This was the habitation of a royal soul in perpetual
vigil over its corpse and vested with all the powers and austere
propensities of a thing supernatural. But not once did the impulse
come to him to fly. Rachel's face attended him like a lamp.
He moved forward, his path only discovered to him step by step as the
light advanced, the sumptuous frescoes done by the hand of his father
emerging, one detail at a time. The solemn figures fixed accusing eyes
upon him from every frieze; the passive countenance of the monarch
himself confronted him from every wall. One wondrous chamber after
another he traversed, for the tomb penetrated the very core of the
mountain.
The innermost crypt contained the altars. This was the sanctuary, the
holy of holies, never entered except by a hierarch.
When Kenkenes reached the final threshold he paused. Thus far, his
presence had been merely a midnight intrusion. If he entered the
sanctuary his coming would be violation. He thought of the distress of
Rachel and dared.
The first alabaster altar glistened suddenly out of the night like a
bank of snow. Kenkenes' sandal grated on the sandy dust that lay thick
on the floor. Not even the keeper had entered this crypt to remove the
accumulated dust of six years.
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