The Prince of Peshwar moaned uneasily in his sleep, his hands, swollen with years of dissipation, clawed at the silken sheets. Writhing atop the supine potentate was a thing of nightmare. In its form it was a woman, evident by the curve of breasts and hips and the long lean form of its limbs, but it substance was that of abyssal darkness, black and inky as the dark beyond the grave. The thing had no eyes and its features were vague suggestions. In his dream the Prince lay with a beautiful woman, enjoying her favors as so often he had enjoyed those of his perfumed harem. He knew that this was different, greater even as the light of the sun outshines the firelight, his hips rocked with need, melding and twinning with the shadow thing in a hideous mockery of passion. His breathing grew ragged and he tore at his bedding in his somnolent madness, sweat pouring from his tanned skin as his body heaved. At the last moment his eyes opened and saw the thing above him and then, as suddenly as a lighting strike on a clear night, he tumbled over the edge of an abyss. The Prince spasmed took one final breath and lay still, sightless eyes fixed on nothing in this word.

Cassilda gasped as her eyes came back into focus. A pleased purr rolled from her lips as she rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Warmth returned to her body with a delicious slowness as her spirit slid back within it, crossing the vast and inky depth of space with the speed of a shadow fleeing before sudden sunlight. A prayer had been answered this night. Somewhere, far from here, a courtier had prayed for a death. He had sought amongst the temples for a means to make his desire manifest, until, in hushed whispers he had met a man who told him of a way that his wish might come to pass. A small price to pay to offer up a little of his blood under the waxing gibbous moon. To speak a gibberish phrase in a blasphemous tongue.  Shortly, that courtier would wake and find that his prayer had been answered and begin to worry that the debt that he had incurred might someday be called due. In time he would speak of what happened to another desperate man and another bargain would be struck. Thus, death by wished for death, her influence spread. Growing like a great tree, spreading forth its branches into the heavens and reaching its roots into the dark and secret places.

A raven cawed nearby, inquiring if it could partake of the meal that lay chained to the slab that Cassilda had just vacated. She looked back at the body of the young man, rigor already setting in. Sighing at the wastefulness of it she gathered her silken clothing about her naked form and nodded to the two hooded servants who waited to dispose of such things.

“When they are done with it,” she said to the Raven, pausing to ruffle its coarse black feathers with her ivory fingers. At the end of the long chamber stood a leather bound book. Already the name Tamil of Peshwar was inscribed in it, though no quill stroke had made the notation. A smile curved her full sensuous lips.

“They have returned from Goldencrest,” the raven cawed, its words both intelligible and animal at the same instant. Cassilda gazed into a large silver mirror set with flecks of polished jet and raked her fingers through her hair, setting herself to rights as best she could after her exertions. Of course she had heard of the intended raid, she had even been asked along, though she had politely declined. A foolish thing, attracting attention like that. Far better to steal out alone some dark night and take care of such things. There was little to be gained and, if she were any judge, much to be lost by such an action. Alexia was rather a prude about such things.

“Dress me,” she commanded, waving a hand imperiously at the servant who were returning from disposing of the body. Silently both women went about the task of draping her in a gown of silk so sheer that it neared translucence. This accomplished they girdled her about the waist with a simple cord of gold and silver. Cassilda did not relish leaving her subterranean lair, but it was the correct action to take. Better to appear than to have it put about that she had been involved somehow. Properly garbed, she walked the halls of the castle on soft silent feet until she reached the courtyard just in time to see Alexina tear the throat from some luckless fool. Cassilda let out a low moan as she saw the soul bleed from the shattered body.

“Perhaps this will be more interesting than I thought…”