“Haven’t you read the reports?” Travis said. “I have a way of getting around.”
Never, in all they had been through together, had Grace been afraid of Travis, but she was at that moment. He wore a grin like a jackal’s, and in the golden light his skin seemed hot and metallic, like that of the beings in the sarcophagi. He stalked to the edge of the dais. The woman and the black‑robed men all took a step back.
“You,” Vani said, and she was almost as fearsome as Travis, her gold eyes blazing. She held Nim tight in one arm, and with her free hand pointed at the woman. “You sent the Scirathi after us. You told them where to find my daughter.”
The woman’s hand darted inside her robe. She said nothing. The five men exchanged uncomfortable looks.
“You aren’t Scirathi,” Farr said, eyes narrowing. “So why were they working for you. Who are you?”
“What?” the woman said, her voice mocking now. “The great Seeker Hadrian Farr doesn’t know the answer when it’s right in front of his face? Your reputation must have been overly inflated in the reports we received.” She inclined her head toward Travis. “He knows who we are. Though I confess, I do not know how he can. All the same, he does. Go on, Mr. Wilder. Tell them.”
Travis opened his mouth, but before he could speak, another voice answered. “They’re the Philosophers, Hadrian! We can’t let them go through the gate.”
The voice was weak, ragged, but it echoed around the dome. Grace turned. To her right, a staircase led up to a mezzanine that ringed the chamber. A dark‑haired woman stood halfway down the staircase, hunched over the rail. Behind her, a streak of red smeared the white marble steps.
The woman on the staircase was Deirdre Falling Hawk.
Everyone in the chamber stared, silenced by shock. Farr actually staggered, a hand to his chest. Joy shone on Travis’s face. However, after a second the joy flickered and vanished; he had seen the trail of blood on the stairs. The Philosophers, too, appeared surprised to see Deirdre standing there.
“Why aren’t you dead?” the woman snapped, her tone what a rich woman might use with a servant who had not performed some task swiftly enough.
Deirdre gave a pained smile. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.” She limped down several more steps. “The woman is Phoebe. She’s their leader, Hadrian. Stop her.”
Farr’s eyes were on the bloody stairs. “Deirdre, you’re–”
The sound of booted feet against marble rang out. A trio of men in black uniforms rushed through a doorway into the room. They held guns in their hands.
The gold‑eyed woman, Phoebe, smiled. “Now this distraction will be removed.” She glanced at the security guards. “Dispose of these intruders. Use whatever force is required.”
The guards–all of them large, thick‑necked men–leveled their weapons at the interlopers. “Walk forward slowly,” one of them said. “Come one at a time with your hands out in front of you.”
Travis was still grinning like a jackal. “That’s funny.” He glanced at Master Larad. “I’m thinking the rune of iron.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Larad said, and held Sinfathisar before him.
“Whatever that is, put it down or we’ll shoot!” The guard targeted Larad with the gun.
“No,” Travis said. “You won’t.”
“ Dur!” Larad shouted.
The three men cried out as the guns flew from their hands, arced across the room, and struck the far wall. The weapons fell to the floor as shapeless lumps of metal. The guards staggered back, clutching stinging hands.
Grace staggered herself. For a moment, as Larad spoke the rune and the Stone flashed in his hands, she had heard a rushing noise, and she had glimpsed silvery threads all around her. It was the Weirding. She reached out to Touch it. However, even as the Stone faded, so did the shimmering strands around her.
“Now, Vani!” Travis shouted. He was already moving toward the guards. Farr was on his heels.
“Take Nim,” Vani said, pressing the girl into Grace’s arms. “Protect her.”
Before Grace could speak, Vani’s form blurred, and she was gone. A moment later she reappeared in midair above the guard closest to the door. Her boot flew out, contacting his skull, and he toppled to the floor as she landed without sound next to him. The other guards tried to back away from her, toward the center of room, but Travis and Farr were between them and the dais, cutting off their retreat.
Two more guards appeared at the door. Again Vani’s form seemed to blur as she attacked them. Travis and Farr grappled with the other two guards. However, Grace saw this only dimly, as if through a shimmering veil.
Once again, the silvery threads of the Weirding shone around her. She reveled in the sensation of life. How she had missed the Touch! She let her consciousness follow the glittering web.
The threads ended at the edge of the chamber.
What was going on? The Weirding had returned, but only here in this room; Grace could not follow it beyond.
Think, Grace.
The silver web had momentarily reappeared when Larad had invoked the power of the Imsari. In a way that made sense; the power of the Weirding sprang ultimately from the runes that had brought Eldh and everything on it into being. But why was she seeing the Weirding again now?
“I’m afraid, Aunt Grace,” Nim said, tightening her arms around Grace’s neck.
The silvery threads grew brighter.
Grace clutched the girl. Contacting Nim was what allowed her to see the Weirding. Only how could that be? Her mind fought to comprehend. The Imsari were part of the First Stone. Like the thirteen morndarithat entered Orъ, they were the most primordial of magics; they were the first enchantments, and the last to remain while all other faded. It made sense that the Imsari helped her see the Weirding. But why did Nim do the same?
Grace didn’t know, but she was not going to waste this chance. The Weirding could fade again in an instant.
Deirdre?she called out, sending her presence along the shimmering threads.
Across the chamber, near the door, Travis, Farr, and Vani were still struggling with the security guards. The men had learned to keep away from Vani, but Travis and Farr kept herding them back within the T’gol’s reach. The Philosophers had retreated, standing near several of the sarcophagi where the gold‑skinned beings still slept.
“Stop them!” Phoebe shouted, her voice shrill, hands clenched into fists.
Grace didn’t know much about the Philosophers, other than that they were the mysterious leaders of the Seekers. One thing was certain. Whatever power they possessed, they did not like to do their own dirty work.
Deirdre, Grace called again. Can you hear me?
Then she saw a thread that flickered with jade and fiery crimson. Grace brought her own strand close. Astonishment streamed across the thread. On the staircase, Deirdre gripped the railing.
Is that you, Grace? How–?
I’m speaking to you over the Weirding. It seems to still work, at least as long as I hold on to Nim.
She felt amazement and wonder vibrate along the thread. And pain. Grace probed, letting her consciousness reach deep into Deirdre’s body, surveying the damage, making a diagnosis.
It wasn’t good. Deirdre had been shot in the right shoulder, and the bullet had nicked her subclavian artery. She had lost a lot of blood. That she wasn’t already dead was a wonder. Something seemed to have slowed her metabolism. But time was running out. Deirdre was already going into shock; Grace could sense her organs shutting down. Now that she could use the Weirding, Grace might be able to stave off organ failure for a short while and keep Deirdre’s heart beating. But only if she could touch Deirdre. And even magic wouldn’t help if Deirdre didn’t get a blood transfusion–soon.