Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [76]
The medusa's head jerked back and her eyes momentarily clouded over.
"I am not the stupid animal you think," Graal said to her, relishing the fear of dawning realization in her eyes. "My mind is strong enough for this."
He rubbed the ring again and focused his will. The creature threw her head back, the serpents of her hair went limp. Inside his mind, Graal heard the sound of her anguished psyche screaming. Her body was silent.
"Return, my pet," Graal said. "Return and destroy the cultists."
The serpents began to writhe in a sleepy rhythm, and the medusa returned to the battle. The orog cast a quick look around for Azlar, but the wizard was gone, vanished into the forest. He had taken his hand with him. No matter. His death would have been nothing more than an added bonus.
With the package on their side now, ultimate victory came quickly for Graal's troops. The Grog's skill at controlling the creature was not as honed as Azlar's, however, so several of his own men were inadvertently struck down by the medusa's curse. Graal shrugged indifferently at the casualties. If Xiliath felt compassionate, he might have them restored to their former, living state. If not, they would make fine additions to his master's trophy room.
Replace your hood, Graal silently ordered once the last cultist had been dispatched. Pull down your veil. Your work is done. For now.
The medusa did as she was ordered. Graal pulled a curled horn from his belt, and blew a long, howling blast. It was a signal to his fleeing troops that the battle was theirs. The deserters would return in due time to join their comrades in the looting of the dead-though if they knew how Xiliath dealt with cowards they would not be so eager.
As his followers trickled back, the orog surveyed the carnage of the clearing. Bodies Uttered the field, along with roughly two dozen statues. A few of these had been smashed into rubble by vengeful enemies or accidental blows during the battle, leaving no chance of restoring the unfortunate soul trapped within.
The corpses could be stripped and left behind, but the statues and the rubble had to be collected and taken to Xiliath's hideout. There could be no clues that might give the Elversult authorities any inkling of what had truly happened there.
At a word from Graal, the carts the troops had dragged with them from Xiliath's base in Elversult were wheeled out from the trees and into the clearing.
"Search the woods for more statues," Graal ordered. "And load these onto the carts. The pieces, too. Leave nothing behind."
Fascinated, Graal studied the face of each statue as it was piled onto one of the wagons. A small, almost child-sized figure was placed on board. "Hello, my pretty one," Graal whispered to the statue.
"Can you hear me, I wonder?" he asked, leaning in close to fully appreciate the stone-etched horror in the half-elFs face. From the female's pose it appeared as if she had stumbled, probably while running with her eyes closed. Instinctively, she had reacted to the fall by opening her eyes at the worst possible time. It was a miracle she hadn't shattered from her inevitable fall to the ground after being petrified.
"Where is your friend?" Graal muttered, hoping to find a one-armed statue among the collection. The search proved fruitless, and he frowned in disappointment. But when several of his men emerged from the forest carrying an unmistakably obese statue of Fhazail, all Graal could do was tilt back his head and howl with joyous laughter.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Still waiting fer yer friend?" the surly waitress at the Weeping Griffin asked Corin again, her voice so shrill it made his teeth grate. She had been asking him every fifteen minutes or so, obviously anxious to have him either order or leave. But the look in Corin's eyes must have been preventing her from telling