The Southern Kings think their combined fleets invincible. They are good men, but they are fools. Even after I split the veil of the future and showed them the Hordes of Zyung only days from landfall, they still deny the truth of their weakness.
When those ships sail in the morning, each man on board will be sailing to his death.
One can bring a Council of Kings together, yet still fail to make them listen.
So I sit above the darkening sea, striving to peer deeper into the corridor of the future. Which veil hides the truth from me? I must offer these brave Kings something more before they sail off to die. For the first time, I wonder exactly how much I have Diminished, living among the Earthborn for so long. Perhaps that single glance of what is to come, the golden cloud vision that I offered them, is all that I am capable of giving. Still I must try.
The moon rises, split in half by the earth’s shadow, and no longer can I see the future clearly. The veils are too thick. Too numerous. This has always been difficult, for the future is nebulous and unformed. Yet now it becomes impossible.
Perhaps it is Zyung himself who obscures my vision. Surely he has not forgotten me, or the exodus which I made possible so long ago.
In the war room of Khyrei’s black palace, near to the ruins of Ianthe’s tower, the Kings and their advisors had gathered before sunset. They had all seen the golden cloud on the previous day, the vision of overwhelming forces that had sent even resilient Tyro into a delirious fever. Now they had gathered again, this time to decide a course of action.
How I had hoped they would listen to me.
Yet they are Kings, used to getting their own way.
Prideful Kings, some of them, who would rather face death directly than run from it.
Undutu of Mumbaza, barely nineteen years old, spoke the loudest. This was no surprise to me. “We have assembled the greatest fleet in history,” said the young King. “The only thing that has changed is our enemy.” His eyes, darker than his ebony skin, flashed with boyish bravado. The other Kings saw this naïve ig norance as nothing less than raw courage.
“Well spoken,” said Tyro, King of Uurz, before I could correct the Mumbazan. “The war we intended to fight against Khyrei shall now be against Zyung. If the wizard’s vision is true—”
“You know it is true,” Sharadza interrupted him. I avoided looking at her emerald eyes. It would not do to be seen fawning over the former Queen of Yaskatha while her husband sat at the same table. “The great horde approaches. You saw it in Iardu’s vision.”
D’zan, King of Yaskatha, rubbed his unshaven chin. A platinum crown sat heavy upon his brow. He knew my powers well; he had no cause to doubt the vision. “Iardu,” he said, “you showed us a vast armada that sails upon the air, and in numbers far greater than even our combined forces. Yet what can you tell us of this God-King’s weakness? How may we best face these invaders?”
The faces of the Kings fell upon me. Brave Tong, whose reign had begun only three short days ago, relied on a quick-witted translator to speak with these royal visitors. Vireon, King of Udurum, sat silent as stone, his great arms folded, a quiet storm brewing in his eyes. He wore now the crown of Angrid, a circlet of heavy iron set with a trio of sapphires; it made him King of All Giants. Tyro was the ambitious Emperor of Uurz, his golden breastplate gleaming bright with emeralds. There was no trace of his earlier wound, or the mad fever that my potions had dispelled. I had worked to assemble the Kings here. Now I must make them listen to me.
“If Zyung the God-King has a weakness,” I said, “it can only be found in his obsession with bringing order and peace to this world. A legion of sorcerers works at his command, supporting the great empire that took him millennia to build.” I sighed and rose to pace about the council chamber. The walls of black basalt were hung with tapestries of Khyrei’s bloody history. “You rulers of six kingdoms must band together as never before. You must fight as one, or there can be no hope for victory.”
“You tell us what we already know, Shaper,” said Undutu. His white smile beamed at me, yet his words carried no trace of mirth. “This man is a wizard, not a warrior,” he said to his fellow Kings. “The fighting of war should be left to soldiers, generals, and Kings.”
“How can we fight such sorcery?” D’zan asked. “Our ships sail on water while they own the sky!”
Sharadza looked at me. Her face was lovely in the soft light of a dozen lamps.
Tell them our plan, she said without speaking. I nodded.
“Only a sorcerer can defeat a sorcerer,” I said. “This old adage is true. Therefore I have asked Khama the Feathered Serpent and Sharadza Vodsdaughter to accompany me on an errand of utmost urgency. We will find the Dreaming Ones, the sorcerers who have lain hidden for ages throughout our world, and convince them to join us against Zyung. I know not how many will pledge to our cause. Yet we three alone cannot stand against Zyung’s ranks of High Seraphim.”