[piosenniel]

Giledhel


‘They are not your children, nor your servants, nor your friends,’ Malris cried. ‘They are parasites. They slew you...and they will slay us too if they can...’

Giledhel rose up from her weaving, an air of patient quietude drawn round her like a fair cloak; an imperturbable raiment that held out the madness from without. And kept her own within . . .

I will not think of him like this. she said in a moment of skewed clarity.

I cannot. This is some imposter on whom the Diviner has put a glamour. She’s always hated me. Craven hag.

He bears my love’s face but his heart seethes with anger. And were we flesh as he, he would have killed us now.

Well . . . no, not me. But my boys . . .

And wouldn’t she just love that. The witch! To leave me here alone with no one to bide the time. Never mind she has the upper hand in all the other schemes and plans and doings about this wretched fortress.

She’ll not have my little part!

That Tasa was there was all but forgotten by Giledhel. Another phantasm crafted for the Diviner’s malicious purposes, perhaps.

‘We will not play in your game, Diviner!’ Giledhel called out.

‘Come,’ she called to the three Orcs. They gathered round her, wondering down what paths her mind now wandered. ‘We will sleep. Until these bad dreams have left us. And when we wake all these horrid shadows will be gone. The stones, my dears . . . now to them. And I, too, will sink down where the blood once ran.’

She was the last to shimmer and fade upon the stone floor. Her dark eyes kept watch on the two who had invaded her little world, then winked out. Only the dust motes danced in the pale sunlight that streamed from above. And silent and still and empty was the room.