Seven Sorcerers(39)
Our armed escort leads us toward the far end of the hall, past the yawning mouths of corridors agleam with half-light. This is the nexus of their sunken city, the heart of a nameless kingdom that few living beings know exists. There are no books in any of the Five Cities’ libraries that speak of this place, no stone tablets that record its history. Only one entity survives who remembers the glory of this lost city when it thrived in the sunlit world an eon past. Her gaze falls upon us now.
She sits upon a tusked throne made from crystal and the bones of mammoth Serpents. The nameless ones bow before her dais. I sink to one knee and my companions join me. She regards me in silence as I raise my head to speak.
“Greetings, Vaazhia, Queen of the Nameless Realm,” I say. “It has been far too long since last we spoke.” I use the common tongue because I know she understands it. Not even she remembers the long-dead language of her own kingdom.
Vaazhia’s eyes gleam bright as rubies with vertical pupils of ebony. She sits tall as an Uduri upon her throne. High cheekbones dominate her shapely face, and her full lips are purple as the skin of fresh grapes. Her tall forehead sweeps back into six horns that rise from her skull like a crown of yellowed ivory. A flood of night-black hair flows from the top of her head to cover her shoulders and breasts. Strands of jewels shimmer upon her arms and legs, where the scales of her scarlet skin reflect the glow of firelight.
“Shaper.” I am relieved to see that she remembers me. Her forked tongue darts from between her lips and slides back into the hollow of her mouth. “You have not visited me since the black desert ruled the lands above. Are these your daughters?” Her eyes shift to examine Alua and Sharadza.
“These are my honorable companions,” I say, emphasizing the last word. I introduce both women at length. Vaazhia was always impressed with formalities and courtly etiquette. Reminders of her lost Queenhood, perhaps.
“I am most honored to meet you,” Sharadza says with a curtsey. “Your hidden kingdom is… quite lovely.”
Alua’s only greeting is a silent bow of the head. “You are of the Old Breed,” Vaazhia says to her. She recognizes the subtle signs of our ancient kind. Her eyes return to Sharadza: “And you carry the blood.”
“My father was Vod, King of Giants, Breaker of the Desert,” says Sharadza.
Vaazhia’s eyes widen. She leans forward in her great chair. “Yes. I see him in your face, girl. Yet I knew him by another name. And his father I knew better than he did. Yet too short was his stay in my company. This cannot have been so long ago…”
“Only a few decades,” I say. “Time is an illusion that fools us all, cousin.”
Vaazhia looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. She nods, her eyes glazing with memories, or the shreds of memories. A silence falls upon the chamber. Even the orange flames, fueled by her sorcery, are without sound.
I break her reverie by speaking her name again. She blinks like a viper.
“Do you recall the name of Zyung?” I ask. The lizardess nods. “A great war falls upon the world above, and Zyung has become our enemy. We seek your aid in opposing him and those of our kind that he commands.”
Vaazhia laughs. “The world above does not concern me,” she says. “Long ago I enjoyed life beneath the sun and stars. This is my world now and I am content. My children take what I need from the fields above, and there are none to challenge my rule here.”
“Your… children… are known only as brigands and river pirates in the world above,” I remind her. “When they raided the desert they bore the stigma of nomads and the hatred of civilized folk. Now they are the scourge of the Stormlands, and still held in contempt for it. Do you not wish for allies, for respect, for companionship?”
“I have companions,” she says, spreading her arms wide to indicate the Nameless Folk. They stare at us, silent as mushrooms.
“I know the truth of these nameless ones,” I say. “They are creations of your sorcery, nothing more than phantoms designed to resemble those you once ruled here. In the world of the living they are nothing less than scavengers and thieves, all in service to an unknown sovereign. They neither think nor feel. You are alone here, Vaazhia. Yet you need not be.”
The lizardess stands, towering twice my own height. Sharadza takes a step back. Alua does not move.
Vaazhia opens her mouth wide, baring fangs like those of a cobra. “You insult me, Shaper…” The earth rumbles beneath our feet and sand trickles from the vaulted ceiling. The flames in her braziers rise higher and brighter. Serpents of fire dance there, ready to leap and devour us.