The merchant Corfid Dreary and the narrow slits of his snake-like eyes. "My Lord," he said, "I would ask that you watch, so that during your long reign you do not take a man's life lightly." His odd clothes were drenched with blood. He looked like a messenger of creatures that even gods feared, those despicable demons that buried themselves in soil during the day and came in search of human blood at night. His foreign conical hat and the belt around it were ruined. So too were his white shirt and green waistcoat and his black cotton trousers. He was completely oblivious to the mess though, just like Lady Nephasis, Wyndon's own mother.
"It is normal to be afraid, little Wyndon. It is in overcoming that fear that you can announce yourself as a fine Duke," Lady Nephasis said, standing by Corfid's side. Even her red lips were flecked with blood. "You can watch, can't you? You're a strong boy."
Ver was trembling as she clutched her mother's legs, but even her eyes were wide open and rounded, not hiding from the happenings.
"…Yes mother," Wyndon said, just in time to see his father's legs disappear down the hound's gullet. It swallowed with a satisfied crunch and then began to lap up the blood from the floor, thoroughly enjoying every second of it. Wyndon gagged, barely able to resist the urge to vomit.
Wyndon dared to look at the colossal hound, only to find that it was staring back at him, the deep red of its pupils filled with hunger. He trembled all over and he could not look again, even as he stood so near it.
"And from the blood of the old Duke, there arises a new one," Pale Moon proclaimed loudly, his ancient voice filled with a power that dominated that large space.
"Blood of old, blood of new," the congregation seconded in their hauntingly singular manner.
"The right hand will be presented, for a Duke's right hand is his people," Pale Moon continued, holding his arms out wide, as if to embrace the gods.
"Go on dear, hold up your right hand," Nephasis said encouragingly, running her fingers through his hair soothingly, playing with his top knot.
At his mother's encouragement, Wyndon held his arm out, his fingers quivering, not knowing what he was meant to be holding it out to.
And then he saw the beast lick its lips hungrily and make its way towards him. "No…" he muttered, eyes wide, shaking his head as he stepped back, straight in the chest of Corfid who would not permit him to go further.
"Hold up your hand, young Wyndon, as an offering," Corfid said, grasping his forearm firmly and holding it out towards the mouth of the dog without a single shred of mercy.
"No!" Wyndon screamed, wriggling with all his might, collapsing to the floor, hoping to use his weight to disturb him. But Corfid barely moved. He still held him up by his arm, not allowing him to move at all, devoid of any kind of sympathy.
"You must do it, Wyndon. Do it and become our Duke, just as your father wanted. Just as you want,�� his mother said, helping Corfid to lift him.
"I don't! I don't want it!" Wyndon cried, feeling the hot breath of the dog upon him as he scrunched his eyes tightly closed, willing everything to go away, resisting as hard as he possibly could. Ver began to cry loudly too, feeling even more frightened with her brother's fear.
"Hold it Wyndon, it will be over quickly," Nephasis said, the suffocating scent of her strong lavender perfume stinging his nostrils. Wyndon realized that he hated that smell.
There was a deep groaning, like the protest of the Gods, and Wyndon thought that it came from his own throat. But a beam of light followed it, strong enough to make it past Wyndon's eyelids before he dared to open them.
Someone had opened the doors. They had managed to do it alone, even without the help of Pale Moon's magic. It was two men, silhouetted by the orange sun as it fell lower into the sky.
The congregation twisted their necks to gawk at them. One of the men had a sword at his hip. His hair was done in a top knot, like a chevalar's should be. The other was a hand or so smaller, carrying a backpack that was large enough to break a donkey.
But it seemed they had opened the wrong door. When they were exposed to the horror that awaited them inside, the blood and the hellish hounds, they could not deal with it. The chevalar collapsed to his knees in a stupor. "No!" He cried rejecting what he saw. "No! No! No!" He pounded on the floor with his fists, his cries echoing off the high stone walls.
Corfid and Nephasis recovered from their shock.
"By the front doors… That has not been done in centuries, has it? Who are they?" He heard someone mutter. Corfid flashed the speaker an angry look.
"Seize those men!" He growled. "I don't care where they came from; they are not welcome here."
A mob of men parted from the masses of the crowd. It was their flesh bodies that they relied on – no swords or weapons were to be brought within the sacred hall. They encircled the two strange men, trapping them where they stood. The one with the backpack looked panicked, but the other had lost all semblance of reality, he barely noticed what was happening around him and instead continued to lament the cruelty of the world.
Corfid waddled down the steep steps on his stunted legs, growing red from the effort.
"Don't worry, my little Wyndon, we will have them dealt with," Nephasis told him, playing with his ear. Wyndon could not even look at her. He felt betrayed. His pain had only been interrupted, not halted. He feared it all the more now. He could not stop himself from trembling.