Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [79]
She looked at him, looked into his eyes.
There was nothing there. No love. No desire. No life. Fear wrung her, twisted inside her.
“Get out!” Camille ordered shakily. “Go away! Whatever you are! Leave my house!”
“I can’t,” Lleu returned, his voice harsh. “Mina won’t let me. The pain is too much to bear. You must swear to Chemosh. He will give you endless youth, endless beauty—”
Camille was trapped. He was between her and the door, and even if she could escape, she would not leave him alone with her children.
“Lleu, just go, please go,” she begged.
“Endless life,” said Lleu. “Endless youth—”
If she could reach the door, she could open it and shout for help.
Camille tried to dart around him. He was too quick for her. He seized hold of her wrists and dragged her close.
“Swear to Chemosh!” he ordered her.
He squeezed her wrists, so that the joints cracked and she cried out in pain. He threw her to the floor and flung himself on top of her, pinning her with his knees. He ripped off her blouse, exposing her breasts, and bent over her to kiss her. She writhed beneath him, trying to push him off her, but he was incredibly strong.
“Mommy?” Her little boy’s quavering voice came from somewhere behind her.
“Jeremy!” she gasped. “Please, Lleu, no. Don’t hurt me … not while my child is watching …”
“Swear to Chemosh!” he said again, his breath hot on her face. He squeezed her arms with crushing force. “Or I’ll kill your brat.”
“I’ll swear!” Camille moaned. “Don’t hurt my child.”
“Say it!”
Pain and her fear were too much for Camille to bear.
“I swear my soul—”
A blow struck the door. A dog barked ferociously.
A voice shouted, “Mistress, it is Brother Rhys Mason. Are you all right?”
“Help, Brother!” Camille screamed, hope giving her renewed strength. “Help me!”
“Break it down!” the monk ordered, and there was a rush of feet and a crashing thud. The wooden door shivered.
Lleu still straddled her, still hurt her. He seemed unaware of the commotion.
“Swear!” He slavered at the mouth. His saliva dripped on her.
“Once more should do it!” the monk said.
Again the thud, and this time the door burst asunder.
The monk and a kender came tumbling inside. The monk sprang at Lleu, but her little boy, Jeremy, reached him first.
“Stop hurting my mam!” cried the child, and he struck Lleu with his small fist.
Lleu gave a hideous shriek. His flesh blackened and withered. His eyeballs dried up and fell from the sockets. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a rictus grin. The hands holding Camille were the rotting hands of a corpse. The sickening stench of death filled the small room, but Lleu would not die. His corpse kept hold of her. His skull leered at her. His mouth kept moving.
“Swear to Chemosh!”
Camille went mad with terror. She shrieked hysterically and flailed about in panic, trying to fling the corpse off her.
The little boy, after one paralyzed moment of shock, grabbed hold of the corpse intending to tear it off his mother. At his touch, Lleu burst into flames. The fire consumed his body in an instant. Greasy soot and ash drifted horribly about the room, falling on the little boy, coating his hair and his skin.
The child made no sound. He began to shake and then his eyes rolled back in his head. His body went stiff.
“Jeremy!” Camille wept and tried to crawl to her son, but everything went dark, and she fainted.
Rhys witnessed the dreadful end of the Beloved, his mind and soul consumed in horror, as his brother’s body was consumed in the unnatural fire. He heard Patrick, standing in the door behind him, suck in a breath, heard one of the guardsmen retching. Nightshade stared, dumbfounded. The little boy stood stock-still. The young woman lay in a pile of black ash. Nothing seemed to move except the soot floating about the room.
Then the little boy collapsed. He fell to the floor, his limbs writhing and jerking, his tongue protruding from his mouth.
“He’s having some sort of fit! Rhys, what do I do?” Nightshade cried, hovering over him.
“Get out of my way,” Patrick ordered, elbowing Nightshade aside.