The crimson witch by Dean Koontz

Author:Dean Koontz
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Space and time
Publisher: Curtis Books
Published: 1971-10-15T07:00:00+00:00

Lelar sat on his carved onyx throne, fingering the heads of dragons that formed the ends of each of the arm rests. He was dressed in white from head to foot, a white slouch hat, a white cape, a white, ruffled shirt, white trousers, and white albino deerskin boots. Only the orange crescent of Lelar on his left shoulder broke the starkness of his uniform. But despite his snowy appearance, his mood was black.

The doors to the throne room flew wide, banged against the stone walls, shuddered and were still. Four manbats shoved the hag through. She fell onto her knees, toppled onto her face. Her hands were bound behind her back by shimmering Thob rope constructed from the fringe powers of Lelar's mind.

“It is thoughtful of you to lay prone before the king,” Lelar said, smiling.

The manbats laughed and nodded at one another. One of them moved forward and kicked the hag in the side. The next instant, he was a burning lump, writhing on the floor, smoking.

“That was a bad move,” Lelar said. He thrust his psionic blade into her skull and completely scrambled her brains.

She screamed.

He made her writhe.

He made her try to climb the walls.

He made her howl like a dog and gnaw at the floor as if it were a bone.

He made her vomit and consume her own mess as a cat might.

He made her beg.

And whimper.

And plead.

And at last he released her and left her slumped on the floor, a shivering, defeated mass of flesh and, mostly, bones, a Talented without a will, the tool of a greater magic. “If you ever,” he said evenly but with malice afoot in each word, “destroy one of my men again, I will torture you for a thousand days and nights before killing you. If you ever attempt to escape, you will be bound by my will into the stone of these walls with only your head thrust out, and you will be the brunt of every foul and degrading amusement I can discover for as long as I shall live-which shall be at least another six hundred years. You are mine. Get used to the idea, you stupid bitch. Get used to it. Live with it. You have no choice.”

She wanted to spit, but she dared not. She was getting used to it. She had no choice. She knew it.

“Now listen,” Lelar said, standing and pacing about the great throne room, standing at last before the hole in the left wall and watching the play of dark colors from the mysterious world beyond, “an expeditionary force of manbats, complete with its Talented supervisor, has disappeared. They should have been back this evening, but they have not arrived, and I cannot find the 'mind' of the Talented no matter how hard I search with my own magics. I must assume they have been murdered-or at least that the Talented has and does not, therefore, register with me. I want you to go in search of the first squad for any traces whatsoever giving clue to their disappearance.

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