Seven Sorcerers(31)
Sungui could not help smiling at the brilliant truth of the Almighty’s words. The others also shared this breathless awe. Here was the naked joy of Zyung’s presence: the absolute conviction that the world was made better by his very existence, and that your part in the great drama was to help him spread that ecstasy across the earth. Power brought Order; Order brought Peace; and Peace brought Bliss. Zyung and his Seraphim were about to unite the world as it had never been united in all its long, bloody ages of struggle. First there must come a great pruning, then the Tree of Empire would grow stronger and healthier than ever.
A final round of bows preceded a goblet of highborn wine for each of them. Then the four were dispatched from mighty Zyung’s presence. On the windy deck outside, nothing much had changed. The Daystar sailed through the sky with the Holy Armada trailing behind it, three thousand Holy Dreadnoughts filling the blue heavens in all directions. The great flock of Trills spread itself between the airships, flapping leathery wings, and the armor of knights riding on their ridged backs gleamed bright as diamonds.
Sungui breathed deeply of the cool, fresh air. He let the winds caress his face like the gentle fingers of a lover. Gammir and Ianthe went down the main hatch where the comfort of their quarters waited. Surely there were others among the Seraphim who resented the presence of these newcomers, but to voice opinions on the matter might bring one in direct conflict with Zyung’s wishes.
Lavanyia lingered at the railing of the middle deck, her eyes searching among the dreadnoughts for some unspoken sign. Sungui joined her, sensing that she wished to speak.
“I do not trust these traitors who often wear the forms of beasts,” she said, her eyes still on the armada. The rattle of sails mingled with the sound of the Daystar’s flapping wings. “It is said they drink the blood of slaves.”
“This is true,” Sungui told her. “Six days past a galley slave was burned nigh to death in an accident. Captain Ajithi ordered a spearman to put the wretch out of his misery, but the Black Wolf came instead and took the wounded man away with permission from His Holiness. Later I witnessed the Manslayers toss a charred and shriveled corpse into the sea. There was not a drop of blood left in the body. Sergeant Mhirondu tells me they have requested more slaves’ blood, but His Holiness denies them. Yet they will be allowed to drink their fill in the coming battles.”
Lavanyia sighed. “Blood magic,” she whispered. “There is no place for it among the Celestial Ones.”
Sungui offered a half-smile. “Apparently there is.”
Lavanyia’s dark eyes turned to Sungui. She caressed his face with her soft palm. “Be wary of them, Sungui. When they are no longer of use to His Holiness, we will rid ourselves of them.”
“With the Almighty’s permission,” said Sungui.
“Of course,” said Lavanyia. She kissed his cheek and floated beyond the railing, winds tearing at her silver vestment. He watched her glide gentle as a seabird past the Serpentine and the Steel Heart, alighting finally on the deck of the Flametongue. He lost sight of her among the armored figures pacing there.
The armada flew directly toward the setting sun. Shades of scarlet, pink, and gold bled from the clouds into the sea. Sungui watched the last of the sun’s disc sink beyond the horizon, and the first stars blinked to life in the purpled sky. Darkness covered the ocean and a yellow half-moon emerged from a bank of clouds. Lamps and braziers came to life across the top decks. The Trill Knights brought their screeching mounts back to the stables of their assigned ships, driving them home with prodding spears and vocal commands. Slaves came forth with hocks of raw meat to feed the lizards. The familiar odor of Trill dung filled the middle deck, and the sound of snapping beaks shod in bronze.
Sungui took a last look at the armada trailing behind the Daystar before going below. In the darkness the Almighty’s great fleet resembled nothing less than a constellation of stars rushing across the darkness. Sungui descended the middle stair and entered his cabin, where slaves brought a meal of roasted fowl, seasoned rice, and assorted fruits. When the remains of his repast were removed, Sungui hung his silver robe on a peg near the cabin door and practiced evening meditation by the light of a tallow candle. In the morning he must travel across half the armada to deliver the Almighty’s instructions. Tonight a calm mind and deep sleep would serve him best. He lay upon the pillowed cot and closed his eyes, denying himself the opportunity to yearn for his comfortable bed and spacious apartments in the Holy Mountain.
As he hung upon the edge of sleep, an image of poor, salt-doomed Mahaavar leaped into his mind. The specter followed Sungui into a dark dream where she wore her female aspect and lay with Mahaavar again in the Garden of Twenty-Seven Delights. In waking life Sungui had to choose either male or female form, but the sleeping mind was both at once. The emotions of both aspects mingled and merged in a way they rarely did during conscious moments.