57: MEMORIES OF HORSES
Atrine, Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Kihrin first learned about Aeyan’arric
Janel stared at Senera. “Khorsal’s palace? But Emperor Kandor destroyed that.”
“No, just submerged it underwater when Kandor dammed the Endless Canyon,” Kihrin said. “There’s no reason the palace wouldn’t still be down there.” When Tyentso blinked at him, he said, “Teraeth told us about it, remember?”
Janel drummed her fingers against the table. “Anything else we need to know?”
Senera picked up someone’s writing quill from the table and dabbed it in ink. “Yes. Thurvishar and Kihrin need sigils to let them breathe and survive the pressure.” She paused to give Kihrin a thoughtful stare.
“They’ll work on me as long as I have Urthaenriel sheathed when you draw them,” he replied.
“Good.”
“I’ll need sigils too.” Qown stepped forward. “I’m going with them.”
Janel blinked. “You are?”
“Someone besides Thurvishar should hold Senera’s signal branch. Thurvishar’s going to be concentrating on magic portals and fighting off any hostile forces we find.” Qown gestured at Kihrin. “And I don’t know if the twig will even work if Kihrin holds it. Urthaenriel might block the effect.”
Kihrin grimaced. “That’s … possible.”
Janel hesitated and then nodded. “All right. You three will smash the Cornerstone. The rest of us will fight Morios.”
Senera moved to each man and drew something on their foreheads. Looking at the other two, Kihrin saw the now-familiar air glyph and a new, different symbol.
“There is one additional problem,” Thurvishar said. “I can open a gate, but I don’t know where this palace is located. The bottom of Lake Jorat is rather a big place.”
“You only need to know the way out. I know the way in.” Senera concentrated and wove her magic. The portal she created opened onto something black, the gate’s normal mirror finish reflecting … nothing.
Kirin bet the watching Royal House wizards were giving themselves fits.
“We’re doing this right now?” Qown seemed surprised. He set his satchel down next to the table.
“Every second we wait, more people die,” Janel said.
“Why is the gate black?” Kihrin asked.
“Light can’t reach that far underwater,” Senera responded.
Since Kihrin had already resigned himself to ending up drenched, he walked to the portal. Halfway there, he turned back. “Hey, Janel.”
She looked up. The tension around her eyes added a decade to her real age. “Yes?”
“Kick that dragon’s ass. Somehow.”
Janel smiled. “I will. And you be careful.”
“What’s to be careful about? I’ve got the easy job.”
Senera held up the metal twig. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Oh! Thank you.” Qown grabbed the fake twig. He stared at it, and the metal began to glow—like sunlight condensed into one tiny portable object.
“We can all swim, right?” Thurvishar asked.
“If not, we’re going to learn.” Kihrin blew Janel a kiss and walked through the gate. The others followed.
Kihrin’s head stayed dry because the air sigil kept water from touching his face. But this proved more annoying than helpful. Instead of the visual clarity he might have gained by sticking his head underwater, it was as if he was “above” water, trying to see into the depths of a continuously moving pond. Kihrin had a hard time seeing, even with the light Qown created.
“This way.” The lake water muffled Thurvishar’s shout. The wizard tugged on Kihrin’s misha and Qown’s robes as he pointed toward the murky pillars in the distance.
They swam a ways, and Kihrin found himself thinking about the questions he should have asked earlier. Were there crocodiles in these waters? Sharks? Predators of any kind? He saw fish. Or in any event, saw the silver flash of a scaled hide, before a piscine shape made an abrupt about-face and swam away.
Brother Qown, also dissatisfied with the visibility, summoned several glowing mage-lights in addition to the glowing twig, lighting up wide swaths of the lakebed.
A palace lay ahead.
It must have indeed been a wonder in its time, featuring enormous broad colonnades, raceways, roads, and parks where large animals could mingle. The architecture had faded and weathered, worn down by water, accumulated freshwater reeds, and pond scum. Enough had survived for Kihrin to see that yes, that was a centaur, and yes, those were firebloods. He didn’t spot any human statues, but then Khorsal had been a god-king who’d loved horses far more than humanity.
They swam forward, assuming all roads led to the horse king’s throne room.
Kihrin saw no skeletons. He supposed if there had been any—if every centaur hadn’t all died on the bridge to Atrine—fish would surely have eaten any remains.
Everywhere, the accommodations catered to equine needs: no stairs, no second floors, nothing one might call a roof. As they swam farther, Kihrin caught odd glimpses of architecture unlike the streamlined style Khorsal had favored. As if Khorsal had himself built on another city’s ruins.
Then they found the only stairs they had seen in the entire city, leading to a space that was less a room than a formal receiving courtyard, either intentionally open to the sky or made that way through the centuries. The floor had been enrobed in the silt, mud, and muck of ages, interrupted only by sticks and branches sticking up at odd angles.
Still, some details of the throne room’s splendor remained. Qown’s mage-lights glinted against gold, and four rearing centaur statues decorated the corners. The stairs led up to a large throne, whose back formed a large spike rising several feet higher than the chair. Something was going on at the top of that spike: a faint beam of light led either to or away from that apex.
Thurvishar pointed to the top of the throne and said something.
“What?” Kihrin shouted. “I can’t hear you.”
As Thurvishar started to shout again, glowing gold lettering appeared, floating in the water before them. The writing said: I’m removing the water from this area. Be ready to fall.
Kihrin saw Thurvishar give an affirmative sign to Brother Qown.
The priest concentrated and Kihrin thought Qown must have transformed the water to air, since a vacuum never filled the space.
All three men fell to the ground, Kihrin more gracefully than the other two. He brushed himself off as best as one could while sopping wet and ankle-deep in mud.
“Is that what we’re looking for?” Kihrin pointed to the spike behind the throne. The light was harder to see, but still faintly present.
“Maybe,” Thurvishar said. The wizard walked over to the throne and used it as a stool to climb up and examine the top of the spike.
Wiping the mud away revealed an eight-sided gemstone. Thurvishar stared at it, concentrating.
Kihrin felt himself grow a little jealous. He missed being able to see past the First Veil, but Urthaenriel hadn’t changed her mind about allowing him to use magic. Of course, Kihrin had his own way of discerning magic. For instance, Urthaenriel continued to scream at him for allowing not just one, but two, Cornerstones within proximity. One near Qown and another near the throne.
Which confirmed Senera’s story that this was where Warmonger had been hidden.
“I have no idea what this crystal’s made from,” Thurvishar said.
“That’s a good sign. If you could tell what it was made from, it wouldn’t be a Cornerstone.”
“So what do we do now?” Brother Qown said.
Kihrin unsheathed Urthaenriel and bade it grow to its normal sword size, a gleaming silver bar. “Now we wait.”