Douglas Niles - Winterheim

Once more she looked at the tub, its waters growing cold. Her skin itched. The sea voyage had left her hair crusted with salt, and the crude accommodations of the ship’s cabin made her feel filthy and unclean, but still the bath would have to wait, her comfort again overruled by priority.

Pausing only to take her mask and robe, symbols of her status as high priestess, from the stand where they awaited her, she left the royal apartment and started along the promenade.

She needed to go to the temple to pray and to meditate and practice the magic of her arcane lord. As always, she would let the will of Gonnas the Strong show her the way.

Grimwar Bane ambled down the corridor leading away from the royal quarters. There were others-slaves and ogres alike-about, but his wife was off to the temple and would be kept busy for a long time. That gave him, at last, his chance at freedom.

He kept his eyes on the human slave, Wandcourt, who was two dozen paces ahead of him. He knew that Stariz would have spies lurking, so Thraid Dimmarkull’s slave and the ogre king were making it appear that they were not together. It was important that Grimwar observe the route that Wandcourt took, because that was the path to his goal.

The man turned into an alley, one of the many passages that gave access between the great stone edifices of Winterheim’s royal level. This one followed directly below the outer wall of the palace. The turn was not unexpected, but the king ambled past that alley with apparent indifference-they had agreed that it would be too obvious if both of them turned into the same, little-used passageway.

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.