Seven Sorcerers(58)

The dreadnoughts and the flock of Trills rose high into the air once again, leaving those who had evaded them to die swimming or bleeding into the brine. The waters of the beach suddenly receded away from the island. Khama sensed wrongness in the air. He flew west above the waterline as the reverse tide ran away from the island’s shores.

The green slopes of hills and jungles passed by in a blur, and he skirted a cluster of villages on the island’s southern coast. The waters there had flowed away too, exposing the crusted hulks of ancient shipwrecks.

Khama flew on winds of his own making, as fast as he dared. He could not risk the Kings or the last of Undutu’s men being swept off his back. Yet he raced ahead of disaster, and he knew it. Behind him a cataclysm was brewing like one of his storms, though far more deadly.

The thirteen islands dwindled behind him, and the Armada of Zyung became a swarm of specks against the blue sky. Only when the God-King’s forces seemed tiny and harmless did Khama slow his flight and whirl about in slow arcs to watch doom fall upon Ongthaia.

The sound of a great voice boomed across the waves, but the meaning of its words did not carry this far. It rang like distant thunder in syllables of condemnation.

The men riding on Khama’s back called out to their Gods or hid their faces like frightened children when they saw the great wave rise up. A massive wall of blue-green seawater towered above the island chain. The fleet of dreadnoughts had risen toward the clouds. The mighty wave slid beneath them toward Zharua’s kingdom.

The God-King’s wave swept over the isles as a tide sweeps over pebbles. On it came, unstoppable in its wrath, driving toward Khama. He flew westward again, doubling his speed. Undutu and D’zan wailed in the rushing wind. Few men had seen such a sight and lived. They would never forget the whelming of the Jade Isles.

The great wave dwindled slowly as Khama hurtled westward before it. Soon the coast of the mainland continent appeared on the horizon, a line of purple cliffs with the peaks of misty mountains at its southern and northern tips.

Khama spun about one last time and cast his far sight across the ocean. He was glad the men he carried could not see across the hundreds of leagues, for they were spared the worst part of Zyung’s punishment.

Khama saw the islands battered and torn by the tidal wave, lying still in the shadow of Zyung’s dreadnoughts. A greater flock of Trills descended to pick over the flooded and smashed towns of the twelve lesser islands. Perhaps some of the islanders yet lived, those who had sheltered in the high caves and mountainsides.

Of the last and greatest island, the seat of Zharua’s power, where walls of black basalt had failed to protect the Jade City, there was nothing left. The Jade King’s defiance had drawn the ire of Zyung, and a terrible penalty had been paid.

Khama understood this as his far sight faded. He said nothing of it to Undutu or D’zan. No need to burden them further with the true depth of their loss. Not now.

Zyung had made the sea rise up to swallow the Jade King’s island. Now there were only twelve isles left for the God-King to rule, and precious few subjects left there to enslave. None of this mattered to Zyung. His true prize was the Land of the Five Cities.

Khama flew toward the green coast of the Stormlands, where the Kings of Men and Giants prepared for the next great slaughter.





9


Duality


In the Almighty’s council chamber ten of the High Seraphim stood in attendance, visions of silver between the golden tree-columns. The great table had been removed and Zyung’s massive chair sat empty. Beyond the rustling tapestries at the chamber’s far end, slaves prepared their lord and master for his audience. The shuffling of these attendants’ feet against the smooth floor was the only sound.

Sungui was certain that Zyung kept them all waiting to make a point: They served him and must wait upon his every whim. In this they were no different than the servants who scrubbed his flesh, cleaned his robes, and served his wine. Even the High Seraphim were slaves in the Living Empire; they simply wielded more power than any other slaves. As the oarsmen of the dreadnoughts were elevated above the rank-and-file servants, so were the High Seraphim placed above everyone else.

Still wearing her female aspect, as she had for days now, Sungui scanned the faces of those gathered before the makeshift throne. Of course Lavanyia stood foremost among them, being officially responsible for the actions of every other High Seraphim. Her black eyes were as inscrutable as her sable hair was perfect. Brawny Eshad stood solid as stone in his silver raiment, the Warlord of the Holy Armada in all but name. Myrinhama stood near him, seeming to glow in the sunlight falling through the oversized portholes. Her gleaming eyes and hair were brighter than beaten gold, her tiny chin lowered in supplication. The alchemists Gulzarr and Darisha stood shoulder to shoulder; they dared not hold hands in the Almighty’s presence, but their hearts were almost visibly entwined.