Mina stopped the words that had been pouring forth. She lowered her eyes from Chemosh’s intense gaze, averted her head.
“You would have given your life for Takhisis? You gave her your life; Mina, the time you fought Malys. Takhisis brought you back for her own selfish reasons. She needed you. If she had not, she would have let you fall through her fingers as so much dust and ash. And at the end, she had the temerity to blame you for her downfall.”
Mina went limp in his grasp.
“She was right, my lord.” Tears of shame seeped from beneath her eyelids. “Her death was my fault.”
Chemosh brushed aside the tangle of red hair to see her face, “And when she died, some part of you was glad.”
Mina moaned and turned her face away from him. He smoothed back her tear-wet hair, wiped away her tears.
“Loyalty to your queen is not what has kept you in this valley You stay because of your guilt. Guilt made you prisoner. Guilt your jailor. Guilt was almost your slayer.”
He put both hands on her face, looked deep into the amber eyes.
“You have no reason to feel guilty, Mina. Takhisis bought and paid for her own fate.”
His voice softened, soothed. “She is gone and so is Paladine.” “Paladine .” Mina murmured. “My oath, to avenge my queen’s death … on him, on the elves…”
“So you shall,” Chemosh promised. “But not yet. Not now The way must be prepared. Hear me, Mina, and understand. Both the great gods are gone now. Only one remains—their brothel Gilean, god of the book, god of doubt and indecision. He stand with the scales of balance, light in one hand, darkness in another Every waking second, he weighs them to make certain that they do not shift.”
Mina looked up at him, entranced. He had ceased to talk to her. He was talking to himself.
“A futile task,” Chemosh was saying with a shrug. “The scale will tip. They must since the pantheon is now uneven. Giles knows that he cannot maintain the balance forever. He sees his own downfall, and he is afraid. For I know what he does not. know what will tip the balance.
“Mortals,” said Chemosh, savoring the word. “Mortals are the ones who will topple the scale. Mortals like you, Mina. Mortals who come to the gods of their own free will. Mortals who do our bidding not out of fear, but out of love. Those mortals will grant power to their gods, not the other way around as it has been in ages past. That is why I did not want your death, Mina. That is why I want you alive.”
He put his mouth close to her lips. “Serve me, Mina,” he said so softly that she did not hear the words but felt them burn her skin. “Give yourself to me. Give me your faith. Your loyalty. Your love.”
Mina trembled at her own daring, afraid he would be angry, yet she was thinking of what he said about the power of mortals in this Age of Mortals. She saw in her mind the golden scales that Gilean held, balanced so precariously that a single grain of sand could cause them to wobble.
“And if I give my love to you, what will you give me in return?” Mina asked.
Chemosh was not angered by her question. On the contrary, he seemed pleased.
“Life unending, Mina,” he said to her. “Youth eternal. Beauty unspoiled. As you are now, so you will be five hundred years from now.”
“That is all very well, my lord, but—” she paused.
“But you don’t care about any of that, do you?”
Mina flushed. “I am sorry, lord. I hope you are not offended—”
“No, no. Do not apologize. You want from me what Takhisis was unwilling to grant. Very well. I will give you what you do care about—power. Power over life. Power over death.”
Mina smiled, relaxed in his grasp. “And you will love me?” “As I love you now,” he promised.
“Then I give myself to you, my lord,” she said and she closed her eyes and lifted up her lips for his kiss.
But he was not quite ready to take her for his own. Not yet. He kissed her on her eyelids, first one, then the other.
“Sleep now, Mina. Sleep deep and sleep dreamless. When you wake, you will wake to a new life, a life such as you have never known.”
“Will you be with me?” she murmured.
“Always,” promised Chemosh.
4
The elves, driven from both their ancient homelands, roam the world, exiles. Some have gone to the cities—Palanthas, Sanction, Flotsam, Solace—where they crowd together in dismal dwellings, working at whatever they can to buy food for their children, lost in dreams of past glory. Other elves live in the Plains of Dust, where every day they watch the sun set on their homeland that is far away, almost as far as the sun, or so it seems. They do not dream of the past, but dream blood-spattered dreams of a future of retribution and revenge.
The minotaur sail their ships on the foaming seas and fight their battles among each other, yet always the sun shines bright on the swords that vanquish the ancient enemy and on the axe that cuts down the green forest.
The humans celebrate the deaths of the dragon overlords and worry about the minotaur who have, at long last, established a presence upon Ansalon. The humans do not worry much, however, for they have other problems more pressing—political strife and turmoil in Solamnia, outlaws threatening Abanasinia, goblins rising to power in southern Qualinesti, refugees everywhere.
The dragons emerge from their caves into a world that was once theirs, was lost, and is now theirs again. But they are watchful, wary, even the best of them suspicious and distrustful, just now starting to realize that what was lost is lost for good.
The gods return to an Age of Mortals and know that it is truly named, for it is mortals who will determine whether or not the gods will have any influence over their creation. Thus the gods cannot sit at their ease in the heavens or in the Abyss or on any of the immortal planes, but walk the world, seeking faith, love, prayers. Making promises.
And while all this is happening, a shepherd stands upon a hill, watching his dog bring the sheep to the fold.
A kender plays games with the ghost of a dead child in a graveyard.
A young cleric of Kiri-Jolith welcomes a new convert.
A death knight seethes with rage in his prison and looks for a way out.
Mina woke from a strange dream that she could not remember to darkness so deep that the lights of the candles did little to illuminate it, just as the cold, pale light of the stars are unable to light up the night. Her sleep was as deep as the darkness. She could not remember when she had slept that soundly. No alarms in the night, no sub-commanders waking her with questions that could have waited until morning, no wounded carried in on litters for her to heal.
No face of a dead queen.
Mina lay back on the soft, down pillows that surrounded her and gazed into the darkness. She did not know where she was—certainly this was not the hard, cold floor of the desert on which she had been sleeping. She was too warm, too comfortable, too lethargic to care to try to find out. The darkness was soothing and scented with myrrh. The myriad candles around her bed burned with unwavering flames. She could see nothing beyond the bed. For the moment, she had no care for that. She was thinking of Chemosh, the words he had said to her yesterday.
When she did some part of you was glad.
Mina was a veteran warrior. From where she had been standing on that fateful day, she could have never reached the elf in time to stop him from hurling his lance at the goddess whose punishment for stealing away the world had been mortality. Mina did not blame herself for her queen’s death. Mina blamed herself for having—as Chemosh said—felt joy that the queen was dead.
Mina had slain the elf. Most thought she had killed him in retribution. Mina knew differently. The elf had been in love with her. He had seen, with the eyes of love, that she was grateful to him for what he had done. She saw that knowledge in his eyes and, for that sin, he paid with his life.