Seven Sorcerers(122)
Sungui saw it clearly, even from atop the foredeck.
The undying spirits of White Panther and Black Wolf had merged–fused like the disparate dreams of Iardu and Zyung–inside a gleaming stone no bigger than a walnut. They would lie entombed in this humble prison until the end of time, unless some great power freed them. Perhaps after a few eons they would become one with the stone, and their living souls would fade into oblivion. Vireon would ensure that the red diamond never saw the light of day again.
Alua took the diamond and sang another ancient song over it, then closed it in her fist. Her eyes met Vireon’s, and a moment of understanding passed between them. The two shared a peculiar knowledge, a soul-deep communication that even Sungui’s expanded consciousness could not fathom. Perhaps it was that mysterious emotion that Men called love. He could not say for certain.
Sungui broke the uncomfortable silence with polite words.
“I thank you for ridding us of these pests,” he said. “We also have learned much, though the learning has cost us dearly. So we must depart this land, leaving our dead multitudes to enrich the soil of your plain. We wish only for peace between the two halves of the world.”
Vireon and Alua regarded Sungui with keen eyes and stern faces.
“So be it,” said Vireon.
A globe of white flame sprang up about the couple. It lifted them into the night and raced like a falling star toward glimmering Uurz.
Sungui turned to the New Seraphim gathered upon the Daystar’s deck.
So be it.
The dreadnoughts, full now with Manslayers and Trills, rose into the sky. Wind filled rustling sails, and canvas wings flapped to the rhythms of oarsmen who would soon be slaves no longer. The airships glided east beneath a sea of stars.
In the bloody gold of sunrise the fleet of the New Seraphim entered the valley. A thousand dreadnoughts had remained here, floating like seaborne galleons in the bay with sails and wings furled. A hundred legions of Manslayers were camped across the valley in the shadow of the New Holy Mountain. Orderly rows of canvas tents spread wide from both banks of the Orra, and a new bridge of white stone arced above the river. The delta was no longer stained a deep red; sunbeams gilded the water and danced across the sea.
Lavanyia and her hundred Lesser Ones had been busy. Their spells had sculpted the interior of the temple-palace into twenty-one levels, each with its own set of apartments, pillared halls, galleries, gardens, balconies, terraces, bath chambers, privies, and quarters for a hundred legions of Manslayers. In a few more days they would complete the last of the detail work that must be in place before soldiers and Seraphim could inhabit its airy precincts. Great murals, statues, arabesques, frescoes, and friezes would celebrate the Almighty and his Living Empire. Those who dwelled inside the creation of His Holiness would live in opulence and majesty.
Yet these dedicated sculptors would never finish their great labor.
Sungui pondered the wasted effort of Lavanyia and her charges. It was regrettable, but far less a tragedy than the multitudes of lives lost on both sides of this war. Lavanyia alone had survived the rise of the coven because she was not present at Uurz. She would be the last to choose between loyalty to Zyung or to the New Seraphim. If she resisted this new vision of the empire, then she must be sent to salt. Yet if she chose to join them she had none of Zyung’s essence to imbibe. None of Iardu’s either. The merged dream, the illumination of her fellow Seraphim, these things would be forever beyond her, no matter what her decision. Unless Sungui found some way to give her that illumination, as Iardu had found a way to give it to them all.
Concern and confusion spread among the encamped legions when they saw less than half of Zyung’s dispatched dreadnoughts returning from Uurz. A single day had passed since their departure. This spoke of a quick defeat. Yet the truth was so much more complicated. There had been defeat, that was true, yet there had been a victory as well. That victory belonged to the New Seraphim as much as to the defenders of Uurz. All those who served the empire could be made to understand that in time. But first Sungui must bring that understanding to Lavanyia.
The Daystar touched its hull to the water nearest the inland shore of the bay. The hundreds of other surviving dreadnoughts stationed themselves upon the calm sea outside the bay, which was already thick with anchored ships. Like the disembarked legions, those legions aboard the ships grew restless for news of the short Uurzian campaign. It would come soon, but Sungui was in no rush to end their curiosity.
The New Seraphim gathered once more upon the deck of the Daystar as the last of the fleet came to rest upon the water. The enlightened ones were seven hundred and twenty in number. Sungui counted them with his mind as they assembled, his eyes unnecessary for the task.