Besides, she had a more important use in mind for her spy. The time was near for that crucial task, and she did not want him distracted by mundane matters.
She would pray. Her acolytes, young ogresses sworn to the service of the Willful One, came forward with her tall mask and her sleek black robes. She stood still while they climbed up onto stools around all sides of her. Two of them lowered the obsidian visage over her head, until the comfortable weight rested upon the queen’s square shoulders. She could barely see through the narrow eye slits of the mask, but it was not her eyes that would serve her best now. When she felt the fullness of the robes draped from her back and her bodice, the smooth wool rustling against the skin of her arms, she was ready.
The acolytes withdrew silently, except for one who tripped and dropped a stool. Stariz stiffened but didn’t turn. The others would identify the clumsy wench, and the high priestess would deal with her later. Instead, she fought for a return to the focus and serenity that had accompanied her donning of the ceremonial garb. Soon she was breathing deeply, seeing only slits of firelight through the mask, but aware of so much more beyond her clothing, beyond the room, the realm, and the world.
She advanced with measured steps, feeling the rumble in the floor as the great door to the inner sanctum rolled to the side. Her strides remained steady as she continued forward, until finally she stopped before the massive black statue that was, in Winterheim, the physical representation of her mighty god. Her heart filled with awe and devotion for her mighty god.
The image of that great bull ogre, carved from shiny black stone and rising more than twenty feet high, loomed in her mind. She imagined the stony eyes turning down to look at her, and she perceived the curiosity, the strength there. More than that, she knew her god was pleased with her, and she silently, solemnly pledged that he would always be pleased with her.
“O Great Gonnas,” she began, “Willful Master of this humble ogress, may it please you to open my eyes and my ears, to fill my senses with the knowledge that will protect your people from the basest of threats.”
With great dignity she slowly knelt on the floor, relishing the feel of the smooth stone against her knees. Carefully she leaned forward to brace herself on her hands. The mask, with its formed shoulder brace, rested firmly over her head as she lowered herself to lie flat upon the floor.
“Please give me a sign, O my Great Lord … a sign that I may use to work against those who seek to do your people harm. Let me know where I may find them, how I may know them.… I will do the rest in your name.”
She lay still, her face pressed to the floor, her vision nothing but blackness. Gradually, however, this impenetrable veil became shot through with stabs of light, flashes that originated in the center of her mind and seemed to radiate outward in pulsing and brilliant waves.
“You are real, O Willful One, and I feel your strength,” murmured the high priest.
The lights pulsed brighter, swirling now, remaining within the confines of her awareness instead of blasting away into nothingness. The flashes merged into a whole, a whirling image of white, and the high priestess held her breath, sensing that revelation approached.
Fear stabbed through her bosom, her guts, her loins-fear of powerlessness, of failure. She was pierced by the knowledge that her king was trying to abandon her, that he would try to escape her-and that if he did, she was finished. This was a warning, clear and direct from her deity. Her worst fears would be realized if she did not do something drastic.
Yes, indeed, it was time for Garnet Dane to perform his task.
She was prepared to rise, to put her plan into motion, but she felt the pressure of the Willful One’s presence forcing her back down for another message. She lay flat again and opened herself to communication with her god. At once she saw there was more to this vision.
She fought for the serenity, the clarity to understand. At last, there it was: an image as clear in detail as it was murky in meaning. Stariz studied that picture, memorizing every detail, unconcerned with the fact that she didn’t, as yet, understand. Full knowledge would come later after she had time to digest and analyze the vision bestowed upon her by her god.
When the image faded at last, once again leaving utter blackness, she remained prostrate for a long time, breathing slowly, reflecting, remembering. At last she pushed herself to her feet, and walking somewhat shakily, she withdrew toward the door that rumbled open to allow her egress. She stood alert without speaking, puzzling over the image she had seen.
She knew what to do about the matter of the king; that plan needed only one final command. As to the rebels, perhaps she would consult with her husband about this matter, for the significance of the sign continued to elude her. She knew there was truth there, but what? How?
Why had her god shown her an image of a dozen blocks of salt?
Grimwar Bane made his way back into his apartment, grateful that Stariz was gone. He allowed his slaves to disrobe him and draw him a bath, and as soon as it was ready he settled into the steaming water, allowing the warmth to soak into his body. He left instructions with his two bodyguards to guard the door and prevent him from being disturbed, even if it meant angering the queen herself.
He thought about Thraid, shaking his head in amazement. He had told her only yesterday about his intentions to send Stariz away. Her delight had been thrilling and her gratitude so intense that he had been left weak in the knees. In those moments of ecstacy the king saw beyond any doubt that he was making the right decision. He had promised to return to her tomorrow, as soon as he could get away, and already he was anticipating that delightful encounter.
The matter of explaining this new reality to Stariz was an unpleasant detail that he would continue to relegate to the future. He had begun to wonder if perhaps he might be rushing things a little too much by speaking to her immediately after the ceremony of Autumnblight, only five days away. There would be plenty of good opportunities as the season waned toward the end of the sunny days in which he could break the news to the queen, informing her that her royal presence was no longer required.
Of course, he would see to it that she had a chance to make a life for herself. Probably he would send her back to Glacierheim. Her father was baron there and in his dotage, but the king would send along a gift-a generous gift-of gold, and count on that to soothe any injured diplomatic feelings. He had two things in his favor: Glacierheim was a long distance away; and the baron’s army was barely a tenth of the size of King Grimwar’s, should it come to that.
Though they did raise some ferocious warriors in Glacierheim, the ogre monarch reminded himself with a shiver. He remembered one particular brute who had come to Winterheim with Stariz a decade before. That fellow, Karyl Drago, was the largest ogre Grimwar Bane had ever seen, strong enough to break the necks of any two normal warriors in a fair fight. Drago had been a strange contrast, brutal in battle yet reduced to a happy sigh by the sight of a little golden mirror or some trinket made from the precious yellow metal. He had actually caused some problems with his uncouth behavior. Fortunately, they had found a post for him some place very much out of the way. At least, the king consoled himself, they couldn’t have too many brutes of Karyl Drago’s size, not in Glacierheim or anywhere else.
He emerged from his bath feeling much refreshed and was pleased when he went into the great room to find that though Stariz had returned, she had waited for him to come out instead of trying to barge in and disturb his reverie. She did have a matter that she wanted to discuss, and his mood was pleasant enough that he was happy to indulge her.
“Do you remember we discussed the slaves in the Nobles’ Market?” she asked him.