B. Alexander Howerton Read Online Free Page A

of the room. 
Sweat dripped down his temples from under his disheveled red hair, running into
his thick beard.  He glanced frantically about, looking for some mode of
escape.  The only way out he could see was the door through which he entered. 
He leapt up and ran toward it, crashing his shoulder into it. He rebounded, and
the door opened.  The guard who had brought him in stood in the doorway,
glowering menacingly and holding a long iron knife in his hand.  The captive
backed slowly away, and the warrior shut the door again.
    The prisoner whipped around and glared at the reclining,
half-nude priestess.  “There is no escape,” she said. “You are my prisoner.” 
The red-haired captive’s expression of hostility did not change.  “Oh, of
course,” The priestess continued, “You do not understand our language.  No
matter. You will serve your purpose admirably, nonetheless.  You must be tired
and thirsty, after that long trek through the desert.  Would you like something
to drink?” 
    She leaned forward and poured a dark liquid from the urn
into the two cups.  He watched intently as she set the urn down, picked up a
cup, and took a long drink from it.  She sighed with pleasure as she drew the
cup away from her lips, and with the back of her hand brushed away a trickle of
liquid that ran down the side of her chin.  “This is exquisite.  You must try
it.  It is the temple wine, made especially for me by my slaves.  That is where
your companions have been taken, by the way.  I’m sure the wine they will
prepare for me will equal this.  Here, try some.  It will prepare your spirit
for the coming ritual.”  She stood up and walked slowly over to him, holding
the full cup before her in two hands.  He backed away, unsure of what to do.
    “Oh, come, I’m not going to harm you.  I want you to feel
comfortable and safe.  It is important.  This wine will restore your
strength.”  She held the cup forward, raising her thick, dark,
exquisitely-formed eyebrows in an inviting gesture, and parting her full lips
slowly in a reassuring smile.
    The captive stared apprehensively at the priestess, then at
the cup, then at the priestess again.  Her face was now so calm, so friendly. 
He inched toward the cup, which she held perfectly still, until he could sniff
the contents. A strange, pleasant mixture of fruit and spice scents entered his
nostrils. The new sensation caused him to jerk back a little, but the priestess
still did not move.  He reapproached, his thirst gaining control of him, and parted
his lips slightly.  The priestess very slowly and tenderly placed the rim of
the cup between his lips and tipped the cup, until a small sip spilled into his
mouth.  He pulled back quickly as the strange new tastes exploded on his
tongue.  It was not unpleasant.  In fact, he wanted more.  He opened his mouth,
wider this time.  The priestess tipped the cup up, filling his mouth.  His
thirst overwhelming him, he drank in great gulps.
    “You like that, don’t you?” she asked, smiling.  “Here,” she
said, whirling around to refill the cup.  “There’s plenty more.  You can have
all you want.”
    A warm feeling flowed through his body as he drained the
second cup.  The magical liquid seemed to drain away the aches of the forced
march through the desert.  He smiled, relaxing.
    “Ah, the wine is reviving you.  Good.  Come. Rest.”  She
walked around behind him and put her hands on his strong, sinewy arms, still
held by the log and the shackles, and guided him toward the pillows.  He
allowed himself to be led, the wine having melted his resistance.
    She sat him down on a pillow and stroked his arm.  “You look
so uncomfortable with those chains.  One more cup of wine, and I think I can
trust you without those.”  She poured another cup and helped him drink it.  He
was eager for the magical liquid this time.  As the look of contentment spread
across his face and his eyelids closed,