as broken bodies plummeted down around them.
In the temple, Idrilain stood with sword drawn, fending off scores of ravens that dove at the sacrificial bull. Phoria and her brothers and sisters leapt to her aid, driving the carrion birds off.
Beside them, Valerius laid about with his staff. Even at this distance Seregil and Alec could see the crackling white nimbus that glowed dangerously around its ivory head. The Illioran priestess, still inscrutable behind her mask, raised her hand again and a brilliant, multihued flash blazed out, leaving inert mounds of black feathers scattered in its wake. Soldiers closest to the temple ran back up the steps to assist the Queen, while others tried to maintain order as thousands wailed and screamed and sought to flee.
A thick cloud of ravens circled the square now, diving and slashing like hawks. Others flocked boldly on railings and temple pediments. One large bird flapped down to perch on the edge of Kylith’s box and seemed to regard Alec thoughtfully with one black, unblinking eye.
Seregil raised his hand in a warding sign and Alec saw his lips move, although it was impossible to make out the words over the chaos around them. The raven uttered a mocking croak and flapped away.
Then, as quickly as they’d come, the baneful black horde retreated, pursued by the surviving gulls. The doves had been no match for their attackers; soft brown bodies lay scattered around the precinct by the dozens.
As the noise of the birds subsided, a new and ominous sound boomed forth from the temple.
The Aegis of Sakor, untouched by any hand, rang with a low, shivering roar. In front of it, the flames of the alter fire flared from yellow to deep bloodred.
Four times the Aegis sounded, and then four times again.
“Hear me, my people!” cried Idrilain. “Sakor speaks, sounding a call on the Aegis itself. Attend to the prophecy!”
The multitude stood motionless as Old Sakor was helped forward again, swaying visibly as he raised a trembling hand.
“Hear, O people of Skala, the word of Sakor,” he called in his reedy old man’s voice. “Make strong your walls, and let every sword be whetted. Guard well the harvest and build strong ships. Look to the east, O people of Skala. From thence comes thine enemy—” He paused, and the trembling seemed to worsen. “From thence—“
He sagged heavily against Valerius for a moment, then straightened and took a step forward unaided. In a voice of star fling clarity, he cried out, “Prepare you in the light, and in the shadow. From thence comes the Eater of Death!”
“The what—?” Alec looked to Seregil again, but found him white-faced and grim, one gloved hand clenching the side of the rail where the raven had perched.
“Seregil, what’s wrong?”
His friend sat up abruptly, as if waking from an evil dream, and warned him off with a discreet but emphatic hand signal.
“We have heard your word, O Sakor!” said the Queen, speaking into the silence that still gripped the crowd. “We shall be prepared!”
Another roar of acclaim went up as Old Sakor was carried down the stairs of the temple to begin the long march to the waterfront in the lower city. There, accompanied by Astellus, he would set sail ostensibly for the Isle of the Dawn to be reborn and return on the morrow in the guise of a much younger priest.
The altar fire dwindled and went out and a hundred deep-throated horns sounded from the roof of the temple, signaling for every fire in the city to be extinguished.
The remaining priests joined the procession while the Queen took her place before the altar to begin the sacred vigil.
“What a remarkable performance!” said Lady Youriel with an uneasy laugh. “I think they rather overdid it this year, don’t you?”
“Most impressive,” Kylith agreed lightly as servants appeared at the door of the box with lightstones on long wands to assist their departure.
“But I suspect Lord Seregil has something equally impressive
In the temple, Idrilain stood with sword drawn, fending off scores of ravens that dove at the sacrificial bull. Phoria and her brothers and sisters leapt to her aid, driving the carrion birds off.
Beside them, Valerius laid about with his staff. Even at this distance Seregil and Alec could see the crackling white nimbus that glowed dangerously around its ivory head. The Illioran priestess, still inscrutable behind her mask, raised her hand again and a brilliant, multihued flash blazed out, leaving inert mounds of black feathers scattered in its wake. Soldiers closest to the temple ran back up the steps to assist the Queen, while others tried to maintain order as thousands wailed and screamed and sought to flee.
A thick cloud of ravens circled the square now, diving and slashing like hawks. Others flocked boldly on railings and temple pediments. One large bird flapped down to perch on the edge of Kylith’s box and seemed to regard Alec thoughtfully with one black, unblinking eye.
Seregil raised his hand in a warding sign and Alec saw his lips move, although it was impossible to make out the words over the chaos around them. The raven uttered a mocking croak and flapped away.
Then, as quickly as they’d come, the baneful black horde retreated, pursued by the surviving gulls. The doves had been no match for their attackers; soft brown bodies lay scattered around the precinct by the dozens.
As the noise of the birds subsided, a new and ominous sound boomed forth from the temple.
The Aegis of Sakor, untouched by any hand, rang with a low, shivering roar. In front of it, the flames of the alter fire flared from yellow to deep bloodred.
Four times the Aegis sounded, and then four times again.
“Hear me, my people!” cried Idrilain. “Sakor speaks, sounding a call on the Aegis itself. Attend to the prophecy!”
The multitude stood motionless as Old Sakor was helped forward again, swaying visibly as he raised a trembling hand.
“Hear, O people of Skala, the word of Sakor,” he called in his reedy old man’s voice. “Make strong your walls, and let every sword be whetted. Guard well the harvest and build strong ships. Look to the east, O people of Skala. From thence comes thine enemy—” He paused, and the trembling seemed to worsen. “From thence—“
He sagged heavily against Valerius for a moment, then straightened and took a step forward unaided. In a voice of star fling clarity, he cried out, “Prepare you in the light, and in the shadow. From thence comes the Eater of Death!”
“The what—?” Alec looked to Seregil again, but found him white-faced and grim, one gloved hand clenching the side of the rail where the raven had perched.
“Seregil, what’s wrong?”
His friend sat up abruptly, as if waking from an evil dream, and warned him off with a discreet but emphatic hand signal.
“We have heard your word, O Sakor!” said the Queen, speaking into the silence that still gripped the crowd. “We shall be prepared!”
Another roar of acclaim went up as Old Sakor was carried down the stairs of the temple to begin the long march to the waterfront in the lower city. There, accompanied by Astellus, he would set sail ostensibly for the Isle of the Dawn to be reborn and return on the morrow in the guise of a much younger priest.
The altar fire dwindled and went out and a hundred deep-throated horns sounded from the roof of the temple, signaling for every fire in the city to be extinguished.
The remaining priests joined the procession while the Queen took her place before the altar to begin the sacred vigil.
“What a remarkable performance!” said Lady Youriel with an uneasy laugh. “I think they rather overdid it this year, don’t you?”
“Most impressive,” Kylith agreed lightly as servants appeared at the door of the box with lightstones on long wands to assist their departure.
“But I suspect Lord Seregil has something equally impressive
Similar Books
