She watched with glazed eyes as Lilit charged past them, the wash of the black-feathered wings of her hell-spawned stallion brutally buffeting.
Sha
rp-looking hooves lashed out at the darkness and though it was impossible, Tamara could have sworn she heard the heavy tattoo of hoofbeats upon cobblestones. Blinking to rid the dryness from her eyes, she caught her first sight of the abode of the queen.
Tall, black craggy spires rose straight up from a nightmarish mountainous terrain. Like a black stone gargoyle, Lilit’s fortress perched upon a good-sized plateau with the sheer face of the mountain directly behind it. The surrounding scarp had a coal-like sheen, the steep slopes appearing wet as though coated with venomous slime. There was enough sky-glow in order to see, but no lights or welcoming torches shone from the daunting arrow slits or along the jagged battlements—no beacon lit the ebon way to the keep. Only the faint glint of a faraway quarter moon upon the glistening stones broke the gloomy shadows clinging to Lilit’s stronghold.
The shrill sound of a portcullis being raised screeched through the dark sky. Chains rattled like the bones of the walking dead as the vertical iron grills began to go up. Looking at the yawning gateway into the keep, Tamara was reminded of a snarling predator, opening wide its maw to swallow prey, its jagged teeth ready to crush those who would try to escape.
Gliding through the opening, the winged creatures carried their helpless captive into the inner ward and began a smooth dive that was all the more frightening for its soundlessness and ease of descent. Landing adroitly, the demonesses released their grip on Tamara then soared skyward once more, their leathery wings snapping.
There was nowhere for Tamara to run. All around were midnight-dark structures that appeared closed and shuttered. Soaring towers loomed overhead and the crenellated walls seemed thousands of feet above her head. As dark as the night was around her, she feared stumbling into a pit or falling upon the sharp pebbles beneath her feet. She was trapped in this hellish citadel with no help in sight.
The whiny of a horse startled Tamara and she looked up to see Lilit guiding her steed to the ground. The black horse’s wings fluttered gracefully as it descended and when its hooves struck the stone ground, sparks lit the night.
Lilit patted the beast’s neck then threw a leg over its head and slid from the saddle. The scrape of her boot heels once more sent sparks flying.
Never a coward and always a stalwart warrioress, Tamara lifted her chin and refused to be cowered by the deadly gleam in the queen’s cold eyes. As the vampire ruler sauntered toward her, Tamara held her ground.
“There will be no one coming to liberate you, Traitor,” Lilit told her. “You will spend your eternity here in Sheol.”
“Kill me now for I will not rest until I have taken your life!” Tamara hissed.
Lilit’s smile was chilling. “Kill you?” she asked, her tone soft. “My sweet child, I have no intention of killing you.” She advanced to within a few feet of her captive. “I want you to live so you can suffer for what you set in motion. I want you in agony over the destruction of my shedim!”
Tamara flinched at the word for she knew it meant Lilit’s demonic offspring. The Undead belonged to Lilit and those whose corpses had been incinerated would never be able to raise up to blood another innocent.
“Ah, yes,” Lilit cooed, snatching Tamara’s thoughts from the ether. “You speak of innocents but your handsome lover is no more innocent than my shedim. When I return to earth, his will be the first visit I will make. His enemies will jump to do my bidding.”
Her blood running cold at such a vile thought, Tamara moaned in denial. She did not fear for her future or her own safety, but rather for Evann-Sin’s destiny. To think the warrior would be placed into the hands of the queen sent shudders of disgust down Tamara’s spine.
“Tell me,” Lilit commanded. “What was it like to lie with that handsome warrior?” She came closer. “To have his strong hands on your body? His hard cock in your cunt?”
When Tamara would not answer, Lilit shrugged. “No matter. Don’t answer. I will find out for myself soon enough.”
With that, the queen spun around and headed for the entrance to her hellish keep. Behind her, her crimson robe billowed and her boot heels struck loudly against the stygian cobblestones.
“Until he comes, we will be alone here, Daughter,” Lilit commented. “Other than Amenirdis and Hekat, I have no need for staff. Sheol runs itself.”
“He?” Tamara questioned, afraid of the answer, but Lilit ignored the query. “You mean to bring Evann-Sin here?”
But Lilit was out of sight, having entered the inner bailey of the nightmarish keep.
Left with nothing to do save follow her demonic hostess, Tamara slowly entered the high archway of Sheol. Nearly unbearable, the stench there seemed to permeate the air. The copper-like scent of blood was overpowering and it made Tamara’s head spin. As she rested her hand upon the soaring wall, she pulled it back, horrified to see her palm coated with a sanguine liquid.
“The walls are alive, Traitor,” Lilit told her. “When you touch its rocky flesh, it bleeds.” She stopped and turned to smirk at the young woman. “You will hear it moan now and again—you will hear it shriek and cry out in agony, but don’t let that concern you. It is only the walls of Sheol lamenting their fate.”
Slowly turning her gaze to the walls, Tamara thought she saw the layer of material expand and contract as though it breathed. She shook her head to rid herself of the notion.
“My enemies are encased within the structure of Sheol,” Lilit remarked. “Just as one day you will be.”
Tamara was wide-eyed as she stared at the barren bailey surrounding her. Unlike other keeps, there were no hitching posts, no doorways and no covered porticos leading to guildhalls or stores. There was no watering troughs, fountain or accoutrements that normally supplied the inner bailey of normal keeps. A deep shale into which her boot heels sank crunched beneath her feet.
“Generations upon generations of crushed bone have settled upon this sterile land,” Lilit announced. “It is over the backbones of my adversaries you trod, Traitor.”
Sickened by the thought, Tamara put a hand to her throat. Hot bile rose up to scald her as she tried to block out the terrible odor hovering about the place.
The huge black door to which Lilit was headed slowly opened of its own accord. Shrieking with the voice of hundreds of tortured souls, the portal swung wide and clunked into place accompanied by the grunt of many thousand more anguished entities.
Inside the keep, it was as frigid as any windless night upon the high slopes of Aymyron, the North Country at the top of Tamara’s world. Cold seeped into her and she shivered, hugging her arms to keep in the dwindling body heat.
“There is no need for light at Sheol,” Lilit said. “No light, no fire, no warmth ever penetrates the living walls of my bastion.”
Heartsick at the thought of residing in such a desolate place, Tamara felt the last of her energy waning. It was all she could do to put one foot ahead of the other as she followed in the queen’s wake.
“You won’t have that long to endure the arduous travails of my home,” Lilit said with a snort. “Once the bairn is delivered, I will allow you to sleep, albeit a sleep without rest.”
Tamara stopped still in her tracks. “Bairn?” she questioned, her heart thudding painfully in her breast.
Lilit was at the top of the steep steps of a curving stairway. She looked down at her prisoner. “Aye,” she said. “You carry his whelp.”
Eyes widening, lips parting, Tamara stared up at her tormentress.
“You slew Sylviana before she could bring forth the get from the warrior’s loins,” Lilit reminded Tamara. “Though that whelping was denied me, this one will not be. Within that handsome fighter’s body, the spores of my race are thriving. His seed is teeming with it!”
Tamara sagged against the balustrade, cringing at the feel of the slickness that slimed her hand.
“My race will once more rule the lands of the Sumer, and I will be its supreme authority!”
Slumping to the floor, Tamara had a vision of the evil that awaited the human race. She now knew why Lilit had been planning the enthrallment of the Kebullians, the Akkadians and all the other tribes—to feed the demons that would spring one day from the wombs of human mothers.
“Because of your interference, it will take longer than I had planned,” Lilit allowed. “But eventually that land will know my race.”
Burying her face in her hands, Tamara knew she had to find a way to end her own life. She would never breed a hellish offspring to feed upon the innocent. Somehow, she must rid herself of the thing growing inside her.
“That
thing
,” Lilit sneered, “is as much a part of Riel Evann-Sin as it is a part of you. Would you deny it life?”
Tamara was shaking her head, her long hair obscuring her tearful face. “I would deny it life to keep it from your polluted hands.”
Lilit came down a few steps and when she spoke, her voice was as soft as a hare’s fur. “He will be as handsome as his father and as powerful. He will speak and nations will tremble at his command.”
Keening lowly, Tamara was rocking back and forth in her grief.
Leaning over the balustrade, Lilit was lost in the contemplation of the child she pictured in her mind’s eye. “Tall and strong, he will walk the land as its ruler and millions will bow down as he passes.”
“He will be a blood-drinker,” Tamara groaned. “He will be a slayer of innocents.”
“He will take only what he needs to thrive,” Lilit disagreed. “He will not waste one drop.”
Tamara lifted her head, her face twisted with anguish. “He will be a murderer! A defiler! He will be as evil as you!”
Lilit sighed. “One can only hope,” she responded.
Overcome with misery, Tamara sprang to her feet and ran for the door. She would throw herself from the rocky crags and end the burgeoning life within her.
But Lilit raised a hand and the black portal slammed shut before Tamara could reach it.
Spinning around, seeking another way to escape, the young woman could not find one. There were no other doorways, no corridors down which she could run. There were no windows through which she could crash. All avenues of escape were barred and only the stairs remained.
“I will never allow you to take the life of my progeny,” Lilit warned her. “If I must, I will lash you to your bed and there you will remain for the nine months of your whelping! I will not allow you to terminate this precious life!”
Rushing up the stairs, shoving past Lilit, Tamara headed for the only doorway open to her.
There were no windows in the small room into which the young woman ran. In the strange, limited glow of light that lit the room, there was only a bed, a single chair and small table. The air was warmer here—almost pleasantly so—and the smell that saturated the rest of the keep was missing. Here, it smelled faintly of gardenia.
“I have made it as comfortable for you as I dared,” Lilit said. “There is nothing with which you could harm the bairn. All the furnishings are nailed tightly to the floor. Since it is temperate enough for even one of your kind, you have no need of sheet or coverlet with which to stretch that pretty, traitorous neck.”
Realizing the hopelessness of her situation, Tamara hung her head, her shoulders slumping as she stood in the middle of the room and stared blankly at the floor.
“I will leave you now to settle in. While I am gone, think of me lying in his powerful arms,” Lilit purred. “I can promise you I won’t be thinking of you!”
The door to Tamara’s prison slammed shut and the sound of a lock being engaged was loud in the dismal room.
Chapter Thirteen
“The Undead have been destroyed,” Rabin told the Panther. “There are none left lurching about.”
King Numair nodded. His gaze was intent on his son, for Evann-Sin had said nothing for the last hour. Instead, he sat with his clenched hands dangling between his spread knees and stared at the floor.
Kaibyn stood at the window of the Panther’s throne room and stared out into the darkness of the night. Since taking a mysterious jaunt to the fields where the Undead were being driven into the pit, the demon had been uncharacteristically quiet. His broad shoulders drooped with the weight of the guilt he obviously felt. He would not answer when spoken to, nor would he look at those who ventured close to him. He seemed locked in his own private hell.
Lilabet had been brought to the Akkadian palace by Rabin and now sat demurely off to one side, her lady-in-waiting close by. Her gaze rarely left Kaibyn though she did not try to approach the demon.
“There is no word on the lady?” the Panther inquired softly.
Evann-Sin raised his head and looked at his father. “What word of her do you need, Majesty? My lady is lost to us.”
“Not necessarily,” Kaibyn disagreed.
Clenching his fists to keep from attacking the demon, Evann-Sin glared at Kaibyn’s back, unwilling to speak to him for fear he’d say things best not voiced.
“You do not blame me any more than I blame myself, warrior,” Kaibyn said, reading Evann-Sin’s black thoughts. “I could not go after her, for I would have wound up where she is and would be of no use to you.”