Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [129]
A shocked buzz spread through the crowd. A child screamed, a woman fainted, the buzz faded out, and silence fell. People stared, struck dumb with shock.
The fury was as beautiful as she was awful. Her eyes, large and deep blue and luminous, dripped with blood that ran down her cheeks like dreadful tears. The hand that waved to the crowd was delicate, the fingers slender and fine-boned, ending in long, rending, bloodstained talons. Her hair was long and black and adorned with snakes that sprouted from her head, writhing and coiling and biting at each other. Wings of black feathers thrust out from her shoulder blades.
The fury was naked from the waist up. Her breasts were large and swayed and jiggled as the chariot jounced over the uneven surface of the track. A long skirt made of red silk was belted around her waist and draped provocatively over her legs. No one in the stands felt any sort of sexual attraction, only a cold, creeping horror.
The chariot was drawn by slaves, not horses, for the horses had gone into a panicked frenzy at the sight of the fury. The slaves had not undertaken the task willingly. The six men eventually chosen for the task had been driven to obey by the pain of Aelon’s displeasure. Sweating with fear and exertion, they dragged the chariot by its traces, and though the load was heavy, they were running to escape the terror of being in such close proximity to the chariot’s passenger.
Most people in the stands were staring in shock and horror at the fury, who appeared to be enjoying the attention, and few noticed the man who walked at the chariot’s side. He was a tall man, well built, with a smooth face, high cheekbones, and a strong chin. His long brown hair flowed down his shoulders. He wore gray robes, plain and unadorned. He was not afraid of the fury, for he kept close to her and every so often he would turn to say something to her.
The crowd was amazed. The people of Oran believed in the fae, knew that they were a part of their world—an evil part, as Aelon’s priests often told them. People took the usual precautions: avoiding rings of mushrooms, nailing strings of garlic bulbs to the door, wearing clothes backwards if they had to venture into the woods, and so forth. These were pleasant superstitions, and apparently they worked, for most people in Oran had never encountered any of the fae.
The idea of one of the faery folk brought in as a player had seemed good fun at first, something out of the ordinary to brighten up the dull routine of everyday life. Now the curtain between their well-ordered world and the chaotic world of the fae had been torn aside. They could picture the fury trailing after her victim, coming to him in the night, gazing at him as he tried to sleep, shedding tears of his victim’s blood, rending his soul with her talons until all he wanted to do was end the torment.
The warrior-priests shook off their own horror, and, fearing a stampede, moved among the crowd, reminding everyone that they were under Aelon’s protection. People settled down, and a modicum of calm returned, though the crowd remained tense and uneasy.
The slaves dragged the chariot to a halt in front of the royal box. The Empress rose to her feet and was about to make a speech. She was interrupted by the fury, who threw back her head and shrieked in laughter. The Empress smiled upon her fury and glowered around at the crowd. The Empress had expected applause and cheers for her “pretty pet” and she was angered by the reaction of the crowd. She was about to speak out, make her anger known publicly, when one of her attendants whispered that since the game was already late in starting, perhaps she should not try the patience of the audience any further. The Empress shrugged and, wrapping