The Omen Machine

CHAPTER 63

Before the woman could prod her with the weapon, Orneta took one last, quick look at Ludwig, then turned and stalked off in the direction of her quarters. She was indignant, and she was angry at the woman for hurting Ludwig, but she thought better of showing her emotion for the moment. She would make her grievance clear enough at the proper time and to the proper people, and then this woman would pay the price for her insolence, to say nothing of her needless cruelty.

At least Orneta could get the Mord-Sith away from Ludwig before he did something foolish and got himself hurt even worse.

As she made her way down the elegant corridor, Orneta tried not to move too swiftly. Rather, she moved at a stately pace, just to remind the Mord-Sith of who she was dealing with. Orneta was also in no hurry to reach her room and be alone with the woman.

A servant going in the opposite direction, carrying an armful of fresh bed linens, moved hard against the side of the hallway when she saw the Mord-Sith coming, and stayed well out of her way. The woman kept her eyes turned toward the ground as she passed, avoiding meeting the steady gaze of the tall woman in red leather.

Orneta felt like a prisoner being led to an execution. She couldn’t believe that she was being treated with such disrespect. Considering her decision, it occurred to her that it wasn’t entirely undeserved. For years, she had been nothing but loyal to the cause of the D’Haran Empire. She reminded herself that what she was doing was out of loyalty to the D’Haran Empire— to the people, anyway, if not the leader.

She didn’t know what the Mord-Sith could possibly want, but Orneta was becoming more worried by the moment that it had something to do with her throwing her loyalty to Hannis Arc over Richard Rahl. She told herself that it was a silly worry. No one knew of her decision but her and Ludwig. And of course the group, but she had only just told them.

It occurred to her then that there might have been a prophecy that foretold of her new-sworn allegiance. Lord Rahl wouldn’t tell them what prophecy said, wouldn’t help them against threats those omens revealed, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t use them for his own dark ends. There was no telling what a person being used by the Keeper of the underworld might know, or what they might do.

Lord Rahl was a good man, a decent man, but even such a person could become possessed so that they were not acting of their own free will; they were instead being guided by death itself. As Ludwig had pointed out, who better for the Keeper to possess in order to carry out his dark deeds than the most trusted among them?

When Orneta glanced back over her shoulder, she saw that the Mord-Sith was right behind her, wearing a grim expression.

But past the Mord-Sith, Orneta could see that the entire group she’d been meeting with was following them up the hall. They were keeping their distance, but they were clearly intent on seeing what this was about, seeing why one of their group was being singled out. Ludwig, holding his shoulder, looking to still be in pain from the touch of the Agiel, led a concerned Ambassador Grandon, then the duchess, then the rest of the representatives. Anger darkened Ludwig’s face.

Orneta was glad, at least, to have them following along. She thought that it might temper what ever the Mord-Sith wanted to see her about. Witnesses tended to cool aggression. She also was heartened to have Ludwig stand up for her.

Orneta paused and flicked her hand at the ornate doors before her, trying to gain a moment for those following to catch up. “These are my quarters.”

When the Mord-Sith glared with the kind of look that sapped the strength of even the strong, Orneta opened the door and led them both inside. She nudged the door closed, but deliberately left it ajar enough that the people, once they caught up, could easily hear everything, and even peek in.

The Mord-Sith firmly pushed the door shut.

Orneta, trying to look casual, went to a low cabinet where bottles of wine, water, and sweet drinks sat on a silver tray with a half-dozen crystal glasses.

“May I offer you something to drink?”

“I’m not here to drink.”

Orneta smiled cordially. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t even asked your name.”

The Mord-Sith’s blue eyes were enough to make Orneta weak, but she tried not to show it.

“My name is Vika.”

“Vika.” Orneta smiled. “Well, Vika, what can I do for you?”

The Mord-Sith began advancing. “You can scream.”

Orneta blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Vika seized a fistful of Orneta’s dress at her shoulder. “I said, you can scream.”

The Mord-Sith gritted her teeth as she pulled Orneta forward and rammed the Agiel into her middle.

The shock of pain was beyond anything Orneta had ever experienced or imagined was possible.

As the full shock of it hit her, it would have been impossible not to scream.

Screaming ended, Orneta crumpled to the floor, trying to get back her breath as tears of hurt streamed down her face.

“Why are you doing this?” she managed between gasps.

Vika stood over her, watching. “To help you scream.”

Orneta was dumbfounded. She could not begin to imagine why the woman had done such a thing, or what she meant about wanting to hear screams.

“But why?”

“Since you are so committed to having prophecy guide mankind, you have been granted the honor of being the instrument of prophecy’s fulfillment. Now, let’s hear a really good scream.”

As Orneta stared up in frozen, panicked confusion, Vika jammed the tip of her Agiel into the hollow at the base of Orneta’s throat.

Orneta screamed so hard she thought it might rip her throat. She wouldn’t have been able to stop herself if she had wanted to. The pain overwhelmed her, making the muscles of her arms and neck convulse in uncontrolled spasms.

The screams were drowned out as blood frothed up from her throat and out her mouth. It ran down her chin, hanging in long, thick strings, and soaked the front of her dress.

The room darkened in her dwindling spot of vision, but then slowly widened back into view. She was hardly aware of where the Mord-Sith was or what she was doing until Orneta saw her walk around behind her.

Without a word, Vika jammed her Agiel into the base of Orneta’s skull.

Light flashed in her vision. Sparkling colors exploded in every direction. There was a most terrible shrieking sound inside her head that made the pain beyond anything that had come before. Sharp shards of suffering drove inward through her ears.

Orneta sat on the floor, limp and helpless, as the shrieking, crashing, roaring sound and the blaze of light swirled through her head.

She heard Vika’s boots on the white marble floor as the woman came around in front of her. The Mord-Sith stood over Orneta, towered over her, looking down without the slightest hint of compassion, much less remorse.

Orneta had never seen such a cold and heartless look in all her life.

“That was quite good,” Vika said in a calm voice. “I’m sure everyone could hear it.”

Orneta couldn’t hold her head up. She couldn’t make her neck muscles respond. By the terrible pain, she thought that they must be torn. Her chin rested on her blood-soaked chest.

She saw blood spreading across the white marble floor. Her blood. A lot of her blood.

The Mord-Sith’s boots were the same color as the pool of blood she was standing in.

With supreme effort, through the burning pain in her throat, past the blood filling her mouth, she used all her might to lift her head to look up and speak.

“What do you want of me?”

Vika arched a brow over a cold blue eye. “Well, now that you have screamed very nicely for me, I want you to die.”

Orneta blinked up at the woman. She could offer no resistance, could not fight such a savage creature.

She was not surprised, though. She had known the answer before Vika had spoken it.

Orneta saw the Agiel coming again.

She felt only the first instant of exquisite pain as her heart exploded in her chest.

And then, even that breathless, crushing agony diminished into the last conscious, dimming spark of awareness.