Conan The Hunter by Sean A. Moore

Author:Sean A. Moore
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy, General, Fiction
Publisher: TOR
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Eleven

The Crimson Corridor

Die, fools! Your puny swords and sniveling gods cannot save you now!"

Azora cackled wickedly to herself. Through her Augur, she watched the corridor beneath Targol's temple fill with blood. The Augur was an orb no larger than an apple, but powerful enough to display images of events occurring thousands of leagues distant. Many years ago, she had stolen the instrument from a Stygian necromancer. The arrogant, self-centered dotard had believed that only he was powerful enough to evoke its magic.

At present, Azora had focused it on the events taking place in the corridor outside of her former altar room. Her red eyes glinted with cruel gratification as she watched the three doomed men, struggling to free themselves from her trap. Fear and despair flowed from them; she soaked it up like rainwater on hot desert sand.

Before her three victims had reached the temple, Lamici had paid her a visit. At first she had been livid over his unbidden arrival, but as he related the events that had transpired, her anger had dissipated. She had already been forewarned of the priest's presence; his interference with her invocation of death had revealed his nearness to her, like a bonfire blazing in the night sky.

Her awareness of him had awakened an ancient hatred in her. His kind was stronger than most bumbling, cowardly half-wits who constituted the laughable priesthood of Mitra. She had not known that any of his Order still existed, but she had quickly resolved to crush this one. At first she had not known his name. She could only see him and feel him, since the Augur conveyed no sounds to its bearer.

Fortunately, the unscrupulous Lamici had told her their names, and of their simplistic plan to challenge her. The eunuch amused her; he was refreshingly corrupt for a human. Earlier, she had planned a slow, agonizing death for him, eagerly anticipating the pain and fear she would wring from his dying body. Now she supposed that in gratitude for his services, she would kill him quickly when he had outlived his usefulness.

When Azbra had learned of Madesus's intentions, she had quickly conceived a scheme to ensnare the unsuspecting priest, and the ineffectual dolts who accompanied him out of misguided loyalty. Honor and loyalty were the refuge of slack-witted weaklings.

She watched the image in the Augur with amusement. Balberoth, the Demon Lord she had bidden to carry out her lethal scheme, had done so with a delightfully hellish ingenuity. She would have to use him in the future, to entertain her with the deaths of others who sought to defy her.

Even if the slow-witted blunderers had gotten past the bronze doors, they would have found nothing. Azora was now far, far away from the temple. She was confident of her ability to destroy Madesus, but she had no time to waste in doing so personally. After making her pact with the Demon Lord, she had begun the rite of translocation. The pathetic city of Pirogia and the mindless human insects who infested it had begun to bore her, anyway.

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