Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [75]
With a casual calm, Graal slid his sword from the impaled soldier and let the body sag to the ground. The man, too stupid to even know he was dead, clutched at his stomach in a feeble attempt to staunch the blood and organs spilling out of the cavernous wound.
Azlar turned at the sound of the man's groan, suddenly realizing he was in danger. Graal could not afford the luxury of savoring his foe's final agony-the medusa, at the mental command of Azlar, was already turning in their direction. Graal slashed the blade once, cleanly severing the upraised hand of the wizard.
Azlar screamed in agony, but Graal barely noticed. He was too busy following the flight of the wizard's hand. Carried by the momentum of Graal's sweeping blow it sailed a dozen feet through the air and bounced once on the ground.
Following the path of the limb brought the medusa into the farthest edge of Graal's peripheral vision. The orog saw her collapse to the ground as the spell of the ring was shattered, leaving her mind momentarily as weak as that of a newborn, but she would not remain in such a state for more than a few brief seconds.
Ignoring the weeping wizard, Graal lunged for the bloody hand, dropping his weapon in his haste. In his mind's eye he could already see the medusa slowly rising to her feet, her mane of snakes thrashing madly in rage. Free of the enthralling enchantment of the ring, she would do anything in her power to keep another from using it to enslave her.
The orog dropped to his knees, pulling at the ring with his massive, but surprisingly agile, paws. He clawed at the circle of gold, trying to wrench it free of the pale finger, but the gore-smeared hand was slick, Graal couldn't get a firm enough grip on the ring to pull it over the knuckle of the severed hand.
Behind him he heard the angry hissing of dozens of serpents, and menacingly soft footsteps approaching.
"Dare you face me now?" the medusa shrieked, though whether at him or Azlar the orog couldn't say. He kept his eyes firmly on the ground, kept his back to the creature. She was not far from him now. He could guard against gazing at her face, but not her hair of lethal vipers.
Graal snapped the finger at the knuckle and a helmet of white bone popped up through the already graying skin. He twisted the mangled digit and tore half of it off, allowing him to slide the ring free.
He thrust it on one of his own meaty fingers. The magic of the ring expanded the circle to slip over the gnarled joint of his knuckle, then contracted it to a snug, almost painful fit. Graal spun around, still on his knees. The medusa was virtually on top of him.
He stared up in wonder at the face of the medusa, kneeling in seeming supplication and reverence at the power contained in her countenance. Only the magic of the ring kept his limbs from petrifying as he sat spellbound by the vision. For Graal, the porcelain skin and delicate female features of the monster held little appeal, yet like Azlar he too thought her truly beautiful as he gazed upon her face.
For Graal, it was not the physical that captivated him, but the malevolent arrogance reflected in her gaze, the understanding of her own awesome, destructive capabilities shone in her eyes. There was something else as well. Despite the ring on Graal's finger, the medusa's eyes were clear and sharp-she was still of her own mind.
"Do you fear me yet, ignorant beast?" she sneered at him. "Well you still should." The serpents on her head lashed out.
The orog threw himself onto his back, scuttling away like a crab across the gore stained earth. The medusa watched him with contempt, then began a slow, deliberate pursuit.
"Though you are not made stone, do not think your fate will not be horrible," she whispered, sauntering after the hastily retreating Graal, relishing his seeming helplessness. "I shall devour your flesh and strip your bones."
The orog had been bedazzled by the prospect of