"We're going to Brookhollow." "But that will only strengthen Sameska's stance against defending the city. With your arrival there, the prophecy may go unopposed." He placed a hand on her shoulder and his smile grew broader, a mischievous light dancing in his strange eyes.
"Humor me." His sudden change in demeanor startled her, and she looked at him curiously. Though dark forces seemed gathered against all she knew, she waited in his pearly gaze. He could not help but be astounded by her. "Fine. But we must get moving quickly," she said.
"It's almost three days to Brookhollow without horses or magic. With your injuries, we should try to get close to Littlewater so I can-"
"No," he said. "We don't need horses." Quinsareth felt the situation fully and knew what they had to do. He could not leave her in the middle of the road, but the alternative felt almost shameful to him, exposing her to terrible dangers despite the necessity. He closed his eyes, reaching within himself until the shadow responded. "Take my hand," he said. Hesitantly, she agreed, and the world around them turned dark, wavering as the world beneath their world became visible in an array of shadows. He heard her whisper a quiet prayer as she stood closer to him, leaning into him. Though her prayer was finished and she did not speak, Quin still heard her voice somehow. In disbelief, he listened to what he assumed were her thoughts, quoting the words of her high oracle as she gazed on the blackened landscape of the shadow realm. He shall walk on a road of shadow. "How can this be?" he whispered. The ground beneath them blurred, disappearing as they proceeded into a world of darkness that swallowed their steps.
The inner chamber of the Hidden Circle represented the pinnacle of the history of the order since its founding in Brookhollow. It was lit by several waist-high columns. On top of each, a pool of glowing water shimmered like quicksilver. The floors were of rift marble, an especially hard stone whose mixture of swirling and geometric patterns was unique to the dwarf realm from which it had come. In the center of the circular room lay a pool of placid water, a divining pool drained and filled daily by the savants. Most were aware that the pool was filled only as a formality, as it had not been used in years. Unlike her predecessors, Sameska did not approve of anyone displaying their powers in her presence, despite the Council of the Hidden Circle's long-held traditions. The whole of the room was topped in a dome, a smaller version of that in the primary sanctuary. Its walls were carved with thousands of concentric circular patterns like ripples in a rainstorm. Their similarity to the unceasing storms outside was not lost on anyone in attendance. Sameska sat in the polished oak chair at the head of the circle and glowered disapprovingly at her lessers. The twenty remaining oracles sat before their leader, avoiding her stare and deciding how best to continue their controversial inquiry into the fate of the other towns along the Qurth's border. In light of the edict against Brookhollow's resistance, none knew how to suggest that perhaps they could request aid from outside allies. Sameska had all but accused them of blasphemy. One young woman finally spoke, staring at her hands and attempting to resolve the situation calmly. "We do not doubt you, High Oracle, or the words of Savras…" "Questions of this nature are the very soul of doubt, are they not?" The high oracle's voice had risen. Her eyes darted from one young woman to the next, seeking dissidence among them, alert to whispers and accusing eyes. Sameska had slept only fitfully since the evening of her chilling prophecy. Her nightmares had become amplified by her own fears. Her adamancy to stay the course, though, had been bolstered.
There was no other way, in her mind, no doubt whatsoever-none that she might share with these rivals, in any case. These girls are little better than Dreslya in hiding their obvious contempt and jealousy, she thought. What do they know of prophecy? Of true divination? She stared through the door as if it were transparent, knowing that the statue still stood, stained with blood and tainted by death. She imagined its single eye upon her, the eye of Savras, dimmed in red and unblinking.
"Forgive us, High Oracle," another said, "we are afraid and our own spells have shown us nothing. Anything within the borders of the forest is invisible to us. We seek your sight and wisdom in these trying times, nothing more." All stared at Sameska's back nervously.
She had turned around completely in her chair, staring at the closed doors while wringing her hands and mumbling incoherently. The words flitted through her mind, weaving between her thoughts and imagined horrors until she realized she had actually heard them. She spun back around, narrowing her eyes at them, wondering if they had heard her, seen what she'd seen beyond the door. She felt it still-Savras's lidless gaze on her back-and she shuddered. "What to say?" she whispered to herself, staring at their frightened and confused faces.
Her mind teetered on the edge of inspiration, chasing the spark of her own reasoning through the fog of numerous thoughts that assailed her weary consciousness. She stretched herself straighter in her chair, grasping its arms and clawing absently at the smooth wood. "Pardon, High Oracle?" the same woman asked quietly, a note of pity creeping into her voice. Sameska held her breath, tensing as the answer revealed itself to her. "The ruins of Jhareat," she said finally, formulating her words carefully so as not to reveal more than she felt prudent. "Beyond the edges of the Qurth, deep in the forest, lies Jhareat and its single tower. Do you remember its tale?" Several in the room were visibly relieved by the high oracle's suddenly lucid voice as they recalled the story. It was a tale that most of them had heard as children, first gazing upon the walls of the Hidden Circle's sanctuary. A few nodded, sagelike, while most listened attentively, curious as to the nature of Sameska's obscure reference. "All the oracles who came before us divined the history of this realm-the land, the forest, and the ruins that lay scattered across the fields and buried in the grip of the Qurth. The legends that they discovered decorate the walls of our sanctuary as reminders of history and how tenuous our survival is in this land if we lack foresight. "Evil ruled within the walls of Jhareat in ancient times, during the days of the Shoon Dynasties." She stood, looking down at them, almost smiling as she dangled her secrets before their blind eyes. She knew they would hear but a comforting tale while she held the truth in her grip, having seen that tower and the dark forces gathered around it. She did not trust their willful youth and would not see her prophecy disobeyed by brash actions and unthinking fear. "One man. One man brought about the downfall of that terrible city. Savras sends us one man as well and asks only for our patience." Her scholarly tone disappeared, overcome by her earlier anger. "Think carefully on this before you question and doubt me again!" She turned and left them, closing the doors behind her and ending all debate. Standing in the alcove to the sanctuary, she listened for their voices and their whispers. Silence.
Turning her attention from the door, she gazed at the dark curtain that hung between her and the altar of Savras beyond. In her mind's eye she could see him, standing there in stone robes. She raised a hand to move the curtain aside and stopped. Her fingertips brushed lightly at the cloth, but fear held her in place. A chill such as only a god might inspire in the faithful kept her from moving for many heartbeats before she finally entered the sanctuary.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Talmen eyed his followers warily, studying their control of the creatures they had summoned from the Lower Planes. His senior acolytes had successfully gathered a small troop of malebranche devils, enticing them with promises of blood and destruction. The hulking brutes, four in all, shook their great horned heads and stamped the ground, gnashing their fangs and roaring in voices culled from the deepest nightmares of living men. The ground shook as they pounded the dirt with massive clawed fists in anticipation of the promised carnage. The malefactor smiled at their ferocity. In their own realm, the malebranche served as shock troops and soldiers, but on Faer?n they were nothing less than living engines of war, towering above their foes. Turning back to the less capable of his wizard-priests, he watched with concern as five of them began the final ritual of their summoning. Within their circle raged a dozen abyssal ghouls, thrashing and howling against the magical constraints of the arcane perimeter drawn on the ground. Undead were, as a rule, much easier to call and command, but these half-mad creatures were a test of will for even the more experienced Gargauthans. Talmen paid close attention to the efforts of the five as they sealed the controlling spell and made ready to release the bonds of the inscribed circle. Already he could see that minor mistakes had been made, but he took no steps to interfere. Those who survived would be stronger and wiser for the experience. In unison the five broke the circle, chanting the last of their binding and taking hold of the symbols of Gargauth about their necks, a gesture of control to denote themselves as the masters of the ghouls. The majority of the creatures stood still, swaying in an almost trancelike manner, with their unnaturally long fingers dragging the ground. Glowing white eyes looked blindly upon their summoners.