crimson ribbon around the top of the tower. Its sinuous movement matched the singsong quality of Morgynn’s spell, and the cloud began to ripple with its own lightning.
Talmen stood in thrall to his lady’s voice. Khaemil admired the calming effect Morgynn had on the malefactor, and waited for Talmen’s attention to return to the present matter. Morgynn’s voice faded away, but the red mist remained, settling in a halo around her room.
Without looking away, Talmen finally responded. “We are all fools, are we not? We follow her where she leads, and only Gargauth knows where we’ll end up.” He shook his head and turned to Khaemil. “Why, then? Why do we stand here in plain view of our enemies? What does she expect they’ll do?”
Khaemil returned his gaze to the forest, spotting the skinned carcass of an untainted fawn hanging from a branch at its edge, an old tradition when fiendish parties desired parley with potential allies. He raised a hairless brow at the sight and turned toward it, then stopped. He looked at Talmen over his shoulder. “Nothing. She expects they’ll do nothing at all.”
The majority of the assembled hunters packed into the sanctuary and surrounding halls of the inner temple, awaiting the Rite of the Circle and the appearance of High Oracle Sameska. Dreslya stood at the front of the central altar, with Lord Hunter Baertah taking the foremost position in the crowd before her. The lesser oracles were arranged in a semicircle around Dreslya, their heads bowed as they prepared to channel the opening spells of the rite through the acting Sibylite.
Elisandrya knew Dreslya did not particularly like the title of Sibylite or the amount of attention it drew to her as the primary figure in the ceremony until Sameska’s arrival. Dres had always been shy and reclusive, but tradition demanded this role of the most senior of the lesser oracles. Other churches devoted to the All-Seeing One referred to all those beneath the high oracle as Prophets and Sibylites, but the Hidden Circle considered the terms archaic. The use of the title of Sibylite was used only when tradition demanded it.
Eli watched from the upper balcony, proud of her sister, but still fidgety and eager to leave the crowded sanctuary and all that it represented. It was within these halls that, as a child, she’d been the first to hear of their parents’ death. Under the care of the oracles, Eli and Dres had often studied the tapestries and frescoes of the main sanctuary, lost in the stories they told. Elisandrya had been alone that day when Sameska came to her with the news. As tragic as the day had been, it paled in comparison to the revelations of the following day. Eli had endeavored to become a hunter soon after, and vowed to return only upon Sameska’s death.
It was a coward’s oath, she thought.
“Sevrak deslotas, emuarte.”
Dres’s voice carried through the circular chamber, echoing off the walls and growing louder as it lingered near the high dome above and returned in an amplified wave. Eli shook her head to clear it of memories and focus on the ceremony.
A soft glow formed around Dreslya’s eyes and drifted to the oracles on either side of her, until all the oracles stared at the crowd through a white haze of light. Eli envied them at times. They all worshiped Savras in their own ways, but only the oracles might hear his voice, perhaps see through his eyes. The best a hunter could expect were brief and flashing insights, the shadow of a visionvague hints to what might occur in the immediate future.
“Peshtak revallas, emuarte.”
This the oracles said in unison, though Dreslya’s voice, as the Sibylite, led the harmony of the rite’s prayers, woven in a tapestry of supplication and old magic. The walls began to vibrate with the sound. Tiny lines appeared like cracks at first, unfolding into the wards and runes of spells hidden in the white stone and marble floors. The entire sanctuary became a
Talmen stood in thrall to his lady’s voice. Khaemil admired the calming effect Morgynn had on the malefactor, and waited for Talmen’s attention to return to the present matter. Morgynn’s voice faded away, but the red mist remained, settling in a halo around her room.
Without looking away, Talmen finally responded. “We are all fools, are we not? We follow her where she leads, and only Gargauth knows where we’ll end up.” He shook his head and turned to Khaemil. “Why, then? Why do we stand here in plain view of our enemies? What does she expect they’ll do?”
Khaemil returned his gaze to the forest, spotting the skinned carcass of an untainted fawn hanging from a branch at its edge, an old tradition when fiendish parties desired parley with potential allies. He raised a hairless brow at the sight and turned toward it, then stopped. He looked at Talmen over his shoulder. “Nothing. She expects they’ll do nothing at all.”
The majority of the assembled hunters packed into the sanctuary and surrounding halls of the inner temple, awaiting the Rite of the Circle and the appearance of High Oracle Sameska. Dreslya stood at the front of the central altar, with Lord Hunter Baertah taking the foremost position in the crowd before her. The lesser oracles were arranged in a semicircle around Dreslya, their heads bowed as they prepared to channel the opening spells of the rite through the acting Sibylite.
Elisandrya knew Dreslya did not particularly like the title of Sibylite or the amount of attention it drew to her as the primary figure in the ceremony until Sameska’s arrival. Dres had always been shy and reclusive, but tradition demanded this role of the most senior of the lesser oracles. Other churches devoted to the All-Seeing One referred to all those beneath the high oracle as Prophets and Sibylites, but the Hidden Circle considered the terms archaic. The use of the title of Sibylite was used only when tradition demanded it.
Eli watched from the upper balcony, proud of her sister, but still fidgety and eager to leave the crowded sanctuary and all that it represented. It was within these halls that, as a child, she’d been the first to hear of their parents’ death. Under the care of the oracles, Eli and Dres had often studied the tapestries and frescoes of the main sanctuary, lost in the stories they told. Elisandrya had been alone that day when Sameska came to her with the news. As tragic as the day had been, it paled in comparison to the revelations of the following day. Eli had endeavored to become a hunter soon after, and vowed to return only upon Sameska’s death.
It was a coward’s oath, she thought.
“Sevrak deslotas, emuarte.”
Dres’s voice carried through the circular chamber, echoing off the walls and growing louder as it lingered near the high dome above and returned in an amplified wave. Eli shook her head to clear it of memories and focus on the ceremony.
A soft glow formed around Dreslya’s eyes and drifted to the oracles on either side of her, until all the oracles stared at the crowd through a white haze of light. Eli envied them at times. They all worshiped Savras in their own ways, but only the oracles might hear his voice, perhaps see through his eyes. The best a hunter could expect were brief and flashing insights, the shadow of a visionvague hints to what might occur in the immediate future.
“Peshtak revallas, emuarte.”
This the oracles said in unison, though Dreslya’s voice, as the Sibylite, led the harmony of the rite’s prayers, woven in a tapestry of supplication and old magic. The walls began to vibrate with the sound. Tiny lines appeared like cracks at first, unfolding into the wards and runes of spells hidden in the white stone and marble floors. The entire sanctuary became a
Similar Books
