17
The Siege
Five hours past the sun’s zenith, the Armada of Zyung arrives at last.
The great gate of Uurz is fortified with bands of Udurum steel. The flat stones of the northern road glimmer gray as pearls in the sunlight. The clouds have broken above the City of Sacred Waters, and the puddles of morning rain have disappeared.
Vireon stands as tall as the city wall at his back. His new greatsword has grown to match his Giant stature, and so have we. All seven of us stand as tall as Vireon now, placing ourselves between the shuttered city and the approaching dreadnoughts. On the Giant-King’s left stand myself, the coiled Feathered Serpent, and Sharadza. Her spear and shield are made of sunlight frozen hard as diamond. On Vireon’s right are stationed Alua, Lyrilan, and Vaazhia. The white flame burns in Alua’s open palms, dripping like magma between her fingers to sear the flagstones.
Blue-skinned Giants line the ramparts behind us, a thousand hulking Udvorg with spear, axe, sword, and mace. Above the great gate itself stands the band of Uduri led by Dahrima the Axe. The watchtowers are filled with Legions of Uurzian infantry. Legionnaires peer between the merlons alongside Lord Mendices and D’zan of Yaskatha. Behind the wall ten more Legions of Uurz and the surviving legion of Udurum wait in the deserted streets. Civilians are nowhere to be seen. The last of them have taken shelter in cellars, warehouses, or in the caves beneath the city, where the Sacred River flows.
Uurz has girded itself for war.
The great crowns of Lyrilan and Vireon flash in the sunlight, drawing the attention of the armada’s first wave. Vireon raises his gleaming Giant-blade and shouts at the ships above the green plain.
“Zyung!” His voice does not command the thunder that rakes the sky; it is the thunder. The God-King must hear it. “Our duel is unfinished! Come forth and face me before the gates of Uurz!”
Vireon has made his appeal. Now we wait as two thousand warships blot out the sunlight. They encircle the city in concentric formations, just as Khama said they did at Ongthaia. They might easily begin the assault and ignore Vireon’s challenge, but Zyung’s pride will not allow it. He must come to finish what was begun at Shar Dni. We have staked our lives on my familiarity with Zyung’s arrogance. It is perhaps his defining quality, evinced in the form of a vast empire built in his image, and by the temple-palaces bearing his likeness.
Yet Zyung also waits. His dreadnoughts move like titan hawks about Uurz, turning their beaked prows inward to face the streets full of anxious legions. From the sides of their hulls spring the iron tubes Khama described. Soon, very soon, they will vomit flames of alchemy upon the great walls and the city within. Even the flesh of Giants will burn.
Still we wait. Serene. A wedge of seven monoliths with Vireon at our head.
“Zyung!” Once again Vireon thunders at the unseen Conqueror. There is no telling which of the airships carries Zyung, yet it does not matter.
We will draw him out like a Serpent from its cave.
Sungui had expected the defenders of Uurz to come blazing through the air like ferocious meteors, blasting holes in dreadnoughts as Khama had done above the Jade Isles. Yet the armada had crossed the green plain with no sign of resistance, until the gold-green city came into view. There, like great pillars before the massive gates, stood the sorcerers Iardu had assembled.
Giants, all seven of them now, with the wind in their hair and defiance in their eyes.
Sungui stood on the foredeck of the Daystar with Gammir and Ianthe. Zyung remained hidden inside his council chamber, yet his awareness spread across the armada as a stifling pressure in the moist air. Now his mental command rang like a gong in their heads. The captains of the great ships began swinging their vessels into siege formation. The double wings of the Daystar flapped in unison with those on either side of her, and the aerial fleet spread itself about the city with practiced precision. The sky-ships fixed themselves between the golden towers and the blazing sun, casting bright Uurz into shadow.
Along the ramparts the ranks of northern Giants were assembled for a fresh slaughter. How eager these brutes were to throw away their lives. They had died in the thousands at Shar Dni, where the New Holy Mountain had absorbed their bones. The Men of the city were far greater in number. They had little choice in the matter of defense, for it was their city that would fall today. The Giants might easily run to their icy northland and leave these humans to their fate. Sungui admired the loyalty of Giants, if not their common sense. They would stay and perish alongside the Men of Uurz.
She expected Zyung to fall eventually beneath the power of Iardu’s band, as Ianthe’s plan had all but ensured. Yet before that moment came, Uurz would suffer and burn. A flood of death would drown the green plain, no matter who conquered this day. Like the stubborn navies who died in defense of Ongthaia, the defenders of Uurz were bound to enter death’s kingdom by the power of their own oaths, their vain pride, and the cruel honor shared by all warriors.
Let them die, Sungui mused. As long as Zyung falls with them.
She would help make it so.
Yet first Ianthe’s coven must continue the charade of serving the Almighty. Make a show of assaulting his enemies and razing this city. The bones that were scattered across the ruined steppe would not be raised into a Holy Mountain. They would be left to rot in the sun and drown in the mud, until the Land of the Five Cities had entirely forgotten them.
Sungui sighed. The last of the armada had assembled itself about the city, with the Daystar floating in the outermost ring. Great, golden birds of prey waiting to strike.
“The Son of Vod will challenge Zyung first,” said Ianthe. “His honor demands it.” Her hand lingered on Sungui’s shoulder. The Panther’s touch was a constant murmur of pleasure.
“Vireon is a fool,” Gammir said. “He believes that he owns the strength of Vod, and he will prove it by crossing blades with the God-King yet again. Yet even Vod could not stand against Zyung’s power.”
“And if you were Vireon?” Sungui asked. “What would you do?” Her eyes lingered on the seven patient Giants before the gates of Uurz.
Gammir’s lupine face regarded Sungui with contempt. His yellow eyes narrowed. “I would surrender and strike later, when my enemy least expected it.”
“Of course,” Sungui said. More likely you would run and hide like a viper in some deep-earth crevice. She looked forward to parting ways with the Wolf when today’s deed was done. She would miss Ianthe’s touch, but not the presence of her minion.
Vireon’s voice rattled the sky, and Zyung’s unspoken command echoed once more in the minds of Seraphim, Captains, and Manslayers. The firing tubes of the dreadnoughts emerged from their glistening hulls, pointed like a million accusing fingers at the city below. Sungui admired the expansive gardens and orchards, the marbled streets and plazas, the sheer beauty of the Uurzian palace. All of this would soon be no more.
As surely as Ongthaia had drowned, Uurz would burn.
She watched the impassive faces of the High Seraphim across the decks of nearby ships. How many would choose annihilation over revolt today?
A second mental command resounded, and the Seraphim floated from their ships into the air, converging above the gates of Uurz and its seven titans. Protective spheres of light blinked to life about each of their hovering bodies. Zyung had called forth his High Ones.
The Almighty was indeed coming to meet the Giant-King face to face one last time.
Be patient, came the voice of Ianthe in Sungui’s head. She knew that voice was heard by all the coven. Wait for my signal. Until then, serve your God-King.
Joining her brethren in the sky above the doomed city, Sungui waited.
One by one, tiny stars erupt in the purple sky above the gate. Surrounding our group of seven as the dreadnoughts surround the city, a thousand silver-robes appear inside globes of condensed light. They are the size of Men, so to us they are but a swarm of fireflies. Yet only when the last of them appears does Zyung manifest himself before us, accepting Vireon’s challenge.
The unspoken rules of Zyung’s response are clear: We are not to interfere in this final duel, or his High Seraphim will pelt us with their brilliant destruction.
Giant-King and God-King face one another yet again.
Today Vireon defends a living city, not a haunted ruin.
The Giant-King strides toward Zyung, whose flaming blade ignites from the center of his fist. The Conqueror says not a word. He will let his power speak for him.
Vireon’s blade arcs forward, a bolt of lightning against a pillar of flame. There is thunder, and black clouds swirl above the swarm of dreadnoughts. Wind blasts the battlements of Uurz. The gigantic blades howl and collide again.
The Flame of Intellect leaps upon my chest. I sense the presence of Ianthe and Gammir among the legion of Old Breed who watch this contest of titans. They, too, await the perfect moment to strike. Yet all eyes are focused on the two colossal combatants.
The dust along the gate road leaps as the great blades connect. Vireon steps away from the burning blade and parries a downstroke. Zyung moves very little, yet his arm is a leaping cobra with a tongue of flashing fire. Vireon’s steel begins to smoke from the touch of the burning blade.
Giant-King circles about God-King, and Zyung swivels to keep his eyes on Vireon. His arm knows no weakness or fatigue. He deflects Vireon’s every blow and thrust. His flameblade singes Vireon’s eyes, leaving a cut across the Giant-King’s cheek that steams and sizzles. Vireon feints to avoid the next blow and locks his left hand about Zyung’s right wrist. The flaming blade vanishes, only to reappear in Zyung’s left fist. It turns Vireon’s blade away and slips upward to catch the Giant-King in his left side, running him through. Zyung withdraws it instantly. Steaming blood spills from the hole above Vireon’s hip, spilling down his bronze legs. A more central thrust would have ended the duel at once.
Vireon staggers but does not fall. His blade rises to protect his neck from the flaming sword’s arc. The two blades are locked now, emitting sparks and black smoke. The eyes of Vireon and Zyung are also locked. A third deadlock: Their free hands have come together, fingers entwined in a crushing grip.
“Vireon!” calls Sharadza. “Vireon!”
It is too late. Stellar flames from Zyung’s eyes blast Vireon in the face. The Giant-King howls, losing his grip as his iron-dense flesh melts away from the skull beneath it. Zyung spins his flame-blade and takes off Vireon’s right arm at the shoulder. Then the burning weapon arcs upward and sideways, cleaving off the Giant-King’s head.
The great crown of iron and sapphire falls free of the head as it tumbles. Vireon’s smoking skull never meets the earth. Zyung catches it in his free hand. Vireon’s blade falls to join his crown. Yet before either of them hits the ground, the Conqueror’s voice rings out. The towers behind us tremble.
Vireon’s head is a mound of white salt in Zyung’s palm.
The flaming blade extinguishes itself. Zyung’s hand touches the chest of Vireon’s headless body, which has not yet fallen. It becomes an icon of white solidity now, a great effigy of salt that holds its shape as if wrought of pale marble. Zyung casts his fistful of salt–Vireon’s pulped head–across the salted body. The scattered grains adhere to the body’s surface like thistles in a hunter’s cloak. Yet the head does not reform. Nor will it ever. The Conqueror will either consume the salt himself when the siege is done, or give it to his Seraphim to imbibe.
Sharadza cannot find a voice to cry out. Alua stares at her salted husband, tears of white flame drizzling from her eyes. Her mouth is open, but like Sharadza her scream has not yet begun.
All at once it begins. Here is the signal the armada has been awaiting: the Giant-King’s death. Orange flames pour from the sky-ships, washing across the ramparts of Uurz into the streets and gardens beyond. The wails of burning Men and Giants rise on currents of stifling air.
The Feathered Serpent leaps at Zyung with Vaazhia at his side.
Sharadza and Alua advance screaming with spear and flame.
Lyrilan and myself circle about to approach Zyung from behind.
A hail of deathlights falls about us as the High Seraphim unleash their power.
A sea of flame deluged the city as the six titans fell upon Zyung.
The High Seraphim needed no command to begin defending the Celestial One. They cast bolts of solar conflagration toward Vireon’s rushing avengers.
Again Ianthe’s voice rang in Sungui’s mind, and in the minds of the five hundred.
Not yet, my children. Do not unleash your true power. Throw beams of gentle sunlight upon these defenders of Uurz. Allow them to weaken Zyung. We must neither prevent nor aid them. Wait for my signal. Be patient…
Among the thousand High Ones there remained half who were not among Ianthe’s coven. They hurled honest deathlights at the six sorcerers below, and there was nothing Sungui could do to prevent it. Yet Iardu’s followers were not so easily ashed as the soldiers who had died by the thousands at Shar Dni. As for the ranks of Lesser Seraphim, their power was directed at the besieged city. Their sunbolts sent towers and bridges toppling while the dreadnoughts poured rivers of flame across the battlements. The Men and Giants there sent up volleys of arrows, burning logs, catapult stones, and screams of hatred. Other than that, they could only burn and die.
Sungui poured harmless light upon the Feathered Serpent as its maw struck at Zyung. Ianthe and Gammir floated among the High Ones nearby, indistinguishable from all the rest in their silver vestments. The entire coven pretended to defend their master with impotent rays of light, while the five hundred who were not among Ianthe’s revolution poured raw power upon the Sorcerers of Uurz.
Each of the loyalists would have one last chance to join the coven. The wisest among them would choose treason instead of oblivion. The rest of them would not be missed.
Be patient…
We are six now.
Zyung ignores the torrent of starfire rushing from Khama’s jaws, though it burns away his silver raiment. He grabs the Feathered Serpent by the throat with both massive hands. I have seen men kill vipers in this way by strangling them to death. Khama’s black stinger strikes home again and again, puncturing the God-King’s marble flesh. The Serpent’s convulsions knock over the salted remains of Vireon, who crumbles to white powder among the tall grass.
Vaazhia’s leap brings her falling upon the God-King’s shoulders like a raging lioness. Her claws rip both sides of his face, carving rents in his stony cheeks, while the talons of her feet dig deep into his back. Sharadza’s spear of hard light impales Zyung’s gut, emerging bloody from his back. Alua casts streams of flame like whips about the God-King’s legs.
I weave a curtain of sorcery to block the deathlights that rain upon us. Lyrilan does the same as he positions himself behind Zyung.
Beyond the burning walls Giants hurl spears and burning logs at the sky-ships. Volleys of flaming arrows fly upward, but they will do no good. We already know that these ships do not easily burn.
Alua pulls her flame-whips forward and Zyung topples backward. Instead of falling he rises into the air. His voice erupts like a volcano, spilling across the snared Feathered Serpent. Khama’s bright coils turn to milky crystal, losing color and flexibility. Like Vireon before him, Khama is sent to salt. Zyung breaks the salt-Serpent in half, hurling both pieces to the ground, where they erupt in clouds of dust.
We are five.
We rise into the sky with Zyung, tearing at him like wolves rending an elk.
Vaazhia sinks her talons into Zyung’s eyes, which blast forth sunfire. The blast catches Sharadza, who reels and loses her spear, her skin dissolving. Bolts of deathlight from the High Seraphim pummel the Daughter of Vod. Her scream is one of mingled agony and grief. She becomes a burning, swirling mass of flame that refuses to fall.
Alua’s white fires glide up Zyung’s naked legs like pythons, devouring his flesh like brittle parchment. In moments it will reach his chest and heart.
Lyrilan and I await our opening.
It will come soon, but now Vaazhia’s berserk assault hides Zyung’s back from us. His grasping hands reach backward to seize her horned head as she sinks fangs into his throat. He wrenches the comely head away from her shoulders, a gout of crimson spewing across his torso.
The Conqueror’s voice rings out again, and Vaazhia’s tumbling body is a thing of salt that explodes when it hits the ground.
Two more sorcerers crushed by Zyung’s power.
Perhaps there were not enough of them to weaken him after all. Perhaps Ianthe’s plan was doomed to fail. Could the Almighty know of the Panther’s betrayal as he had known Sungui’s dual nature? Certainly he did not trust her. It could be that he allowed her to assemble this coven so that he might expose and destroy it during this very confrontation.
The Feathered Serpent was no more. The reptilian sorceress had been salted as well. Iardu had yet to strike. Lyrilan cowered behind the Almighty like a village boy afraid to cast a spear on his first hunt. White flame devoured Zyung’s lower half, and the sister of Vireon had become a burning, howling maelstrom.
Was the sacrifice of these allies part of Iardu’s plan? Was he waiting, like Ianthe, until Zyung had spent the majority of his power destroying them? Perhaps then the Shaper would strike and Lyrilan could work his transforming spell.
Sungui fretted as she tossed light across the battling titans. Uurz was a wailing holocaust below the dreadnoughts.
“Turn your lights upon the city!” Sungui gave the command to all the High Ones. “Zyung does not need us. Bring down the golden towers! Send the walls to ash!”
Her distraction worked: The High Ones who were truly attacking Zyung’s combatants turned instead to the blazing city, casting their deathlights upon it. They could not conceive that the Almighty should need their aid any longer; he was making quick work of the seven sorcerers. The High Seraphim and the Lesser Seraphim would complete what the dreadnoughts had begun. The earth shook beneath crumbling, burning Uurz. The outer walls began to melt and splinter, collapsing across the bodies of Giants and battalions of Men.
The cries of winged beasts filled the sky above the Seraphim. The first rank of dreadnoughts released its Trill Knights, who descended like a flock of vultures into the devastation. Uurzians who fled between the collapsing towers and flaming walls were skewered on the lances of the riders. On the decks of the airships the massed ranks of Manslayers beat swords against shields, anticipating the moment when they would be set to ground, turned loose to plunder the shattered city.
Sungui turned her eyes back to Zyung.
Iardu and Lyrilan pounced on him like tigers.
Be patient…
We are four.
Sharadza, torn and blazing from the deathlights, lunges once more toward Zyung. She has armored herself in condensed sun-rays, forging a greatsword from that same brightness.
Lyrilan and I strike as one. Our blazing hands dig into the GodKing’s back, tearing through stony flesh toward the beating heart within. Lyrilan chants a song of annihilation. I join his spell, although it cannot affect the Conqueror unless we claim his heart.
Alua’s flame engulfs the lower half of Zyung now. The Conqueror grows even larger, increasing in mass and density. He tosses us from him as a hound slings water from its fur. Even Alua’s white flame is cast away.
Zyung’s arms move faster than my eyes can follow. He catches Sharadza and Alua in his tightening fists. Lyrilan and I rush through the air at him.
The city burns and shatters below us, and the Seraphim have begun casting their deathlights upon it. A flock of leather-winged lizards rises from the ships, diving in the hundreds toward Uurz’s remaining defenders. On their backs armored riders carry Giant-killing lances.
Again Zyung’s voice rises above the fray, and two more of our number perish in salt.
The remains of Sharadza and Alua stream like white sand from Zyung’s clenched fists.
We are only two.
“Now!” I yell at the Emperor of Uurz.
Lyrilan sings again the ancient incantation that he spoke at Shar Dni.
Yet Zyung mutters his own syllables of power, reflecting Lyrilan’s sorcery.
Instead of Zyung it is Lyrilan who whitens and falls to join the heaps of salt.
No…
Sungui watched the colossal Lyrilan crystalize and plummet toward the plain, bursting into a cloud of salt before the broken gates. Zyung stood tall as a mountain now, ready to trample the world beneath his heel. Iardu was an insect buzzing about his granite face, avoiding his blazing eyes.
We have waited too long! What hope has Iardu without Lyrilan?
Among the hovering Seraphim, Sungui found Ianthe’s stunned face. The Panther turned to meet her, and the panic in her black eyes turned to fury. Gammir growled like a beast in the air beside her, his face gone crimson in the glow of the burning city.
Now! Like shattering glass Ianthe’s command exploded inside the heads of the coven. Sungui nearly screamed at the intimate violence. Turn on your brethren, my children! Let each one choose annihilation or freedom!
The five hundred seized their fellow High Seraphim, grabbing them by wrists and necks. “Join us against Zyung, or be sent to salt.” There was nothing else that need be said. Here, in simple words spoken plainly, was the last chance the loyalists would get to share in the plunder of the Living Empire, once it was broken and divided among the Rebel Seraphim.
Sungui and Eshad grabbed one between them.
“Never!” screamed the loyalist, deathlights flashing from his eyes.
As one, the two rebels breathed their spell, while the loyalist struggled and vomited sorcery at them. In seconds it was over. The loyalist was an effigy of salt. Sungui and Eshad broke him into pieces, stuffing him into distended mouths.
Sungui chewed and swallowed as her fellow rebels were doing in the sky all about her.
The taste was bitter, as it always was. Fleeting emotions and memories, drowned beneath her will. Imbibed power gleaming from mouth and nostrils.
Eshad gave her a nod, turning to exchange bolts with another loyalist. Sungui helped him grab the man, yet before they salted him, he surrendered. He set off with Eshad to salt and devour another. Ianthe and Gammir were devouring Seraphim after Seraphim. Sungui knew these two were offering no last chance for their victims, but she had no time to protest.
The Lesser Seraphim had receded from the battle entirely, seeking refuge on the dreadnoughts. This civil war was not for them to fight. A single High One could destroy a dozen of them in the wink of an eye. They would sit out this conflict and swear allegiance to whichever faction won in the end.
And which faction will that be? Sungui wondered.
A fog of salt dust filled the hot and smoky air. Amid the chaos of battling, consuming Seraphim, Sungui glimpsed Zyung grabbing Iardu in his massive fist.
If the Shaper perishes, so do our dreams of conquest.
Ianthe has used us all, she realized. Zyung has destroyed her enemies one by one. Now he will devour Iardu. The Panther and Wolf will flee, leaving us to the Almighty’s wrath.
In that moment, she knew herself a fool.
“Iardu.” Zyung greets me at last. His quicksilver hand falls fast, snaring me like an errant fly. He will salt me too, but again his arrogance tells me what he will do first. He will gloat over my defeat. He brings me up close to his flaring eyes. He towers above the burning city, his head higher now than his floating dreadnoughts.
The High Seraphim have turned their attention to the city, casting towers into rubble with their gleaming bolts. They are as children entertaining themselves with the slow destruction of an unwanted toy. Yet something new begins among the floating Seraphim. Two of them send a third one to salt, devouring him as I watch over Zyung’s shoulder. The same thing happens again and again throughout their swarming ranks. There is strife among the High Lord’s servants.
Ianthe’s doing.
I sense her and Gammir darting among the legion of sorcerers, singing the songs of transmutation that send the Old Breed to salt; aiding the Rebel Seraphim in the rapid devouring of their stubborn fellows. Ianthe has turned the entire legion against itself. No longer do their deathlights fall upon the blazing towers of Uurz. They strike at each other instead.
A second battle rages now above the first–a revolt of sorcerers.
I knew this would come. It is early, but not surprising.
The winged lizards harass the walls and dive among the streets, snatching men into the air and dropping them into the flames. Further up, Ianthe’s rebels annihilate their own kind. Zyung should never have taken one as empty of loyalty as the Claw into his midst. In a moment he will discover this error, when he has sent me to join my companions in the salt-death.
“I warned you long ago not to resist my vision,” Zyung says. I am held fast in his behemoth fist. “There is no redemption for you, Starwing. You will see my wisdom at last, when I have consumed your essence.”
I meet his gaze, drawing his attention as deeply as I can.
“Perhaps,” I say. “And you will see mine.”
In the instant before Zyung’s voice can send me to salt, another voice rattles our bones. In that same moment he forgets the nuisance trapped in his fist, and watches the rapid flow of whiteness cascade up his legs. As a rushing wave it comes, a transformation of titanic flesh to marbled salt. A scream of rage dies in his throat as his colossal body goes rigid.
Even as I shatter his salted fist with an eruption of blue flame, he falls forward across the green plain. The thunder of his impact shakes the burning walls of Uurz and flattens an abandoned village.
I descend to find the true Lyrilan waiting for me, emeralds agleam on his dark robe.
We are the size of Men once more. He smiles.
“Call them quickly,” I say.
Half of the loyalists were salted and consumed in a matter of moments. The black smokes rising from Uurz mingled with wisps of salt from bodies broken and divided.
In the moment that Lyrilan’s voice rang across the darkening plain, the struggles of the High Seraphim ceased. The mountain of salt that was Zyung seemed impossible, but there it stood. A frozen moment that would change the shape of the world and those who built it.
How? Sungui could not say.
The earth rumbled as Zyung crashed to the ground.
A green flame flared into the twilight, a beacon that drew the attention of the High Ones and brought an end to their feud. There was nothing left to fight for. No Celestial One to claim their loyalty. The last of the loyalists conceded, joining the rebels in an instant, all of them gleaming like silver motes between leaping flames and floating ships. All of them hearing Lyrilan’s voiceless summons, the attraction of his light-burst, the glow that tinted the salt of the titan to shades of emerald.
The Emperor of Uurz lives! Ianthe’s plan has worked.
The time for devouring had come.
Now, my children! Now! Ianthe’s voice resounded in the heads of the High Seraphim. Zyung is salted! Feast! Feast! His power and his empire are yours! Take it!
They swarmed from the sky like a plague of silver locusts.
Sungui joined them gladly. The coven had grown by at least two hundred.
All of them unbound.
All of them hungry.
A blast of viridian light spears the sky, and the Rebel Seraphim descend upon the salted God-King by the hundreds. Their mouths open impossibly wide to bite off great chunks of his brittle substance. They cover his massive body like ants upon a pile of sugar, devouring, devouring. Consuming both form and essence. There is Ianthe, and Gammir, along with the rest of them, imbibing Zyung’s eternal spirit through his salt.
Vireon and Alua step from nowhere to join Lyrilan and me. Khama floats close behind them. A soft hand takes my own, and Sharadza is there. We watch the long-enslaved Old Breed feed upon the God-King’s crystallized soul. They take his diluted power into themselves, spreading it among their hundreds as a legion of warriors shares a keg of ale.
“This is gruesome,” Sharadza says. “Must it be this way?”
I cannot tell her what I must do next.
“Yes,” I say. “The only way to destroy Zyung’s immortal being is to divide it among the others. If not for Ianthe’s rebels, we would have to consume him ourselves.”
Sharadza shivers. “I would not devour anyone so.”
“Then thank our enemy,” I say.
“And the envoy who brought her scroll,” says Lyrilan. “Sungui the Venomous.”
Even as Ianthe’s swarm devours the salted colossus, it shrinks to the size of an Uduru. This must have been Zyung’s customary size. The Seraphim move quick as spiders, stuffing their mouths and bellies, streaming light from their eyes and throats. Soon there will be nothing left of Zyung.
Vireon turns toward the blazing Uurz. “What of the city?” he asks. There is confusion among the dreadnoughts and the Manslayers peering from their decks. The silver hordes are ready to storm the dying city. The Men and Giants are finished, the golden towers toppled to dust, the orchards and walls aflame.
“Tell Vaazhia that the time for phantoms has passed,” I say. The Feathered Serpent flies off to find the lizardess. I face Sharadza and take both her hands in mine. “I must leave you now, before this devouring is complete. Trust me when I say that this must be done. Wait for me on the island. If you will…”
She cries my name as I move away from her, but I do not respond. I cannot.
Vireon grabs her shoulders to keep her from rushing after me.
Floating above the dwindling hill of Zyung’s salt, I remain unnoticed by the Seraphim who lick, chew, and swallow their way to his last grain. I close my eyes and begin the most important spell I will ever cast.
The Flame of Intellect on my chest gutters and fades. My hand plunges into my breast, sharp as a blade. It clutches the pulsing jewel that is my heart. With the last of my strength and a shout of agony, I tear it out through the bleeding hole in my chest. It pulses redly in my hand, no larger than a pomegranate, dripping crimson across the salt-mound below. Some of it falls upon the heads of the devouring Seraphim, yet they take no notice.
Only Ianthe senses it. Her weakness for blood aroused, she watches me with eyes of jet. The heart turns to a white rock in my hand, and I drop it into the midst of the salt-mound that is the last of Zyung. Instantly the heart-stone dissolves and merges with the existing grains. My own salt is indistinguishable now from that of Zyung. Ianthe has already returned to devouring him like the rest of her conspirators.
I hover for a moment longer above them, heartless and fading. Then I glide back to Sharadza, streaming blood from my opened chest. I fall into her arms, and she weeps over me. Still I fade, yet the last thing I see is her sweet face close to mine.
I hear her calling my name. I hope she understands.
I die in her arms, at peace with what I have done.