imperiously.
The creature closed the doors behind me, sparing me not a single glance until he had done so. Then he turned his gaunt frame toward me, squared his shoulders, and nodded with a dignity I had not expected in this backwoods country. "My lord will see you now," was his monotone, tight-lipped response. For an instant his gaze met mine, then slid away, but not before I caught the yellow gleam of hatred for a man his better. He picked up a candelabrum resting upon a nearby table and proceeded across the hall's granite floor.
I followed the manservant through the castle's foyer, the size of which was utterly lost in the feeble light of two candles, to an expansive stair that curved upward then split and flowed into separate hallways. My guide took the left branch, and here the dim shadows receded before the light. I gave little thought to the thick carpets we traversed, the muted tapestries periodically adorning the finely papered walls, or the pieces of furniture placed here and there in the long passages. I cared not at all for the glimpses of silver and gilt I caught via the candlelight as we walked this otherwise unlit abode. My thoughts were possessed by the man I would soon confront, by the tales the villagers had told me, by the man who had —
Abruptly, the manservant stopped before an ornately carved door. He threw it open, stepped inside, and announced," My lord, the gentleman you wished to see is here."
I strode forward swiftly, knocking the servant aside in my haste, and halted just inside the room. In my heightened emotional state, my senses were acutely attuned. In a single moment I took in the vast number of books, the cheerful fire in the grate to one side of the large room, and the comfortable, elegant surroundings. My gaze slid to and locked on the man slowly rising from behind a desk at the far end of the room. The valet proceeded to light more candles, bringing the dark room to more sensible illumination. I strode forward, impatient words forming on my lips.
"Lord Henredon, I presume?" interjected the man behind the desk before I could speak. His words — pleasantly spoken, with a casual, intimate intonation — took me aback. I paused before him, inexplicably disarmed by his easy, familiar manner. I had told no one of my real name in this land; had Lorel. .? My eyes narrowed.
My hesitation was slight, however, and I regained my composure immediately. I bowed my head, pausing a hair shy of insolence, and said," And Lord Bluebeard — I presume?" His left eyebrow arched in amusement, and his red, full lips twitched. His beard, as I had been told by the villagers, was indeed a shade of black with highlights that waxed blue in the light. He was a man of my height, though he easily outweighed me by nearly half my weight. His features were bulbous and dissipated, and I was suddenly sickened at the thought of his fleshy lips violating Lorel. His eyes, however, were alight with a cunning I knew instinctively to be that of a most dangerous man. He waved his hand — fat and pampered, with rings on three fingers — toward a chair, but I declined with an icy smile. Again his full lips twitched; he fell backward into the huge wing chair behind him, his great girth encompassed by the even larger seat. The manservant lit a remaining candelabrum and stood behind his master.
Bluebeard gazed at me and said," You are very much like your sister, Henredon. "He smirked. "You have her eyes. "His fat red hand smoothed his embroidered waistcoat, and his watch fob jingled.
I leaned forward slowly, splaying my hands across the intricate parquetry of the desk between us. I responded tightly," You are mistaken, sir, as my sister was adopted when I was fourteen. "I smiled back at him smoothly. "But that is neither here nor there, Bluebeard. What matters, of course, is Lorel. Where is she? I've come far to visit her, and I'd like to see her immediately. "I kept my voice cool and my gaze bland.
The man's expression did not change, save for a passing flicker of his left brow. He returned my look, meeting my eye measure for measure, but I did not yield. Then Bluebeard gestured with one ringed finger toward my hands. "Pray sit down, Henredon. Your coat is dripping upon my table."
I raised my chin at his tone, but to take offense would be churlish. I nodded stiffly and said," As you wish," as I sat in the wing chair behind me. Not quite as large or as elaborate as Bluebeard's own chair, it was nevertheless well padded, and the cushioning was welcome to my fatigued muscles. But I resolutely pushed away the memory of my long journey and turned to the matter at hand.