Dreams of the Oracle

Chapter 26

Cassandra peered as though through a keyhole into a richly decorated room. Great tapestries depicting the mighty battles hung from a high ceiling concealing parts of the solid stone wall behind them. Massive imported rugs lay across the stone floor leading to heavily gilded furniture. Cassandra looked at the scene with relief.

Never before had she wished to go away into one of her dreams. The woman, "Milady" frightened her. She had smacked her over and over. Then she had put on some rings and hit her again. Then she had said that the Rashakas could smell her blood and that they were growing hungry. That's when Cassandra had slipped away into this world.

She had never been hurt like that before. Her arms and legs, her face. She had cried but she hadn't screamed. Not yet.

Two figures stepped into the rich room. It looked like it must be inside a palace. One of the figures was dressed in black and scarlet. He walked in swift purposeful strides as though refusing to let such a trivial thing as walking waste his precious time. His right hand rested on the hilt of a broadsword that hung from his waste. He stood beside one of the gilded chairs but remained standing,

"They've told you why I've sent for you?" he asked addressing the other figure.

The figure was covered entirely in a hooded black velvet robe. She removed the hood and Cassandra was startled to see the cold face of the woman who now tortured her.

"Oh yes, your grace."

"Then I'll expect it, all of it, done promptly."

"Of course."

"It's told me where and how and when, all you have to do is follow my instructions to the letter."

"This entire plan was made by...it?"

The other man whirled on her. His entire demeanor was calm. His voice was the voice of a man ordering dinner,

"That sounded almost like you were questioning an order."

"No, no your grace," replied Milady her pale face whitening further.

"I will kill you woman. You are far from indispensable. The loss of a doubting servant is no loss at all."

"I would never doubt you, your grace."

His hand stroked the hilt of his sword. He looked up at one of the tapestries. Then he gestured with his left hand keeping the right firmly on his sword,

"This one is of one of my ancestors," he said softly, "have you seen it before?"

"No, your grace."

"This is the battle of granite pass. It is said that my great great grandfather killed more than a hundred men in single day," he looked down at the sword at his hip, "with this sword," suddenly he drew it from his scabbard.

He held the blade up to his face and looked at its flawless surface. No sign of an ancient battle could be seen it its razor's edge. Light shimmered across and around it like the ripples of a lake,

"Surely you've heard that story before?"

"Yes, your grace," said Milady eyeing the sword."

He turned and bent close to her, "most have but I know a part of that story that most don't."

Milady waited expectantly watching the sword.

He walked around behind her and put his face next to her ear. Then he slowly brought the sword in front of her,

"You see, he did kill more than a hundred men. But not everyone knows that half of the men he killed were his own soldiers!"

In one quick motion he had circled back in front of her and sheathed his sword. He kept his back to her steady expression,