Ranke had had a monopoly on too damned long.
Me, he thought. Me. With this thing. He was not sure what it was. God did not quite describe it, but it assuredly had ambitions to be one.
A temple Ilsigis might build. A priesthood other than those damned eunuchs and temple prostitutes the Rankans called state-approved Ilsigi gods. A priesthood with swords. And real power.
He sniffed and swallowed down the taste of blood, licked a bruised and swollen mouth. “If you’re a god,” he said, “tell my followers come to get me. If you’re a god, you know who they are. If you’re a god, you can call them here for me.”
Do you really want them here, yet? We should talk strategy, man. We should make plans. You made one expensive mistake. Don’t gather all your forces in one place. Cooperate with these foreigners. With everyone. Get your information in order. Deal only with authorities or use subordinates. You have to learn to delegate.
“Prove to me-“
Oh, yes. The red slits crinkled at the comers, the mouth stretched in a wide, wide smile. Of course you’d come to that.
Chenaya screamed, in the dark, in a sudden nowhere as if the world had dropped away. She fell and fell….
… hit a bruising surface that wrapped about her and bubbled past her and folded in on her with a terrible pressure. Water drove up her nose and filled her mouth and ears, threatening to burst her eyes and eardrums. Instinctively she tried to move her limbs and swim, but the momentum was too great, until she had gone deep, deep, and the pressure mounted.