city,” said Callatas. “Keep Tanzir and Sulaman and their allies from taking the wall. I only require a few days to prepare the final spells. Once they are finished, the Apotheosis will be complete, the new humanity shall rise, and we shall be beyond all threat.”
Erghulan stared at him, and Callatas wondered if it would be necessary to kill him after all. That would be inconvenient. Erghulan was a boor, and he had just lost a battle to Tanzir, but Callatas needed someone to take command of the city’s defense, and Erghulan was still the Grand Wazir. There were no better candidates at hand.
A pity that Rhataban had gotten himself killed. The Master Alchemist could have held the wall against an army for months.
“Very well,” said Erghulan at last. “If you can do as you say, I shall hold the city until you finish your spells.”
“Go at once,” said Callatas. “Before you do, send some of the Golden Palace’s slaves to me. I require them to fetch a few items from my palace.”
###
Kalgri waited, watching the frenzied activity in the Court of Justice.
The Voice brooded and snarled and hissed in her thoughts, but for the moment, there was nothing for Kalgri to do. Based on the reports from the scouts, Tanzir’s army was still a few hours from the walls of Istarinmul, and Kalgri had no wish to fight an entire army by herself.
Especially while Kylon of House Kardamnos still carried that valikon. She would kill him, of course. Slowly and in great pain, if at all possible. She also hoped to tell him of Caina’s fate before he died, that she had been trapped on Pyramid Isle to be torn apart by the nagataaru or to hide until thirst killed her.
Kalgri would not, of course, do that in any way that put herself at risk. Not when there was so much killing at hand.
So she waited, watching the activity in the courtyard. The slaves made sure to stay well away from her, which she found endlessly amusing.
Callatas kept himself busy once he had changed out of his tattered garments and donned new, pristine robes of white and gold. He stood at the foot of the dais and cast spell after spell, gesturing with the Staff of Iramis as the Seal glowed with blue light. His powers carved three concentric rings of golden fire at the foot of the dais, the largest one a hundred yards across, arcane sigils flickering and dancing within the flames. Some of the spells Kalgri recognized as spells of summoning and binding, others as spells of warding and containment.
Some of them she had never seen before, and couldn’t even begin to guess their purpose. As much as she enjoyed irritating Callatas, as much as his temper and short-sighted pride often caused him problems, she had to admit that he was brilliant. The Apotheosis, the wraithblood, the spells he now cast…all of them were works of supreme skill.
A pity he was such a fool with his babble about a new humanity. The Voice knew the truth, and so did Kalgri. The nagataaru would devour this world, as they had devoured countless worlds before, and then move onto the next, and the next, and the next, for all time and for all eternity.
And she would be there with them, killing and killing and killing for all time.
Callatas straightened up, sweat glittering on his forehead beneath his turban. Evidently, the spells were a great strain. He looked towards the gate, and Kalgri saw a mob of slaves and Immortals, along with a team of twenty horses pulling a large cart.
A very large cart.
Curious, Kalgri strolled closer.
The large cart held a massive mirror in a reinforced steel frame, the entire thing nearly twenty-five feet long on each side. Dozens of guide ropes held it in place, and a score of slaves hovered around it, keeping it from wobbling. Given that it must have cost a fortune to build, Kalgri could see why they were so careful.
It looked like the Mirror of Worlds in every single one of Callatas’s wraithblood laboratories, albeit far larger.
Erghulan stared at him, and Callatas wondered if it would be necessary to kill him after all. That would be inconvenient. Erghulan was a boor, and he had just lost a battle to Tanzir, but Callatas needed someone to take command of the city’s defense, and Erghulan was still the Grand Wazir. There were no better candidates at hand.
A pity that Rhataban had gotten himself killed. The Master Alchemist could have held the wall against an army for months.
“Very well,” said Erghulan at last. “If you can do as you say, I shall hold the city until you finish your spells.”
“Go at once,” said Callatas. “Before you do, send some of the Golden Palace’s slaves to me. I require them to fetch a few items from my palace.”
###
Kalgri waited, watching the frenzied activity in the Court of Justice.
The Voice brooded and snarled and hissed in her thoughts, but for the moment, there was nothing for Kalgri to do. Based on the reports from the scouts, Tanzir’s army was still a few hours from the walls of Istarinmul, and Kalgri had no wish to fight an entire army by herself.
Especially while Kylon of House Kardamnos still carried that valikon. She would kill him, of course. Slowly and in great pain, if at all possible. She also hoped to tell him of Caina’s fate before he died, that she had been trapped on Pyramid Isle to be torn apart by the nagataaru or to hide until thirst killed her.
Kalgri would not, of course, do that in any way that put herself at risk. Not when there was so much killing at hand.
So she waited, watching the activity in the courtyard. The slaves made sure to stay well away from her, which she found endlessly amusing.
Callatas kept himself busy once he had changed out of his tattered garments and donned new, pristine robes of white and gold. He stood at the foot of the dais and cast spell after spell, gesturing with the Staff of Iramis as the Seal glowed with blue light. His powers carved three concentric rings of golden fire at the foot of the dais, the largest one a hundred yards across, arcane sigils flickering and dancing within the flames. Some of the spells Kalgri recognized as spells of summoning and binding, others as spells of warding and containment.
Some of them she had never seen before, and couldn’t even begin to guess their purpose. As much as she enjoyed irritating Callatas, as much as his temper and short-sighted pride often caused him problems, she had to admit that he was brilliant. The Apotheosis, the wraithblood, the spells he now cast…all of them were works of supreme skill.
A pity he was such a fool with his babble about a new humanity. The Voice knew the truth, and so did Kalgri. The nagataaru would devour this world, as they had devoured countless worlds before, and then move onto the next, and the next, and the next, for all time and for all eternity.
And she would be there with them, killing and killing and killing for all time.
Callatas straightened up, sweat glittering on his forehead beneath his turban. Evidently, the spells were a great strain. He looked towards the gate, and Kalgri saw a mob of slaves and Immortals, along with a team of twenty horses pulling a large cart.
A very large cart.
Curious, Kalgri strolled closer.
The large cart held a massive mirror in a reinforced steel frame, the entire thing nearly twenty-five feet long on each side. Dozens of guide ropes held it in place, and a score of slaves hovered around it, keeping it from wobbling. Given that it must have cost a fortune to build, Kalgri could see why they were so careful.
It looked like the Mirror of Worlds in every single one of Callatas’s wraithblood laboratories, albeit far larger.
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