Chapter 40

“We need to run!” hissed Naomi, but Scorio could only stare, transfixed, as the Imperator descended through the dusty air, completely unharmed despite all the attacks she’d suffered. Her gaze was pensive, he thought, perhaps touched with melancholy as she studied Nova, her manner unhurried.

The White Queen gritted her teeth, and in her hand a white scepter blazed into existence, refulgent and momentarily as searing to gaze upon as the sun-wire at Amber. Then it solidified into an ivory wand as long as Scorio’s forearm, intricately carved and terminating in a swirl of carved strands that looked like a vortex caught in stone.

The scepter pulsed and the White Queen’s limbs straightened, her body lifted from the mangled hole into which it had crashed, and she, too, rose to float in the air before Imogen. The dust and sweat disappeared from her face, and her hair flowed freely once more, cleansed and untangled.

“I’m impressed,” said Imogen, her tone casual. “I didn’t think a mere Charnel Duke could survive one of my shadow blasts.”

Nova inclined her head regally. “I’m honored to have surprised you. And would willingly take another if it meant we could continue our conversation.”

Imogen lowered her chin, and her dark hair weaving about her face as if she were underwater. Scorio sensed the power concentrating within her as if she were stealing the very air from the room; his chest tightened, and every instinct urged him to run.

But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the two women, one dark, the other light, both belonging to a realm of power he couldn’t even comprehend.

“You’re not worth the effort,” said Imogen, tone growing curt. “None of you are. Your understanding is too limited, your intelligence circumscribed by your lack of experience. You have taken up too much of my time already. Goodbye.”

Nova spun her scepter before her, fingers dexterous and sure, and a sphere of white pearlescent light appeared about her hovering figure. “Why don’t we wait a little while longer?” she said, “I’m sure someone will arrive soon who is worth your time indeed.”

Imogen’s smile was pitying. “A lovely shroud. But I, too, possess a Ferula. Let us see how your shroud fares when Mordecholio presses it.”

And Imogen extended her hand into which a black counterpart to the White Queen’s scepter appeared. This one gleamed as if freshly dipped in oil, was more staff than wand, and its end was a ragged profusion of shards and twisted metal, as if something had been torn away from its tip.

Scorio stared, eyes wide. Even Naomi had gone silent, but when he saw the White Queen’s expression grow slack with dismay, he realized he had to do something. Had to distract Imogen somehow—

The Aureate Hall’s wall exploded inward as a massive brute came charging through, swinging fists the size of barrels as he crashed into Imogen. In the sudden haze of dust and flying rock, Scorio saw Grunsch, grown to the height of some twenty feet, his tattooed form so massively muscled as to appear deformed.

Imogen’s black sphere flickered into existence, but Grunsch bore it before him, slamming his huge fists into the translucent wall, driving her through the air with a roar. Imogen turned calmly within her sphere to point her staff at Grunsch, and a spear of black light fled from its tip at the giant.

He leaped back, crossed his arms before him, and summoned a floating tower shield some ten feet high, its surface translucent yet ridged and carved so that Scorio thought he saw Grunsch’s roaring face depicted on its curved face.

At the same time, huge chunks of rock lifted from the ground and flew to interpose themselves between Grunsch and Imogen; each chunk limned in green flame, forming a wall of burning rock from floor to the Aureate Hall’s ceiling.

The black light from Imogen’s spear slashed through this wall, cut through Grunsch’s floating shield, and hit his crossed arms just as Nova pointed her scepter and hurled a beam of white light at him.

Scorio couldn’t follow the outcome; Grunsch flew backward, Nova still tracking him with her beam of light, and then a great bird of flame burst shrieking into the chamber, trailing streams of crimson as it hurled itself at Imogen, leaving a wall of living fire in its wake that continued to burn and refused to fade away.

Scorio fell back, tripped on the loose rocks on the ground as the fiery bird smashed into Imogen’s protective sphere, bounced off, and became Maeve, wheeling up and around, orienting on Imogen as she leveled a crimson Ferula of her own and unleashing a torrent of fire that enveloped the protective sphere altogether.

Superheated air washed over Scorio’s face, drying his sweat immediately, and he squinted, raised a hand to shield his eyes from the searing light.

“We have to get out of here,” Lianshi shouted into his ear as the wash of flame ended to reveal Imogen, unhurt, within her sphere. “Scorio!”

Regaining his wits, he dropped to a crouch, considered. Back, to flee, to hide? Cross the Aureate Hall to the basilica beyond? That would mean racing across a battlefield, where an errant attack would erase him—

“Come on!” He tried to ignite his Heart, but the room was completely devoid of mana. Instead, he burst into a sprint, racing along the hall’s edge, ducking his head low as Imogen raised her staff. Before she could unleash her attack, Maeve flew upward, regaining her blazing bird form, and was gone, flying through the ceiling, and leaving a permanent ribbon of fire in her wake that blocked Imogen from Scorio’s sight.

A pair of Great Souls entered the Hall through the basilica’s doors just as Scorio reached them. One was dark-skinned and bearded, a ring through his nose, his face twisted in barely controlled fear. The other was roguishly handsome, tanned and with the look of eagles to him, his black hair slicked back, ropes of golden chain falling over his chest.

“You ready?” cried the first, but before the other could answer he raised both his hands and barked out a shout.

Scorio twisted and crashed to the ground as a shaft of Imogen’s black light came curving through the air, torn away from its trajectory toward Nova to fly at the newly arrived pair.

The man with the golden chains cried out in panic. “Echo, no!"

But it was too late. He flung out his hands, summoning a floating portal into which the black spear disappeared. This knocked him right off his feet so that he crashed to the ground, the portal disappearing, leaving him twisting in pain.

“I’ll distract her!” shouted the first, and his whole form shrank as if imploding, light distorting around him as he seemed to dive into nothingness and disappear. His disappearance was immediately accompanied by a great pulling suction that tore Scorio off the ground and hurled him and the fallen Great Soul to where the man had stood a second before; they crashed to the ground together, and Scorio looked up to see Echo appear midair before Imogen, popping into existence and hurling a black spear that looked identical to Imogen’s own right at her.

Black talons curled around Scorio’s arm as the Nightmare Lady hauled him to his feet and pulled him through the doorway into the basilica.

Head spinning, Scorio ran after her, Lianshi and Leonis following a second later, down between the biers. Summoning his Heart, Scorio felt the very faintest traces of Coal mana in the air, and greedily swept it into himself and ignited his Heart.

The flood of strength and consequent assurance was invaluable. Scorio leaped up onto the closest bier and proceeded to race toward the basilica’s center, leaping from bier to bier as he went, to where the ruined half of the Archspire still jutted into the air.

“What’s the plan?” roared Leonis, powering along just below and between the biers. “Scorio?”

His mind raced, trying to come up with something. Never had he felt so ignorant, so useless. The attacks being hurled at Imogen were beyond anything he could comprehend, and still, she appeared unconcerned.

What could he do to distract her?

They reached the center of the huge chamber and Scorio leaped down to the Archspire’s broad base. It rose in tiers of gray stone to project upward, and reaching out with his senses, he felt that strange and deliriously powerful mana still sparking up from its top.

Should he try to take some into his Heart? Could he force himself to reach Emberling if he did so?

“What if we destroy more of the Archspire?” asked Lianshi, expression wild. “It’s what brought her here in the first place, correct?”

The Nightmare Lady rounded on her. “Which of us is going to do that? The Archspire is made of—”

“Consecrated melar heartstone, I know,” interrupted Lianshi hurriedly. “But perhaps it’s been weakened since it’s already ruptured.”

The double doors leading to the Aureate halls crashed inward as Imogen flew backward through them, her black sphere taking the brunt of twin streams of concentrated attacks, one crimson, the other gray. They fountained against her sphere without surcease, and a moment later Lady Maeve and Grunsch stepped through the doorway after her, Grunsch now reduced to his normal human size, both pointing their scepters at her.

Scorio and others ducked behind the closest bier.

Imogen floated serenely within her protective bubble, her expression, if anything, distracted, mildly curious.

Nova floated in behind the Blood Barons, an older man by her side that Scorio had seen on the Academy’s rooftop. His features were deeply weathered, his blond beard ragged, his mustache bushy. Immediately Scorio felt a pang of sympathy for the man, a desire to help him, to do whatever it took to ensure he got out of this conflict alive and well.

“Now, Amity,” said Nova, placing her hand on his shoulder.

The older man nodded grimly, threw his head back, and his whole body clenched, tendons standing out in his neck.

The White Queen, Lady Maeve, and Grunsch all screamed at once. The Blood Barons ceased their attacks on Imogen and the three of them crumpled, falling to the ground as their flesh withered and their skin grayed, each of them aged to the ultimate reaches of what a human body could bear.

Amity also suffered, his body and face taking on the ravaged look of a man at the last days of a terminal illness, then he raised his hands, both reduced to little more than claws, and between his palms, a tiny prick of light appeared, so bright it burned Scorio’s eyes to look upon.

Turning away, he saw Imogen frown, then the fleck of light flew at her and collided with her sphere.

It detonated like a thunder crash and hurled the Imperator across the basilica, her sphere unbroken but Imogen within flailing as she clawed at the air. She smashed into the basilica’s far wall, which collapsed upon her, a roaring fall of huge blocks that buried her sphere whole.

Scorio rose to his feet, awestruck. He turned to see that Amity had fallen to the ground, his body disintegrating into dust as he watched.

Nova, little more than an aged husk, raised her white scepter in a shaking hand. Radiant white light flowed over her body, and she immediately floated up, restored as before. A second later, both Lady Maeve and Grunsch also rose, the White Queen’s light suffusing their forms.

“Was that… did we…?” asked Lady Maeve.

“No,” said Grunsch, brushing dust off his pectoral muscles as broad and thick as paving stones. “But it was a good shot.”

More Great Souls filtered into the room through the ruined doors. One of them, Helminth, saw the ruin at the far end of the basilica and ran forward, dropping her sinuous whip which disappeared mid-air, to leap atop a bier and extend both her hands toward the cave-in. “Get Feng in here!” she cried.

Scorio couldn’t tell what she did, but the rocks at the far end of the basilica that had buried Imogen suddenly crunched down, compacting as if under a huge weight.

“Jarex,” said Nova, voice composed. “Fetch Feng.”

The wild-haired and saturnine Dread Blaze nodded wearily, drank from a vial, closed his eyes, and disappeared. A second later he appeared once more, Feng holding onto his shoulder, his shock of black hair pale with dust, blood smeared across his cheek from a ragged cut.

Nova swooped forward, massive golden wings appearing in a flash, and swept Feng up to bear him through the air and set him close to the fallen rocks.

Feng lowered into a combat crouch, closed his eyes as he slipped a pill into his mouth, and pressed a palm forward. A moment later, a cone of dust filtered forth from his hand to wash over the pile of huge stones, seeming to pour through them as if the rocks were insubstantial.

Helminth was still straining, hands outstretched, chin lowered as she wrestled with some invisible force. “I’m running out of reserves. Where’s Hera? Get her set up!”

The striking woman, with skin the color of Coal mana and long hair woven into finger-thick braids, nodded jerkily and ran forward. She downed a small vial of burning golden liquid, and then a dozen rays of purple light extended from her chest to spear across the basilica; wherever they terminated a tower formed, each as tall as herself and topped with a purple gem.

The missing Blood Baron, Havarn, stepped through the doorway, his robes torn but appearing unhurt. He quickly ran his fingers through his beard and then inhaled mightily. Huge chunks of green rock lifted off the ground, each limned in green flame, and they flew together to form a crude golem some twenty feet tall. Ponderous and massive, it waded through the biers like a grown man through sandcastles, to reach the cave-in then fall bodily upon it, adding its burning bulk to the existing mound.

Scorio looked to where Lianshi crouched by his side. “You think they can imprison her?”

Lianshi was pale, blinking rapidly. All she could do was shake her head.

“Ready Maeve?” asked Grunsch, punching a fist into the other palm. Scorio thought he sounded strangely cheerful, then the Blood Baron swelled up to his massive form, veins bulging over his musculature, his translucent tower shield manifesting before him as he began to make his way toward the rocks.

Lady Maeve gathered her mane of dark crimson hair into a tail and swept it over one shoulder, then leaped atop a bier. She raised her red scepter and aimed it at the rocks. “Ready.”

Other Great Souls rushed to their positions, some closer, others standing afar, everyone drinking elixirs or swallowing pills as they focused on the huge pile of broken stone.

The tension grew so thick that Scorio could barely breathe. Sweat prickled paths down his face, and he forced himself to dry swallow as he watched the far side of the room with everyone else.

Watched the burning green rocks into which Feng continued to pour his cone of white dust. Watched as Nova rose above it, golden wings spread, white scepter held at the ready, looking grave and resigned, determined and utterly focused.

And despite himself, Scorio felt his heart thrill. To be surrounded by such power, to see so many Great Souls demonstrate what their kind could do. It dwarfed his aspirations, recast his ambitions.

If he survived this, he vowed, he would work tirelessly to improve himself. Would strain every fiber of his being to one day be able to stand amongst such great company and be considered their equal.

If only he could do something now. If only he could help in some tangible way.

Instead, he could only crouch there with his friends as Raugr moved to the forefront to stand beside Grunsch, his fists glowing with electric energy. As Valdun flew into the air with his pegasi, a great harpoon in one hand. As others drew closer, each and every one of them looked tense, if not outright terrified.

“Look up,” whispered the Nightmare Lady from behind him.

Scorio frowned, glanced at the ceiling, and saw that the black fog was quickly descending along the inside of the walls.

Within moments, others cried out in alarm. The fog dropped swiftly, so that the great basilica became an inverted black bowl before anyone could react.

“Jarex!” cried out Nova. “Get people out!”

The Great Soul with the golden chains roped around his neck backed away a few steps, then imploded, disappearing and unleashing a vortex of air that staggered others in his vicinity.

Halos of burning light appeared behind the head of every Great Soul that was Pyre Lord or higher; Nova summoned her white pearlescent sphere about herself.

But the black smoke kept coming, pouring down to ground level, then flooding across the floor.

“What is that? What do we do?” hissed Leonis.

“We’re done for,” said the Nightmare Lady, voice cracked with despair. “Remember what they said about her fog?”

It flowed over the first of the Great Souls, who thrashed at it, crossed their arms before their faces, and then froze. A moment later each one relaxed, lowering their arms to their sides, to turn and stare toward the massive mound of stone.

Valdun swept down so that others could mount his pegasi, and then together they flew toward the ceiling, clearly trying to burst free and into the sky beyond. But a column of darkness descended to intercept them, and upon being engulfed they ceased their attempt to escape and instead began to fly unhurriedly toward the floor.

Scorio rose to his feet, looked about in panic. He saw Raugr and Grunsch succumb, followed a moment later by Helminth who screamed in rage and swung her writhing whip at the fog before going still.

They had seconds before the fog washed over them.

They had to get out. For a moment Scorio just stood there, watching as Nova retreated from grasping fingers of darkness, and then it came to him.

“Hurry!” He darted to the base of the bier and slammed his hand over the crystal. “Into the Gauntlet!”

The Nightmare Lady nodded, vaulting over the bier to the next one over, but darkness washed over her before she could reach its base. Lianshi and Leonis darted away from him as well.

Scorio pulsed mana into the crystal as he’d done almost a dozen times before and hurled himself atop the jeweled top.

The last thing he saw as he lay down, black fog washing over him, was the White Queen, crying out in defiance as she hurled blast after blast of white fire from her scepter, the black fog closing around her sphere. Then all fell away into blackness.