“Why, then, not only did the god save your life, he dropped you right at the feet of your escorts!” said the other.
“Escorts?” Galdar regarded them warily, confused and distrustful. “What do you mean … escorts?”
“Commander Faros received word that you were coming, my lord, and dispatched us to meet you to see that you reached headquarters safely. Truly, we are well-met, all praise to Sargonnas.”
“It is an honor to meet you, my lord,” added the other soldier, awed. “Your exploits with the Dark Knights are the stuff of legend.”
“Now that I recall, there was someone called Mina. She served under you, my lord, did she not? A minor functionary?”
“The fall must have addled you, my lord. From what we hear, this Mina has been dead for a long time, ever since Sargonnas defeated and put to death Queen Takhisis.”
“May the dogs chew on her bones,” added the soldier grimly.
Galdar looked around one final time for some sign of the mountain, the desert. For some sign of Mina. Futile, he knew, yet he could not help himself. He looked back then at the two minotaur, who were waiting for him patiently, regarding him—one arm and all—with respect and admiration.
“Praise to Sargonnas,” Galdar said softly, and, squaring his shoulders, he took his first step into his new life.
3
Bracing herself for death, Mina gave the knife a sharp thrust. Death watched her with amusement.
The blade changed to wax that almost immediately began to melt in the hot sun. The warm wax oozed out between her fingers Mina stared at it, stupefied, not understanding. Lifting her eyes she met the eyes of the god.
Her legs trembled. Her strength failed her. She sank down onto her knees, dropped her head into her hands. She could no longer see the god, but she heard his footsteps coming nearer and nearer. His shadow fell over her, blotting out the hot sun. She shivered.
“Let me die, Lord Chemosh,” she mumbled, not looking up “Please. I only want to rest.”
She heard the creak of his leather boots, sensed him moving near her, kneeling beside her. He smelled of myrrh, and she was reminded of the perfumed oils poured onto funeral pyres to mask the stench of burning flesh. Mingled with the musky fragrance was the faint, sweet odor of lily and rose, faded and fragile as the petals of youth pressed between the pages of life’s book. His hand touched her hair, smoothed it. His hand moved from her hair to her face. His touch was cool on her sunburned skin.
“You are worn out, Mina,” Chemosh said to her, his breath soft and warm upon her cheek. “Sleep is what you need. Sleep, not death. Only the poets confuse the two.”
He caressed her face with his hand, stroked her hair.
“But you came for me, my lord,” Mina said in drowsy protest, relaxing beneath his touch, melting as the waxen knife. “You are Death and you came for me.”
“I did. But I don’t want you dead. I need you alive, Mina.” His lips brushed her hair.
The touch of the god could be human, if the god willed it. Chemosh’s touch roused in Mina yearnings and feelings she had never before experienced. Virginal in body and mind, Mina had been protected from desire by her queen, who did not want her chosen disciple distracted by weaknesses of the flesh.
Mina knew desire now, felt it burn to life inside her.
Chemosh cupped her face with his hand, moved slowly to stroke her neck. His finger traced the path the blade of the knife might have taken, and Mina felt it sharp, cold, and burning, and she shuddered in pain that was both bitter and exalting.
“I feel your heart beating, Mina,” Chemosh said. “I feel your flesh warm, your blood pulsing.”
Mina did not understand the strange sensations his touch aroused in her. Her body ached, but the pain was pleasurable, and she never wanted such pleasure to end. She pressed nearer to him. Her lips sought his and he kissed her, slowly, gently, long and lingering.
He drew away from her, released her.
Mina opened her eyes. She looked into his eyes that were dark and empty as the sea on which she’d wakened one day to find herself alone.
“What are you doing to me, Lord?” she cried, suddenly fearful.
“Bringing you to life, Mina,” Chemosh answered, stroking back her hair from her forehead with his hand. The white lace brushed against her face, the spicy scent of myrrh filled her nostrils. She lay back on the ground, yielding to his touch. “But you are Death,” she argued, confused.
Chemosh kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her neck. His lips moved to the hollow in her throat.
“Did any other gods come to you here, Mina?” he asked. He continued to caress her, but his voice was altered, took on an edge.
“Yes, some did, Lord,” she said.
“What did they come for?”
“Some to save me. Some to chastise me. Some to punish me.” She shuddered. His grip on her tightened and she was reassured.
“Did you make promises to any of them?” he asked. The edge grew sharper.
“No. None, my lord. I swear it.”
He was pleased. “Why not, Mina?” he asked with a smile playing about his lips.
Mina took hold of his hand, placed it on her breast, over her beating heart. “They wanted my faith. They wanted my loyalty They wanted my fear.”
“Yes?”
“None of them wanted me.”
“I want you, Mina,” said Chemosh. He kept his hand resting on her breast, felt her heart beat increase. “Give yourself to me Make me lord of all things. Make me the lord of your life.”
Mina was silent. She seemed troubled, stirred uneasily beneath his touch.
“Speak what is in your heart, Mina,” he said. “I will not be offended.”
“You betrayed her,” she said at last, accusing.
“Takhisis was the one who betrayed us, Mina,” Chemosh replied, chiding. “She betrayed you.”
“No, my lord,” Mina protested. “No, she told me the truth.” “Lies, Mina. All lies. And you knew it.”
Mina shook her head and tried to free herself from his grasp, “You knew she lied to you,” Chemosh said relentlessly. He held her pinned in his grasp, pressed her into the ground. “You knew it at the end. You were glad the elf killed her.”
Mina raised up her hands, her amber eyes lifted to the dragon. “Your Majesty, I have always adored you, worshipped you. I pledged my life to your service and I stand ready to honor that pledge. Through my fault, you lost the body you would have inhabited. I offer my own. Take my life. Use me as your vessel. Thus, I prove my faith!”
Queen Takhisis was beautiful, but her beauty was fell and terrible to look upon. Her face was cold as the vast frozen wastelands to the south, where a man perishes in instant; his breath turning to ice in his lungs. Her eyes were the flames of the funeral pyre. Her nails were talons, her hair the long and ragged hair of the corpse. Her armor was black fire. At her side she wore a sword perpetually stained with blood, a sword used to sever the souls from their bodies.
Mina cried, a wail of grief and anger. She struggled in Death’s grasp.
Takhisis reached for Mina’s heart, intending to make that heart her own. Takhisis reached for Mina’s soul, intending to snatch it from her body and cast it into oblivion. Takhisis reached out to fill Mina’s body with her own immortal essence.
“Admit it, Mina.” Chemosh held her fast, forced her to look into his eyes. “You were hoping someone would finish her for you.”
The elf king held in his band the broken fragment of the dragonlance. He threw the lance, threw it with the strength of his anguish and his guilt, threw it with strength of his fear and his love.
The lance struck Takhisis, lodged in her breast.
She stared down in shock to see the lance protruding, from her flesh. Her fingers moved to touch the bright, dark blood welling from the terrible wound. She staggered started to fall . .
“I killed the elf with my own hands,” Mina cried. “My queen died in my arms. I would have given—”