Instead, Grimwar passed the next block of buildings, elegant shops where gold items and rare spices were purveyed, and turned at the alley beyond. He hastened along the shadowy passageway until he reached the even darker connecting route-generally used only by slaves-behind the sprawling edifices lining the Promenade. This passage was shadowy and littered with refuse, but the king took no note of these distractions. Instead, he sought and found the black space to his left, just where Wandcourt had said it would be. In another second Grimwar darted through, then heard a soft rumble as the secret door was closed behind him. Only then did the slave unmask his lamp, the pale beams of light revealing nothing more than a small landing and a steep stairway leading down through the bedrock of the mountain.
“Do you think we were seen?” whispered the king.
“I do not think so, sire,” replied the human. “There was a shadow, as of one entering the alley behind you, but by that time you were already at the rear of the building. If it was someone following you, he will not know where you have gone from there.”
“Good. Lead on,” ordered the monarch, impatience adding an edge to his voice.
Immediately, the slave started downward, holding the light to illuminate the steps for the king, even though in the darkness ogre eyes were much more keen than a human’s. Still, Wandcourt apparently knew this route well, for he proceeded with good haste and no stumbling.
They went down the stairs for a long time. The terrace level, after all, was near the middle of Winterheim’s ascending layers, while the royal palace was at the very top. All the while the king could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and it wasn’t from the exertion of the descent. His thoughts were churning, anticipation bringing sweat to his palms, rendering his very breathing feverish with desire.
Finally they came to another door, one that Wandcourt knocked on discreetly before pushing it open. Grimwar all but pushed past the man, who had enough experience with these trysts to step out of the way. The king took little note of his surroundings, rushing through a small anteroom as a door opened beyond.
She was waiting for him, as he had known she would be, and she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her gown, that silken shimmer of crimson that was so unlike anything else in the city of Winterheim, did little to conceal the voluptuous curves of her body. Her lips were rouged in the same color, and her eyes sparkled with joy as the king stepped forward and swept her into his brawny arms.
“My Grimwar!” she whispered, pulling him close. Somewhere behind he heard a door close and knew that the slave had withdrawn. “How I missed you!”
Still clinched, the two lovers moved sideways into another room, the boudoir. Hastily the king kicked the door shut. He kissed her with crushing force, almost angrily, and she met his embrace with passion of her own. His hands cupped her flesh, and she moaned, still kissing him. His knees were shaking, and he needed to draw a breath, but he wouldn’t release her. Instead, they remained together, moving slowly across the sumptuously appointed room. The king only cast a sideways glance for a second, just to make sure that he could find the bed.
The Temple of Gonnas was a sacred chamber, huge and dark, located in the highest quarter of Winterheim’s Nobles Level, just below the royal palace. This was Stariz’s favorite place in the world, the great room where she truly felt her own power and at the same time knew the might of one who was so much greater than her mere mortal self.
The image of Gonnas the Strong looked down at her, an immense statue of slick black stone standing three times or more the height of a large ogre. The Willful One was represented as a strapping bull of her kind, an image that bore an uncanny resemblance to the glowering visage of her husband, the king, but where Grimwar Bane was lazy and vacillating, subject to the temptations of the flesh and the distractions of an idle mind, Gonnas was implacable and stern.
These were two traits that Stariz admired very much and tried to emulate to the best of her very considerable abilities.
“O Gonnas my Lord, my Immortal Master, please forgive my failures.… I return to you now not with the victory that you so verily deserve but with a plea for guidance and wisdom, for knowledge of the truths you may help me to see and of the actions that I should take in your ever-awful name.”
The high priestess pressed her masked face to the floor, to the smooth black obsidian that was as shiny and dark as the statue itself. Her great face-mask, the grotesque and exaggerated image of the god, seemed to meld to the flat surface, and she felt her robes spread out like oil across warm water. Even her flesh seemed to flatten and to merge, as if she was no more than a rug, worthy only to cushion the footsteps of her all-powerful master.
She felt the presence of Gonnas as that crushing weight came to bear upon her. A lesser priestess would have cried out in agony-indeed, many an acolyte had perished upon the first sensation of this blessing-but to Stariz ber Bane the pressure of her lord was a blessing, even an ecstacy. She gasped in pleasure as she felt the weight increase, and she knew that her god was pleased-with her, if not with all of his flock. The high priestess couldn’t breathe, but that was no matter, for it was now the power of Gonnas that brought oxygen to her flesh and vitality to her mind.
She would remain thus as long as it pleased the Willful One, and every second would give her naught but pleasure. Her mind was vibrant and active, full of thoughts of glory, of the punishment of her people’s enemies, and of the aggrandizement of her god and her land.
Slowly, with excruciating and tantalizing glimpses, the will of Gonnas became known to her. She saw the human slave, the king they had captured on Dracoheim, sliced open so that his blood might fall into the god’s ever-hungry maw. The image grew within her mind until she saw that Grimwar Bane was watching, all the ogres of Winterheim, and all of the slaves as well were watching the sacrifice. Stariz knew that her first instinct was right, and she knew a flush of pleasure at that thought.
“It shall be as you will, my master … the human king will be sacrificed at Autumnblight … and all of Winterheim shall behold his suffering, his fate, and your unending glory.…”
There was another squeeze of power from her lord, and she cried out in sheer joy under the merciless pressure of his own pleasure. It made her heart swell with love to know that she had pleased the will of the powerful god.
Stariz almost lost consciousness, so consuming was the grip, the crushing might, of Gonnas. With an effort of will she kept her wits, murmuring words of praise and exultation, promising over and over again that the slave king would die on the altar of the great, summer-end feast known as Autumnblight. This was what she had wanted, and it gave her great pleasure to know that her own wishes were so in tune with those of her true god.
Only then, as the last tendrils of awareness finally escaped her, did the Willful One remind her of her husband, Grimwar Bane, whispering that he could become a great king of Suderhold, perhaps the greatest in a thousand years. She was the key to that greatness, for she was strong where he was weak, and only through her diligence and care could that majesty be achieved.
Though it tore at her heart to hear the command from her god, she understood the last inkling of his will, and vowed to obey.
For the ogre king must be watched, very carefully indeed.
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