Diablo 3: The Reaper of Souls (5 page)

Nerissa picked up the velvet-covered jewelry box and opened it, holding it for Carlotta to peruse the contents. "We've wagered words and promises, but these heirlooms are diamonds and gold. Are you sure you wouldn't rather play for more... substantial stakes?"

Something like panic flickered in Carlotta's eyes, and her jaw tightened for a moment before she smiled obsequiously. "No, my dear. That would never do. If I am to grant you your dearest wish, you must offer me your most valuable possession." Her tongue flicked over her lips with reptilian dexterity, and Nerissa imagined it forked and hissing. She nodded her assent.

At that, Carlotta broke into a genuine yet deeply malicious grin. "And what shall I wager tonight? What, tonight, is the thing you wish for most?"

Nerissa smiled easily, but her heart beat forcefully within her chest. She had no doubt that this woman would somehow claim it if she lost. She framed her words carefully but cloaked them in nonchalance. "I would only have Elizabeth happy and beautiful again."

Carlotta drew breath to answer, but Nerissa cut her off with a raised finger.

"But, I will play tonight under the condition that Elizabeth also have her happiness and beauty for the duration of our game, until I turn my last card."

Carlotta glared at her, nonplussed. "You would have your stakes before you win them? Nonsense."

"If they are yours to grant, they are yours to take away if I lose." Nerissa smiled sweetly. "All I ask is that Elizabeth have some brief time of happiness and beauty. Unless, of course, you'd rather play for lesser stakes?" She vaguely waved a hand toward the open jewelry box, and Carlotta shook her head, her face torn between anger and anxiety.

"No. Of course not. But you ask too much. You cannot have your stakes before you win them."

Nerissa felt herself balanced on a tightrope of decorum, weighing Carlotta's determination to have her own way against the foul creature's obvious hunger. She smiled with practiced ease and gauged the uncertainty in Carlotta's eyes, the nervous twitching of the fingers, the eager pitch of her shoulders. She was the very picture of necessity, mask it though she tried.

Nerissa stared hard at Carlotta for a long moment, then shrugged her shoulders as if in defeat and indicated the jewelry box again. She cocked her head insolently to one side, daring Carlotta to accept the jewels and baubles.

Carlotta seethed, her teeth bared.

"So be it." She clapped her hands, and Nerissa gasped in spite of herself. For an instant, the lamplight had flickered, and in the shadows Carlotta's eyes had glowed like burning embers. The old woman smiled, triumphant and predatory, and Nerissa fought to regain her composure. Carlotta was even more withered and worn-looking than she had been just a moment ago. But she had never looked more deadly.

Immediately, the patter of bare feet came down the hallway, almost at a run. Carlotta held Nerissa's gaze, the hint of a satisfied smirk twitching one corner of her mouth. Nerissa smiled benevolently, as if regarding a favored guest at a dinner party. Her stomach twisted in a painful knot, but her face beamed with bland goodwill.

The door burst open, and neither woman moved. Elizabeth ran to Nerissa's side, wearing only her shift, her golden tresses loose about her shoulders, her fine features more radiant and beautiful than ever.

"Oh, Nerissa, I've had the strangest dream. It was... it... oh, dear." She giggled, her fingers to her mouth. "I've forgotten what it was."

Nerissa finally looked up at her, turning her head with casual precision. "That's quite amusing, Elizabeth, dear. But I'm afraid I have a rather important guest at the moment."

Elizabeth seemed to see Carlotta for the first time and recoiled slightly. "Oh, I'm so sorry to interrupt. Whatever was I thinking?" She appeared to be at a loss, terrified by the horrid crone but too entranced to break away. "I should... go now?"

The old woman regarded Elizabeth, and the girl shrank back behind Nerissa's chair. "Yes, Elizabeth," Carlotta croaked, her fingers tightening on the head of the ebony cane. "Say goodbye to your sister."

Nerissa's eyes narrowed to slits, and Carlotta grinned with plain cruelty, all pretense of civility gone. Nerissa kept her gaze fixed on Carlotta a moment longer, then turned a genuine and loving smile on her disconcerted sister. "Goodbye, Elizabeth," she whispered, and Elizabeth involuntarily backed away.

"Goodbye," she answered uncertainly, then turned, nearly running from the room.

"Now." Carlotta cut the cards, and Nerissa hesitated, then drew. When the six cards lay on the table, she felt doubt flicker through her again. She forced it down, determined to see this through. She revealed her rightmost card and repressed the excitement at seeing the bishop of stars. Carlotta made a tiny noise of disapproval and turned over the five of serpents. She looked up at Nerissa with rank eagerness in her eyes, and Nerissa had to restrain herself from drawing back.

She reached out, uncertain, then flipped the left card and heard Carlotta's rude giggle. The two of lions wasn't going to help much. Nerissa glanced at the jewelry box as Carlotta's hand hovered over her two remaining cards, finally descending on one.

She positively crowed with delight as she snapped over the archangel of stars. She chuckled and bobbled up and down in her seat, while Nerissa's head swam. The highest card in the deck. She looked down at her last card, knowing that it mattered not in the least. And yet...

"Come now, dearie." Carlotta didn't even bother to mask her malevolent glee. "Turn it over. Let's bring this to an end, shall we?" Her smile was pure predation, and Nerissa found herself wondering how the old witch took people's hearts. Did she suck them out of their mouths? Rip open the chests with those clawlike fingers? Or simply chew through the breastbones like a hideously oversized rat?

She shook her head to dismiss such horrors and smiled at Carlotta. "Of course, it's not too late to call it a draw. Or to change the stakes..." She picked up the jewelry box once again and fingered the sapphire on the comb, traced the jewels of the stiletto's handle.

"No," snapped the old woman, leaning forward in her chair. "You agreed. You have lost. Now turn over the card and let us finish the game."

"Yes," Nerissa answered, pure steel in her voice. "Let us finish the game." And with a swift motion, she drew the stiletto from its sheath. Carlotta shrieked and raised the cane to ward off the blow, unnatural flame flaring from its handle, but Nerissa flipped the knife and plunged the blade into her own chest. Crimson blood spurted, splashing the cards, and Carlotta recoiled, snarling in animal rage. The bright arterial blood hit the table with gouts of steadily decreasing force, until Nerissa's eyes rolled in her head and she slumped back into her chair. The blood leaked gently now, slowly soaking her brocade bodice.

Carlotta sat still for a long time, her breath coming in shallow pants, her forked tongue licking scaled lips. Her gaze shifted from the cooling corpse to the unfinished game on the table.

From somewhere in the house she heard the muffled patter of Elizabeth's feet and realized, with mounting distaste, that the spell she'd cast on the young woman would last until the game ended. The crone hissed and reached out to flip over Nerissa's final card, but she stopped herself short. The act would be futile. The terms of the game were set, unbreakable.

Until I turn my last card, Nerissa had said.

With great effort, Carlotta rose to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane.

"Well played, my dear. Well played indeed."

She turned her back on the blood-soaked cards and, with slow, painful steps, hobbled from the room.

MiddleWick

The soldier raised his torch and leaned forward, leathers creaking. His eyes were narrow in their examination. The light of his flame sent shadows waltzing through the orchard, twisting and morphing through the brush like dark appendages slithering in retreat of the starlight. Above him, the wind—stiff and unseasonably chilly for early autumn—wrestled through the canopy of leaves and branches, ushering all seven of the corpses into a lazy sway from their nooses.

He lingered for several minutes at the bloodied feet of the old man, hanging heavily from a short oak tree. The glow of the torch's flame darkened the contours of the carcass's frail frame and accentuated its skeletal fragility; between tears in the clothing, the light found liver spots, open sores, jagged veins, and something odd behind the ribbons of fabric fluttering against the cadaver's sunken chest. The soldier craned his neck. Cautiously he lifted a gauntleted hand, squinting through the firelight as he pinched the fabric between two fingers. He brought the torch closer and tilted his head as he gently tugged downward on the loose flap of cloth, following the series of intricate red creases that split the skin of the old man's breast and trailed down the sternum, over the belly, and—

"Harringer," a man barked from the tree line. "Stop undressing the corpses."

The soldier spun, torch extended, splashing light onto the dark path between trees. The newcomer grinned, hands on his hips, his black armor nearly camouflaging him against the shadowy brush. He sashayed forward from behind that smile—two rows of perfect white teeth set against an austere landscape of deep wrinkles and heavy stubble—and took his place beside the young soldier.

Harringer turned back toward the carcass swinging from its rope. "Stretvanger's lost his mind," he said, stretching again to scrutinize the scratches on the old man's torso. "Have you seen what he's done to this fellow?"

The man in dark armor shook his head. "I haven't. And neither should you. Hands off, remember? We're not supposed to touch these things."

"Why not, you figure?"

"Not my area." He chewed his lower lip, looking up thoughtfully at the old body. "Stretvanger wants them to bleed out. We're not to touch them till the big man gives the order, you understand?"

Harringer gave an absent nod, eyes passing over the corpse's moist, milky flesh. "He's carved symbols into this poor man's chest and stomach." He moved the torch to the opposite hand and continued his probing.

"He's drip-drying the blood out of them. Stretvanger was adamant. Wants them dry as raisins."

"That's odd, don't you think? To cut in patterns?"

The newcomer shrugged. "No odder than storming Middlewick and ordering the execution of four farmers, two barmaids, and a midwife without discernible reason or cause."

Harringer followed the trail of cuts down the cadaver's stomach and started yanking at his waistband. "This one wasn't a farmer. He was the florist, I think." He unfastened the drawstring belt with one hand, lowered the shredded pants, and traced the gashes down both gaunt thighs. The noose groaned against the bough.

"For all that's righteous, Harringer, there's a whorehouse in Southfield. Finish your patrol and I'll treat you to a go-around, but for whatever goodness is left in your heart, button the poor farmer's trousers."