“Here we are,” said Tyentso as they arrived at her partially erected tent, a small swarm of imperial staff coming and going.
“Good, you’ve brought back—” High General Milligreest’s greeting came to a sudden halt.
Kihrin counted at least a dozen men, some clearly high-ranking military officers and others wearing the colors of various Royal Houses. And of course, the high general.
“General Milligreest,” Kihrin said.
The high general pursed his lips. “I should have known I’d find you anywhere someone’s destroying a city.” Dismissing Kihrin, he looked over the group. His gaze paused momentarily on Senera. He didn’t look at Janel at all.
“Play nice, Qoran,” Tyentso chided. She walked up to the table and pushed an Academy wizard out of the way. “Make a space, people. The adults have something to discuss.”2 She waved her group forward. “Now what was that about destroying Morios?”
Senera stepped up. She eyed the Academy wizards warily, then shrugged. “This is theoretical. As no dragon has yet been permanently slain, we’re operating under conjecture—”
Tyentso made an annoyed noise. “Skip the caveats and get to the point.”
“Morios and his Cornerstone, Warmonger, must be destroyed within thirty seconds of each other. We think. So we’ll need to split up. Kihrin goes with Thurvishar to where the Cornerstone is hidden, and the rest of us kill Morios—which Khoreval should make easier.” She pulled two small twigs out of her misha. They were identical, except that one was a normal twig made from wood and the second looked like wrought iron. “These are keyed to each other. The moment Morios has been slain, I’ll snap the normal twig, breaking its metal twin, signaling it’s time to shatter Warmonger.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Kihrin said.
“No,” Senera corrected. “I made it sound simple. It will most definitely not be easy.”
“Why does Kihrin go with Thurvishar?” Janel asked.
“I assumed Kihrin would want to be with someone who could make a portal back.” Senera turned to Kihrin. “I could do it, but I also assumed you’d prefer someone you actually trust.”
“Preposterous!”
Everyone paused and looked over at the man who’d interrupted—an older Quuros wearing green robes.
“Havar D’Aramarin, right?” Tyentso said, eyes narrowed. “Just curious: Which part of that did you find preposterous?”
“I am High Lord Havar D’Aramarin,” he corrected. “And the idea that this woman could open a freestanding portal beggars all belief. She’s clearly lying and you’re too naïve to realize it.” He scowled. “As for you, don’t expect anyone to consider you the legitimate emperor, when you didn’t even win the right in the arena.”
The high general gave Tyentso a warning look. “Don’t.”
Tyentso smiled. “Right now, I don’t give a fuck who thinks I’m the legitimate emperor. I care about saving what’s left of Atrine and its population. So unless you’re here to help us, why don’t you go check on your Gatekeepers?”
The high lord started to say something else, but Qoran Milligreest stepped up next to Tyentso and gave the high lord a look. The wizard turned on his heel and strode away.
“That one’s going to cause trouble later,” Senera murmured. “There’s no way he won’t try to have us arrested as witches when this is over.”
Milligreest said, “You should be arrested—as a terrorist and a traitor.”
Senera smiled. “It’s nice to know my work is appreciated.”
“Worry about it later,” Janel said. “In the meantime, we’re missing an important piece of information: Where is Morios’s Cornerstone?”
“Oh,” Senera said as if she’d forgotten an insignificant detail. “In the god-king Khorsal’s throne room, under a thousand feet of water, at the bottom of Lake Jorat.”
57: MEMORIES OF HORSES
Atrine, Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Kihrin first learned about Aeyan’arric
Janel stared at Senera. “Khorsal’s palace? But Emperor Kandor destroyed that.”
“No, just submerged it underwater when Kandor dammed the Endless Canyon,” Kihrin said. “There’s no reason the palace wouldn’t still be down there.” When Tyentso blinked at him, he said, “Teraeth told us about it, remember?”
Janel drummed her fingers against the table. “Anything else we need to know?”
Senera picked up someone’s writing quill from the table and dabbed it in ink. “Yes. Thurvishar and Kihrin need sigils to let them breathe and survive the pressure.” She paused to give Kihrin a thoughtful stare.
“They’ll work on me as long as I have Urthaenriel sheathed when you draw them,” he replied.
“Good.”
“I’ll need sigils too.” Qown stepped forward. “I’m going with them.”
Janel blinked. “You are?”
“Someone besides Thurvishar should hold Senera’s signal branch. Thurvishar’s going to be concentrating on magic portals and fighting off any hostile forces we find.” Qown gestured at Kihrin. “And I don’t know if the twig will even work if Kihrin holds it. Urthaenriel might block the effect.”
Kihrin grimaced. “That’s … possible.”
Janel hesitated and then nodded. “All right. You three will smash the Cornerstone. The rest of us will fight Morios.”
Senera moved to each man and drew something on their foreheads. Looking at the other two, Kihrin saw the now-familiar air glyph and a new, different symbol.
“There is one additional problem,” Thurvishar said. “I can open a gate, but I don’t know where this palace is located. The bottom of Lake Jorat is rather a big place.”
“You only need to know the way out. I know the way in.” Senera concentrated and wove her magic. The portal she created opened onto something black, the gate’s normal mirror finish reflecting … nothing.
Kirin bet the watching Royal House wizards were giving themselves fits.
“We’re doing this right now?” Qown seemed surprised. He set his satchel down next to the table.
“Every second we wait, more people die,” Janel said.
“Why is the gate black?” Kihrin asked.
“Light can’t reach that far underwater,” Senera responded.
Since Kihrin had already resigned himself to ending up drenched, he walked to the portal. Halfway there, he turned back. “Hey, Janel.”
She looked up. The tension around her eyes added a decade to her real age. “Yes?”
“Kick that dragon’s ass. Somehow.”
Janel smiled. “I will. And you be careful.”
“What’s to be careful about? I’ve got the easy job.”
Senera held up the metal twig. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Oh! Thank you.” Qown grabbed the fake twig. He stared at it, and the metal began to glow—like sunlight condensed into one tiny portable object.
“We can all swim, right?” Thurvishar asked.