“What’s that supposed to be?”
“It’s the metal the Kaj used to kill the Divinities,” says Shara. “It’s immune to any Divine influence. He fired this very shot through the skull of Jukov, executing him. All we have to do is lure Kolkan out, and then someone, maybe, can use it to take a shot at him, just like during the Great War.”
“Okay. … Assuming everything you’re saying is true,” says Mulaghesh, “during the Great War, wouldn’t the Kaj have had hundreds or thousands of those little shots?”
“Well … Yes.”
“And you’ve only got the one?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. And how do we lure him out?”
“Well …”
“And what if that shot misses?”
“Well, we’d … we’d have to go and get it, I suppose.”
Mulaghesh gapes at Shara with an expression equal parts disbelief and exasperation.
“I didn’t have time to plan this out!” says Shara.
“I couldn’t tell!”
“I had no idea this’d be happening now!”
“Well, it is! And I must admit, Chief Diplomat, I do not have much faith that that plan will work!”
The floor rumbles. Soldiers begin shouting outside. Shara and Mulaghesh reach the window just in time to see a four-story building ten blocks down collapsing as if it’s been demolished. Glimmering steel shapes come marching out of the dust and debris, holding their giant swords straight up.
“They’re strong enough to destroy buildings?” says Shara aloud in disbelief.
“And what is your plan,” asks Mulaghesh, “for dealing with those?”
She adjusts her glasses. “How much weaponry do you have?”
“We have the typical bolt-shots, plus five repeat-shot small cannons.” She makes a small “O” with her forefinger and thumb. “You crank them and they fire rounds about this big twice every second.”
“No other large cannonry?”
She shakes her head. “None. The treaties outlawed mobile heavy cannonry on the Continent.”
“And do you think those rounds could pierce the armor of those … things?”
“Well, it’s Divine armor, right?”
“But perhaps Kolkan,” Shara wonders aloud, “does not yet know about gunpowder.”
“I’m not really willing to take that chance. My suggestion would be to retreat. … But those things appear to move very fast.”
“And even if we did retreat, that’d still leave the flying warships,” says Shara.
Mulaghesh stares at her, incredulous. “What flying warships?”
“No time to explain now. Do we have a working telegraph?”
Mulaghesh shakes her head. “Line went dead just minutes ago. Everything electrical has stopped working, actually.”
“It must be Kolkan’s influence. But I don’t think we can retreat, and I don’t think we can stay, and we can’t signal ahead to Ghaladesh. …” Shara rubs her temples. I always wondered if I’d die for my country, she thinks, but I never thought it’d be like this.
She glances back at her open drawer, wishing—stupidly—that she might find a second plug of black lead to use.
She sees a small leather bag sitting in her drawer, inside of which, she knows, are a dozen or so little white pills.
“Hm,” says Shara. She picks up the bag and peers into it.
“If you’re starting to think of something,” says Mulaghesh, “I advise you think fast.”
She picks out a pill and holds it up. “Philosopher’s stones.”
“The drug you used on the kid in the prison?”
“Yes. They help one commune with the Divine, but they also … They also amplify the effects of many miracles.”
“So?”
This is suicide, thinks Shara.
“So?” says Mulaghesh again.
To not do it is also suicide.
She reluctantly says, “I know a lot of miracles.”