To Love A King || Maegor Targaryen

14 • THE GIRL WITH FANGS

With the magnate dead, the striga was in no hurry with her next attack. She approached slowly, baring her fangs, dribbling repulsively.

Maegor backed away and, carefully placing his feet, traced a semi-circle. By slowing and quickening his movements he distracted the striga, making it difficult for her to leap.

As he walked, unwound a long, strong silver chain, weighted at the end. The moment the striga tensed and leapt the chain whistled through the air and, coiling like a snake, twined itself around the monster's shoulders, neck and head.

The striga's jump became a tumble, and she let out an earpiercing whistle. She thrashed around on the floor, howling horribly with fury or from the burning pain inflicted by the despised metal.

Maegor was content, if he wanted he could kill the striga without great difficulty. But the witcher did not draw his sword. Nothing in the striga's behavior had given him reason to think she might be an incurable case.

lt moved to a safer distance and, without letting the writhing shape on the floor out of his sight, breathed deeply, focused himself. The chain snapped.

The silver links scattered like rain in all directions, ringing against the stone. The striga, blind with fury, tumbled to the attack, roaring. Maegor waited calmly and, with his raised right hand, traced the Sign of Aard in front of him.

The striga fell back as if hit by a mallet but kept her feet, extended her talons, bared her fangs. Her hair stood on end and fluttered as if she were walking against a fierce wind. With difficulty, one rasping step at a time, she slowly advanced.

But she did advance. Maegor grew uneasy. He did not expect such a simple Sign to paralyze the striga entirely but neither did he expect the beast to overcome it so easily. He could not hold the Sign for long, it was too exhausting, and the striga had no more than ten steps to go.

He lowered the Sign suddenly, and sprung aside. The striga, taken by surprise, flew forward, lost her balance, fell, slid along the floor and tumbled down the stairs into the crypt's entrance, yawning in the floor.

Her infernal scream reverberated from below. To gain time Maegor jumped on to the stairs leading to the gallery. He had not even climbed halfway up when the striga ran out of the crypt, speeding along like an enormous black spider.

The King waited until she had run up the stairs after him, then leapt over the balustrade. The striga turned on the stairs, sprang and flew at him in an amazing ten-meter leap. She did notlet herself be deceived by his pirouettes this time; twice her talons left their mark on the Targaryen's leather tunic.

But another desperately hard blow from the silver spiked gauntlet threw the striga aside, shook her. Maegor, feeling fury building inside him, swayed, bent backward and, with a mighty kick, knocked the beast off her legs.

The roar she gave was louder than all the previous ones. Even the plaster crumbled from the ceiling. The striga sprang up, shaking with uncontrolled anger and lust for murder. Maegor waited. He drew his sword, traced circles with it in the air, and skirted the striga, taking care that the movement of his sword was not in rhythm with his steps. The striga did not jump.

She approached slowly, following the bright streak of the blade with her eyes. Maegor stopped abruptly, froze with his sword raised. The striga, disconcerted, also stopped. The King traced a slow semi-circle with the blade, took a step in the striga's direction. Then another. Then he leapt, feigning a whirling movement with his sword above her head.

The striga curled up, retreated in a zigzag. Maegor was close again, the blade shimmering in his hand. His eyes lit up with an ominous glow, a hoarse roar tore through his clenched teeth. The striga backed away, pushed by the power of concentrated hatred, anger and violence which emanated from the attacking man and struck her in waves, penetrating her mind and body.