Little light for human eyes. But even that was too much!
For here the children of the serpent were gathered to greet their lord. And here in their own place they were not shrouded in the cowled robes they wore when they went among men.
The Swimmers belonged to the sea, the Sky Folk to the high air, and they were perfect and beautiful in accordance with their elements. Now Carse saw the third pseudo-human race of the Halflings—the children of the hidden places, the perfect, dreadfully perfect offspring of another great order of life.
In the first overwhelming shock of revulsion Carse was hardly aware of Hishah’s voice saying the name of Rhiannon and the soft, sibilant cry of greeting that followed was only the tongue of nightmare speaking.
From the edges of the wide floor they hailed him and from the open galleries above, their depthless eyes glittering, their narrow ophidian heads bowed in homage.
Sinuous bodies that moved with effortless ease, seeming to flow rather than step. Hands with supple jointless fingers and feet that made no sound and lipless mouths that seemed to open always on silent laughter, infinitely cruel. And all through that vast place whispered a dry harsh rustling, the light friction of skin that had lost its primary scales but not its serpentine roughness.
Carse raised the sword of Rhiannon in acknowledgement of that welcome and forced himself to speak.
“Rhiannon is pleased by the greeting of his children.”
It seemed to him that a little hissing ripple of mirth ran through the great hall. But he could not be sure, and Hishah said:
“My Lord, here are your ancient weapons.”