The dining room was filled with flowers, the air unbelievably rich with their potent perfume. Silvia thought at once Schlange had filled it with symbols of life to mask his own frail mortality. Indeed he had succeeded to a degree, for he looked much more alive and animated than she remembered. Schlange waited at the doorway for her. He stood, aided by a wooden cane and the strong arm of Odin, who towered behind him like an obsidian pillar set there as a reminder of the power wielded by a wizened old man. Her lips quivered. There seemed no suitable reply. The ever-present fear and dread stirred inside her again as she paused for a moment at his side. Vaguely she was conscious of Schlange reaching out to take her hand and of him weakly looping her arm in his. The cold press of his fingers had a numbing effect on her skin, and as he guided her along, her blood seemed to turn cold and thick in her veins. She could see other faces far across the room, but they were blurred by the mistiness in her eyes.
