"I saw him," Nidrot said at last, his voice low, hollow, carrying a weight that drew the air from the chamber.
Old Beard's chewing slowed, and even the ogress on his lap tilted her horned head, listening intently.
"For the first time in my life..." Nidrot's eyes unfocused, as if reliving it, "I felt fear. Not the fear of death, or the fear of losing, but something older. A primal terror that sank into my marrow, that froze me where I stood and screamed at me to run."
His words grew sharper, his lips pulling into a twisted grin that stretched unnaturally across his face. "But that was not the end."
"Because after the fear came something else." He leaned forward, his fangs catching the faint glow of the crystal lamps.
