“If not, we’re going to learn.” Kihrin blew Janel a kiss and walked through the gate. The others followed.
* * *
Kihrin’s head stayed dry because the air sigil kept water from touching his face. But this proved more annoying than helpful. Instead of the visual clarity he might have gained by sticking his head underwater, it was as if he was “above” water, trying to see into the depths of a continuously moving pond. Kihrin had a hard time seeing, even with the light Qown created.
“This way.” The lake water muffled Thurvishar’s shout. The wizard tugged on Kihrin’s misha and Qown’s robes as he pointed toward the murky pillars in the distance.
They swam a ways, and Kihrin found himself thinking about the questions he should have asked earlier. Were there crocodiles in these waters? Sharks? Predators of any kind? He saw fish. Or in any event, saw the silver flash of a scaled hide, before a piscine shape made an abrupt about-face and swam away.
Brother Qown, also dissatisfied with the visibility, summoned several glowing mage-lights in addition to the glowing twig, lighting up wide swaths of the lakebed.
A palace lay ahead.
It must have indeed been a wonder in its time, featuring enormous broad colonnades, raceways, roads, and parks where large animals could mingle. The architecture had faded and weathered, worn down by water, accumulated freshwater reeds, and pond scum. Enough had survived for Kihrin to see that yes, that was a centaur, and yes, those were firebloods. He didn’t spot any human statues, but then Khorsal had been a god-king who’d loved horses far more than humanity.
They swam forward, assuming all roads led to the horse king’s throne room.
Kihrin saw no skeletons. He supposed if there had been any—if every centaur hadn’t all died on the bridge to Atrine—fish would surely have eaten any remains.
Everywhere, the accommodations catered to equine needs: no stairs, no second floors, nothing one might call a roof. As they swam farther, Kihrin caught odd glimpses of architecture unlike the streamlined style Khorsal had favored. As if Khorsal had himself built on another city’s ruins.
Then they found the only stairs they had seen in the entire city, leading to a space that was less a room than a formal receiving courtyard, either intentionally open to the sky or made that way through the centuries. The floor had been enrobed in the silt, mud, and muck of ages, interrupted only by sticks and branches sticking up at odd angles.
Still, some details of the throne room’s splendor remained. Qown’s mage-lights glinted against gold, and four rearing centaur statues decorated the corners. The stairs led up to a large throne, whose back formed a large spike rising several feet higher than the chair. Something was going on at the top of that spike: a faint beam of light led either to or away from that apex.
Thurvishar pointed to the top of the throne and said something.
“What?” Kihrin shouted. “I can’t hear you.”
As Thurvishar started to shout again, glowing gold lettering appeared, floating in the water before them. The writing said: I’m removing the water from this area. Be ready to fall.
Kihrin saw Thurvishar give an affirmative sign to Brother Qown.
The priest concentrated and Kihrin thought Qown must have transformed the water to air, since a vacuum never filled the space.
All three men fell to the ground, Kihrin more gracefully than the other two. He brushed himself off as best as one could while sopping wet and ankle-deep in mud.
“Is that what we’re looking for?” Kihrin pointed to the spike behind the throne. The light was harder to see, but still faintly present.
“Maybe,” Thurvishar said. The wizard walked over to the throne and used it as a stool to climb up and examine the top of the spike.
Wiping the mud away revealed an eight-sided gemstone. Thurvishar stared at it, concentrating.
Kihrin felt himself grow a little jealous. He missed being able to see past the First Veil, but Urthaenriel hadn’t changed her mind about allowing him to use magic. Of course, Kihrin had his own way of discerning magic. For instance, Urthaenriel continued to scream at him for allowing not just one, but two, Cornerstones within proximity. One near Qown and another near the throne.
Which confirmed Senera’s story that this was where Warmonger had been hidden.
“I have no idea what this crystal’s made from,” Thurvishar said.
“That’s a good sign. If you could tell what it was made from, it wouldn’t be a Cornerstone.”
“So what do we do now?” Brother Qown said.
Kihrin unsheathed Urthaenriel and bade it grow to its normal sword size, a gleaming silver bar. “Now we wait.”
58: ASSAULT ON MORIOS
Atrine, Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Raverí D’Lorus seriously overestimated her father’s ability to remember everyone he’d murdered
Janel watched as the portal closed and then turned to Senera. “Give me the branch.”
“What?” Senera blinked at her.
“Give me the branch. You burned through any trustworthiness I might have felt for you years ago.” She held out her hand.
“You didn’t used to be this paranoid.” Senera handed over the small twig. “Don’t break it by accident or we’ll be doing all this for nothing.”
“I’ll be careful.” Janel wrapped the twig in a strengthening spell before she tucked it into her bodice. “Now I want you to ask the Name of All Things how to slay Morios.”
“You know I hate asking anything but a yes-or-no question,” Senera protested.
The high general raised an eyebrow. “The Name of All—what?” He looked toward Emperor Tyentso for an answer.
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Tyentso said. “Prepare to be unhappy.”
Senera gave Janel a glare she promptly ignored.
Janel said, “Ask, anyway. And fast.”
Senera pulled out the small slate inkstone. She picked up the brush and ink already on the table and wrote: Don’t fight him.
Everyone stared.
“Helpful,” Tyentso said. “Extremely helpful. Why don’t we skip the ‘don’t fight him’ part since it’s not a gods’ damned option.”
“Can you distract Morios for long enough for me to put this spear through his eye?” Janel tightened her grip on Khoreval.
“I don’t see why not.”
High General Milligreest set his hand down on the table between them. “Let the army soften him up first. We have the scorpions in position.”
“Qoran,” Tyentso said gently, “that’s a good way to lose a lot of your men.”
The high general gave the emperor a tight smile. “I wasn’t asking your permission.” With that he waved a hand toward his officers. “Tell your men to begin when ready. Start with dragon fire.”
“Dragon fire?” Tyentso said.
“Coincidentally enough, we call it that, yes,” Milligreest admitted.
“What happens if they miss?” Janel said.
“I imagine they’ll hit the city,” Senera replied.
General Milligreest left the tent, and everyone followed.
Morios still played in the city. Janel shuddered to think how Ninavis and the rest of her crew were doing. With any luck, they’d managed to find the duke and rescue him. And if that didn’t work, well … there was always Dorna and plan B.1