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.The noble lady had built an altar at the far end of the mausoleum and dedicated it to Chemosh.Here she had come to pray daily to the God of Death, swearing never to leave this place until he restored her husband to her.Since the husband’s soul had already gone on, Chemosh was unable to answer her prayer.He did, however, see to it that she kept her vow.Chemosh had returned to the world to find her ghost still there, still weeping on the stairs.He’d forgotten how annoying he found her blubbering and he freed her at last, sending her off to join her husband.He wondered if he wasn’t becoming a bit of a romantic.He entered the temple, looked around.The mausoleum was well-constructed.The roof did not leak; the building was dry and neither musty nor dank.There was only one body inside and he had remained decently interred.No stray shin bones or skulls cluttering up the place.Chemosh’s followers, undeterred by the ghost, had moved into the mausoleum during the War of the Lance and had remained here up until the theft of the world deprived them of their god.He was pleased to note that they had been an unusually tidy lot, cleaning up after their rites, so there was no melted candle wax upon the altar cloth, no blood stains on the floor, no fragments of bone left on the dais.Chemosh found some evidence that someone-either one of those new, misguided users of necromancy or grave robbers-had recently been inside.Someone had tried to pry the lid off the tomb using a crow bar.The marble lid was extremely heavy and the attempt had failed.They had raided his altar, too, carrying off a pair of golden candlesticks and a ruby-encrusted chalice, both of which he distinctly remembered, for he kept track of all his sacred artifacts.“No thief would have dared tempt my wrath in the old days,” Chemosh said, frowning in ire.“Thanks to our late and unlamented Queen, no one has any respect for the gods these days.That will change.One day soon, when mortals speak the name of Chemosh, they will speak it with respect, with reverence and awe.They will speak it with fear.”“My lord Chemosh.” Mina spoke his name, but not with fear.With love and reverence.Chemosh opened the bronze door to find her standing on the marble stairs.She was wet, bedraggled, her hands bloodied and bruised, weary to the point of dropping.Her amber eyes glowed in the warm red light of Lunitari.Bowing to him, Mina held out to him the helm of the death knight, Ausric Krell.“As you commanded, my lord,” she said.“Come inside.Away from prying eyes.”Taking hold of Mina, he drew her inside the mausoleum and shut the great bronze doors.“How cold your hand is.Cold as death,” he said, and was pleased to see her smile at his little jest.“And you are soaked to the skin.Here.We will warm you.”He was eager to find out if his enchantment had worked and if he had indeed managed to capture Krell, but he was concerned about Mina, who could barely walk for shivering.He snapped his fingers and a fire sprang up from a brazier on the altar.Mina approached it gratefully, holding her hands to the warmth.The sodden fabric of her cambric shirt clung to her body, flowing over the fullness of her breasts that were pale and smooth as the marble of the altar.He watched her breasts quiver with her shivering, rise and dip with her breathing.His eyes moved to the hollow of her throat, a tempting shadow of darkness in the firelight, to her face, the curve of her lips, the strong chin, the remarkable amber eyes.Chemosh was surprised to feel his own heart beat faster, his own breath catch.Gods had fallen in love with mortals before now; Zeboim had been one of them and she had even sunk so far as to give birth to a half-mortal child.Chemosh had never understood how one could be attracted to a mortal, with their limited minds and butterfly lives, and he did not understand himself now.He had intended his seduction of Mina to be strictly business, at least as far as he was concerned.He would make love to her and ensnare her, force her to become dependent on him.He was now half-amused by his own feelings of desire and half-annoyed.Desire was an indication of weakness on his part.He had to conquer it, get back to the business of becoming king.Mina felt his gaze upon her.She turned to look at him and she must have seen his thoughts in his eyes, for she smiled at him, the amber warm and melting.Chemosh wrenched his thoughts and his gaze away from her.Business before pleasure.He placed the helm upon the altar and stared eagerly inside.He could see, in the shadows of the Abyss, the small and shriveled soul of Ausric Krell.A raging gust of wind smote the mausoleum, lashed the trees and tore the leaves from their limbs.Thunder pounded the temple in frustration.Fury lit the night skies and tears of rage drowned the stars.Inside the mausoleum, all was warm and snug.Chemosh held the spirit between his thumb and forefinger and watched Krell squirm, like a mouse caught by the tail.“Do you pledge me your loyalty, Krell?” Chemosh demanded.“I do, my lord.” Krell’s voice came from far away, sounded tinny and frantic.“I do!”“And you will do whatever I ask of you? Obey my orders without question?”“Anything, lord,” Krell swore, “so long as you keep me out of the clutches of the Sea Witch.”“Then from this moment on, Ausric Krell,” said Chemosh solemnly, dropping the spirit upon the altar, “you are mine.Zeboim has no hold upon you.She has no way to find you, for you are hidden safely within my darkness.”All this time, he was aware of Mina watching him, her amber eyes wide with awe and admiration [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]