Travis moved toward one of the sarcophagi, gazing at the figure inside. Phoebe trailed him with the gun.
“They’re nothing to you,” Travis said softly. He looked up at Phoebe. “They’re something to be used, a means to an end, that’s all. I suppose you think they can give you true immortality.”
Phoebe tightened her fingers around the gun. “They can and they will. We know that what granted them eternal perfection is in that room, on the other side of that gate. And we will have it.”
“That’s not what they came here for.” Travis bent over the Sleeping One, as if speaking to the golden man. “That’s not why they came to Earth, to give their blood to the likes of you. They’ve been waiting. Waiting for a time when the two worlds would draw close, when they would have a chance to do what they knew they had to do.”
“And what, pray tell, is that?”
“They intend to heal the world. All the worlds. The rifts in the sky are the beginning of the end. Don’t you see? You can’t escape them by going to Eldh. The rifts are there, too. If the Seven don’t unite with those Stones my wizard friend is holding, then it’s over. For Earth. For Eldh. For everything.”
The black‑robed men exchanged startled looks. For a moment, even Phoebe’s visage seemed clouded by doubt. Then her expression grew hard once more.
“By unite, you mean consume, don’t you? What you propose would destroy the Sleeping Ones, wouldn’t it?”
Travis shrugged. “It might. I don’t know. But if the union doesn’t happen, there will be no Earth, there will be no Eldh. There will be nothing at all.”
The bearded man, Gabriel, gasped, and some of the others muttered among themselves. However, they all looked to Phoebe. Her lips curled in a sneer.
“You lie. You want the blood of the Sleeping Ones for yourself, and you tell us these fantasies to trick us. But it won’t work.”
Before Travis could speak, she leveled the gun at him. Grace reached out with the Touch. Phoebe’s thread was a brilliant gold. If Grace could take hold of it, she might be able to stop Phoebe from–
There was a deafening crack!of thunder. Grace staggered back. For a dazed moment she wondered if Phoebe had fired and missed, if the bullet had struck Grace instead, knocking her back.
The thunder grew into a roar. A crack snaked across the marble floor. Phoebe stumbled into the other Philosophers, the gun flying from her hands. Travis lurched against Vani and Farr, and Larad fell to his knees. Sinfathisar spilled out of his hands, rolling away from him, skittering across the heaving floor toward Grace.
Again came a crack!
“No!” cried a shrill voice.
Grace managed to look up. On the dais, the stone arch vibrated and twisted, a wishbone gripped by two angry hands. With a sound like a piano wire breaking, one of the supporting steel bands snapped, then another, and another. The blue fire flickered and winked out. The image of the throne room on the other side vanished.
With a groan, the arch collapsed into a heap of rubble.
47.
Deirdre felt light.
The green‑gold power that had rushed into her through Grace’s life strand buoyed her like the helium in a balloon. The pain in her shoulder had faded, and her breath came easily. When the floor stopped shaking, she was one of the first to regain her feet. Beneath her boots, the marble was stained red.
You’re bleeding to death, Deirdre. You can’t feel this good. It’s impossible.
Only she did feel good. Whatever Grace had done to her, it had made her feel awake, alive. Her mind was a flawless crystal, reflecting everything around her in its facets. Across the room, Vani was helping Farr to his feet, while Travis had pulled himself up using one of the sarcophagi. When he fell, Master Larad had struck his head on one of the steps of the dais. Blood oozed from his scalp, and pain etched the scarred mosaic of his face. He clutched a small iron box in his hand.
“The Stone of Twilight!” the Runelord shouted.
Deirdre saw it. The gray‑green orb had rolled across the floor and stopped a few feet from where Grace knelt, Nim clutched in her arms. Grace started to reach out a hand, then hesitated; from what Deirdre knew, it was perilous for anyone save a Runelord to touch a Stone.
“So much for your gate,” Travis said, stepping over a crack in the floor, eyes on the heap of rubble on the dais.
Phoebe flicked her veil over her shoulders. “The gate can be easily reassembled. The same will not be said for you once we are finished with you. Kill them for what they’ve done!”
The remaining Philosophers were untangling themselves from their robes. One of them gave the gold‑eyed woman a startled look. “Are you serious, Phoebe? You mean do it ourselves?”
She glared at him. “For once in four centuries, stop being a worm, Arthur. Yes, I mean do it ourselves. Use your knife!”
From her gown, she pulled out the curved dagger she had used to draw blood from the Sleeping Ones. The men took out their own daggers. Arthur fumbled his, nearly dropping it. But others–like the bearded one, Gabriel–held their weapons firmly. Vani and Farr were the closest to the Philosophers. The T’golstarted to spring into motion.
Phoebe’s gold eyes flashed. Vani ceased moving in midair and toppled to the floor, rigid as a sculpture of black stone. Hadrian remained standing, but he was motionless as well, his eyes staring blindly. Travis gave the two a startled glance, then returned his gaze to Phoebe. He took a step back.
Deirdre, Grace’s voice sounded in her mind, what has she done to them?
It’s a spell, Deirdre spun the words back, surprised how easy it was to do so. It’s the same one she cast on Beltan. I don’t know how to break it.She thought about what she had learned from Grace. Though if all magic is gone except that closest to the source, then she must have drunk the blood of the Sleeping Ones recently. Otherwise, I don’t think she would have been able to cast the spell at all. Either way, she won’t be able to do it again for a while. It weakens her, and it takes time for her to recover.
What about the other Philosophers? Can they do the same?
Deirdre glanced at the gold‑eyed men. Their eyes shifted between Travis and Phoebe.
I don’t think so. She directed the words toward Grace. If they could cast the same spell, they would have done it already. I don’t think they’re as strong as she is.
Or as strong as Marius had been, or his master before him. Either might have been the leader of the Philosophers. Only neither had wanted what the others craved–true, eternal immortality–and so it was Phoebe who had become their queen.
“Take him!” Phoebe said, pointing her dagger at Travis.
The men hesitated, then started forward, blades before them.
“ Dur!” Travis shouted.