ATLANTION - LAYLA BOOK1

Part 41 Layla

Layla tried to avoid the guard and pass out of his range, but instead, he dragged a long, terrible spear from under his cloak. It was unimaginable how such a long thing could hide under it. She thought her ordeal was over, but then she encountered Torture. What could make the day better? A fine day under the sun, sky, no no no, under two purple moons. She was delirious. Had someone hit her in the head again? Would she wake up in a deserted forest and find that everything was fine?

The tip of the spear rumbled against the bare stone, and Layla saw the image from the Arena when the same spear impaled a gaping prisoner. The spray of blood from the thrashing body was still painted on her dirty tunic.

Gathering her courage, Layla stepped as far as she could from the guard and ran toward the door. The guard rose to his feet with his lance in his left hand. Layla's eyes widened when she saw his malevolent grin and sharp teeth biting his full lips. "Oh, Mother, save me." This stair was endless. He balanced his spear in one hand, and just as she opened the heavy door, he flung it at her. Her hands sweated with effort, opening and closing the door in a blur. A sharp silver point pierced the thick planks, and the vibration traveled across its surface to the heavy iron handle. She pushed the heavy metal bar that locked the door, hoping it would keep the guard from following her.

The entrance hall was grand. Giant forged candelabras hung above threadbare and dirty red plush carpets. Grotesque statues watched her from everywhere, hanging from slim pillars or twisting around them, hiding in poorly lit alcoves and niches. They were so well-sculpted that an unknowing visitor could mistake them for real beasts hiding in the dark. The floor was made of intricate polished mosaic, with different dragon motives and ornaments.

Big arches welcomed visitors in different directions, but all the corridors were poorly lit and empty. This massive construction was badly kept, and its former glory was crumbling. Layla felt multiple eyes watching her from the dark corners, but every time she turned, the corridors were empty, with only dust and wind howling through the cracks.

Another tremendous black marble stair, covered with a purple carpet, led to another massive door. It was slightly open, and a warm light seeped down the staircase. Layla could hear the crackling of the fire and walked toward it. The door was heavy, and she had to push with both hands and her knee to fit herself into the opening.

The atmosphere was inviting and cozy, but the look on the dismal Duke's face was less reassuring. A deep frown was creasing his bronze skin. "When did this guy get a tan so fast?" thought Layla, or maybe it was all because of the light in the room.

A throne room filled with library furniture. A few vast hearths were built along the walls, but only one was functioning; it was so big that a man could stand in it and hold a child on his back to fill it. This man seemed to grow and change the longer he spent in his domain. He looked less elegant and slim than in the Arena. This was an older, less attractive man, and deep lines around his mouth and eyes streaked his face. Yet, his eyes retained that sharp intelligence she had spotted before. He was a mix between the grumpy dragon and the erotic siren.

The Dark Duke was leaning in a soft leather chair; big stacks of old books were all around him.