Boka warriors guided the company toward the stairways that spiraled up and around the Grand Gallery. Kerrigan was ready to continue up past the fourth level—the one at the top of the halls that led to the Grand Gallery—but Bok handed Princess Sayce to Dranae, then tugged him along the wide balcony circling the gallery. Kerrigan resisted for a moment, then saw a group of urZrethi sorceresses.
One with onyx skin smiled at him. “We do not know what you did to slow them, but we could feel it here.”
“I did nothing.”
“Modesty; good. We need your help.” She pointed to her fellows. “We have a way to stop them, but we cannot do it alone. Will you help us?”
Kerrigan nodded. “Tell me what to do.”
She pointed down at the fountain. “The sculpture. I need you to destroy it.”
“Destroy it?” Clutching the balustrade, he looked down as the last of the warriors started up the stairs. He cast a spell and caught the hint of an enchantment on the fountain that did resemble his telekinesis spell. There he used the magick to draw and lift something, whereas here it was used to restrain. It was really the same spell, just reversed.
As a dragonel ball skipped in from the Long Hall and bounced off the fountain’s lip, Kerrigan turned his head and smiled at the sorceress. “I know what you want. Are you sure?”
She nodded, then turned to her confederates. “Go!”
Each of them grew long legs and moved to a position near the top of eight halls that converged on the Grand Gallery. The only entryway the sorceresses left unattended was the northernmost, through which the enemy was advancing. As one, the seven sorceresses grew their left arms long and reached up to touch the keystone in each of the other arches.
Magick rippled through the air, shifting and shapeless, yet tangible enough to send a tingle through his flesh. It began to move in a circle, starting at the southernmost position and flowing to the right. It came around faster and faster, building in intensity. It struck him first as a light breeze, then a hot summer wind.
At the entrance to each of the seven halls, the air began to shimmer. As the heat built the arched image wavered, then began to grow more opaque, filled with amorphous mist that thickened into a billowing curtain. Then that ethereal fabric tightened like a taut sail against the wind, sealing every hall, save that through which the Aurolani advanced.
The onyx sorceress took Kerrigan’s right hand. “Now.”
The human mage drew in a deep breath, then let his sense of magick flow into hers. Heat came back along the connection, as if their energies boiled against each other, but soon the current became smooth and quick. The tingle again ran over Kerrigan, then poured through his spine and up into his head. There it swirled around, tightening into a roiling spiral.
Kerrigan extended his left hand and found the statue’s sense. His fingers closed and met resistance. He adjusted his grip, slipping it down farther toward the base, then tightened it. He caught a hint of surprise from the urZrethi, then exhaled, set his teeth, and yanked.
With a great cracking of stone, he tore the statuary from the heart of the fountain.
Water geysered through the hole, rising in a column ten feet in diameter to slam into the gallery ceiling and spray back down. A cold wave hit Kerrigan, shocking him enough that he dropped the statue and fell back. Then, sputtering, he stepped forward again to the balustrade and watched the water boil and froth.
As with fountains everywhere, the water came to it under pressure. The magick he had detected on the statue had restrained most of the water, only allowing that slender shaft to come up through the fountain’s heart. With the statue gone and the spell broken, the flow was no longer plugged. It raced down through the tunnels that brought water to the urZrethi realm.
Already the water level of Lake Osemyr had fallen an inch. In a week, a river in Oriosa would run dry. By the end of that same week, a lake would form north of Bokagul, and a village that had once sat in a sleepy little valley would forever disappear.
But now, given only one outlet, the water cascaded into the Long Hall. The first Aurolani were in some ways the luckiest. When the wall of frigid water hit them, most were shocked into unconsciousness. Those who were not struggled against the rising flood, choking and sputtering until the rushing water propelled them into the shafts raised above Will’s blood. The water’s weight was sufficient to pass them through as if mud through a fine mesh screen.
Hundreds of thousands of gallons raced into the Long Hall, sweeping everything before them. Gibberers tumbled and bounced off walls. Water wrapped some around pillars, crushing them like eggshells. The dragonels were lifted and tossed about as if mere toys. Their heavy bronze barrels smashed the troops they rolled over. Shot moved down the Hall like pebbles in a stream, and firedirt was contemptuously swirled away in the flood’s rage.
Farther on the water flowed until it reached the portal through which the Aurolani troops had entered. It burst forth in a torrent that sent those yet waiting in a little canyon scurrying for higher ground. The water filled the canyon, then streamed north to swell a rivulet over its banks and flood a valley.
Kerrigan shook his head, flicking water from the ends of his hair. “How long will you let it flow?”
“How long will it take for their stink to be cleansed?” The sorceress shook her head. “If Lake Osemyr must be drained, then so be it. Hours or centuries, this river of tears will run until we never need fear unleashing it again.”
43
Will frowned as Kerrigan looked over at him. The thief raised a hand to the fine stitchery that Peri had used to close the wound in his forehead. “Really, Ker, it’s fine. You just go on using your magick to fix up those who need it.”
“It really would take no time at all.”
Will shook his head. “Having a scar isn’t going to be so bad. Be worth a drink or two when I tell how I got it.”
“As you wish, Will.” The mage shook his head wearily and returned to his work.
After the battle, the company was conducted to a new cork. In the lower common room, Kerrigan worked with Bok on Lombo’s wounds. The dra-conette shots had done little more than stun the Panqui, though a few shots had drawn blood. Kerrigan had not had an easy time removing the dra-conette balls or repairing cracked bits of Lombo’s bony hide—but mostly because Lombo hated being fussed over.
The Panqui’s protestations had finally been enough to get Kerrigan focused on the others. After Lombo, the most grievously wounded had been Princess Sayce. Now Will cut across the lower chamber of the cork and up the steps to the woman’s sphere. There he crossed to the rounded doorway leading to the princess’ chamber.
He hesitated for a moment and his heart rose in his throat. Sayce lay on a soft pallet with a white sheet draped over her, tucked up to her throat. Her head lay on a satin pillow all but hidden by the flaming carpet of her hair. Her mask had been removed, but in its place she wore a light lace replacement. Like the sheet, it was white, and served to emphasize her pale skin.
For a heartbeat he feared she was dead, but her chest rose and fell slowly. Relief flooded through him. The idea that those eyes might never open again was something he couldn’t countenance. Once he saw she was resting peacefully, he smiled and the tightness around his heart eased.
Will turned to leave, not wanting to disturb her, but she stirred. He looked at her, and slowly she turned her face toward him.
As she had lain there, he’d only seen her right profile, but the left side of her face was mottled purple and blue, with yellow at the edges. The lace courtesy mask stood out against that angry flesh. She snaked her left hand from beneath the sheet and raised it as if to touch her face, then let her arm fall across her stomach instead.