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Chapter Twenty
Far from the shores of Zanda, the pregnant lamia strolled the ancient city of Shanagi to speak with the Oracle of the Dead God. Transported here by her powerful sorcery, Kahket had many questions to ask the oracle. But this didn't keep her from enjoying the soaring towers and artistry so abundant around her.
So this is the Amber Enclave, she thought. It takes its name, no doubt from the color of the golden shield.
Directly across the street from her rose a building with huge granite columns as tall as the colossal redwoods of distant Merenzar. The tops of them had been capped in a heavily decorated portico, with scenes of men and women entwined in various sexual positions. Arising within her the lust for bondage, Kahket's eyes settled on the ivy that wreathed and curled around the myriad columns of the huge building, and she spotted white berries hidden amongst the leaves.
Further down the street beyond fountains three stories tall that featured statues of bearded men carrying porcelain jugs, bloomed gardens of an amazing variety. Trees, bushes, flowers, and multi-colored mushrooms grew on massive steppes fashioned from white marble. Some of these stone faces were etched and carved with murals that depicted devastating wars, fantastic sunsets, and mountains the like Kahket had never seen. Further east along the cobblestone road, she spied a massive obelisk aimed at the sky like the fist of some giant's arm as broad about the base as the entirety of the Librarium Apocalypto back home.
Kahket walked through a glass door framed in black steel mullions and stepped out onto the cobblestone street. Overhead, a golden glow from the shield cast a sparkling shadow over everything. For the most part, the city seemed vacated. However, to call it completely empty was a lie.
At the center of the Amber Enclave squatted a vast domed building surrounded by lush summer gardens and sheathed in white marble. Seven parapets accented in hammered gold and windows fashioned from panes of lead crystal hovered over them. The shadow cast by the huge palace was a welcome relief to the day's heat.
The red-haired female monks who flanked Kahket, escorted the sorceress beyond a pair of towering statues that resembled noble lions. These massive sculptures stood on their hind legs, front paws extended in the air with menacing detail. Carved from white marble, they reminded Kahket of the mount that the assassin called Hunter rode—a legendary thing that had been lost in the battle with her spy Tomoluk. She only wished now that Tomoluk had told the truth. But she had learned from Cirumoghel himself that the Black Dragon Assassin of the Silver Rose still lived. And this troubled Kahket, for she knew Hunter wielded the sword Bloodbane, and that he intended to use it against her and her beloved.
Kahket walked through an archway some thirty feet high, her stiletto heels making sharp clicks against the smooth polished tiles. On the far side, she discovered a hall. The walls and ceiling here had been painted with multi-colored frescoes. Atop a dais near the far end stood a throne. Two other halls stretched into the gloom on either side. Seated within the gilded chair, she found a woman identical in appearance to her escorts with one exception: from around her shoulders draped a cloak of fine ermine, clasped at the throat by a fearsome badge of a snake swallowing its own tail. She wore shoes made from supple brown leather.
Kahket bowed before the high priestess Kamorah. As if aware of her thoughts, the figure leaned forward in her chair so that Kahket could see her better. To either side, guards armed with spears stood at the ready. Points on those spearheads gleamed, and Kahket wondered how long it had been since they had trained with them on real targets. Sheltered behind the magical shield of the city, a host of a few hundred withstood the onslaught of thousands, and through some unknown means they directed magic from the floating eyes to destroy the Nykoran invaders that sought to circumvent the Amber Enclave to conquer greater Mishoi.
Shanagi is the source of precognition; warlords of the Lyarto had said this for centuries. The Nykorans believed if they conquered Shanagi, that they could bend fate to their will. But Kahket sensed there was more to the magic than just occupying this once vibrant town that used to be home to thousands but now held only a dozen or so souls. But only a Nykoran general could tell her for sure.
Look at how this Kamorah sits upon her throne daring to gaze down upon me as if I were somehow less than she. This priestess should enjoy her time in the sun. When my war machine gets going with Typhon at its head, even this place will eventually fall to my wrath.
Kamorah's long red hair flowed over her face like hot blood on snow. But this didn't grab Kahket's eye as much as the statue at her back. This monument to the dead deity Zakash had been lovingly detailed in his likeness. The obscene thing seemed so twisted and malefic that it could have been a caricature of a demon. But having come from hell, Kahket new better.
Zakash had been a cruel jape thrust upon the now extinct Atlantean race—a fat and terrible god that sold his beautiful people into slavery. The only Atlantean she had ever met, Hunter, would seem as slender as a knife's edge under that huge bloated statue of a deity that rose to within an inch of the painted ceiling. It had been lovingly carved by the best artisans that money could buy and assembled from black and red stone. The face of Zakash terrified the lamia who had seen many horrific things in her life. And even though Zakash was dead, to stand here in the presence of the evil god there existed still a palpable aura of defilement and worship that seethed from the porous openings of the rock from which it had been born. It took most of her willpower to avoid dropping to her knees before it.
Why did you not love the Atlanteans? Kahket asked the statue in the quiet of her mind. They were your race. They only wanted love from you, and you saw them raped and murdered, killed to the last child.
An angry bull's head and black horns whose color bespoke the shadow lands that gather before the foothills of death stared down upon her body. The sorceress saw eyes that looked carved from rubies the size of her fist—these jewels contained a flame that seemed to suck heat from her the same as bruises and pain suckled at a man's life.
The grotesque feet of the statue formed misshapen hooves so alien from her own that it seemed impossible that this had been a god of the most beautiful people to have ever walked the earth. Only the god's middle looked anything human at all but even this disgusted her.
The foul statue possessed a distended belly capped with a massive button pierced through with a solid hoop of pure gold. It stood atop a pile of gaping lampreys—an artist's representation of both cruelty and power. Offerings in ornate bowls burned sweet woods no doubt harvested from the local gardens. Their pungent smoke lifted skyward where the rock of the temple stood in black stain from years of such gifts. Kahket thought they resembled bruises against the fine marble sheets of the building.
"I never expected Zandine's bride to be so handsome," Kamorah stated. "But lamia, can't you take many forms?"
"This is the form I chose. I'm not a shapechanger, if that is what you ask," Kahket replied.
Kamorah smoothed her red hair over one shoulder and gazed with eyes that filled Kahket with pity. Here was a woman that would never know true power, yet she hungered for it all the same.
"Why have you come to Shanagi, Dreaded Irtemara? Has your magic failed you so that you seek our consul? Or are you on a quest for Zandine himself? Has your god found that a body of flesh and blood has its own limitations?" Kamorah asked, before chuckling to herself.
"You dare insult me, but I shall allow it as I'd expect someone like you to feel secure in a place like this. But I assure you, Kamorah, my magic is quite formidable, and it has many answers to many questions."
"But..." Kamorah said, leading the sorceress on.
"But there is one for which I have come. I have immortality, and the spells I wield can transcend continents. Soon I will unleash Typhon himself unto the world and conquer the Valion race. I can burn cities to the ground with fire from my hands, and I can put shields of magic as hard as diamond between myself and an assailant. I wish to know, is this sufficient to stop Bloodbane?"
Kamorah scoffed. "You speak of the Sword of Rogues, do you not?"
"I want to know how to destroy Bloodbane or even if it is a threat to either myself or my husband," Kahket said. "What do you see with your vision?"
Kamorah stared off into space for a moment, eyes growing distant and a fog kind of creeping over her irises. After a minute, her focus returned to the room where Kahket stood and Kamorah simply said, "Yes."
"Yes, what?" Kahket asked.
"Yes, you should be afraid. Bloodbane can kill you and your husband."
Kahket clenched her fist. "What if I put a wall between me and the blade?"
"It will pierce the wall and drink your soul as it rams into your flesh," Kamorah said with a toothy smile. "Your magic will do nothing to stop it."
This made Kahket swallow nervously. Her husband had searched for Hunter for months and had only just managed to touch his mind for the briefest of seconds the other day before Hunter once again slipped from beyond his grasp. How something like this was even possible angered Kahket. What kind of gift did this Hunter have that he could vanish from the psionic thought of one of the most powerful minds among the pantheon of gods? Zandine told Kahket that the assassin was coming for them. He ordered her to find a way to stop him. But how?
"How do I stop Bloodbane?" Kahket blurted out. "There must be a way!"
"It is not Bloodbane you should fear, Dreaded Irtemara. It is Hunter, the one whom Bloodbane chose to wield it from this point until the end of time. But he is most definitely human; and as such he can be stopped."
"How would you advise I go about doing so?" Kahket asked.
"Resurrect the one who made him what he is. Bring back his mentor, Constantine, from the pits of Hell. I'm sure this is something you can accomplish, yes? If you resurrect Constantine from the dead, I'm sure he'll have a few disagreements he'd be willing to work out regarding his former pupil who it is said betrayed him and stole the thing that he desired most," Kamorah replied.
Kahket smiled at this suggestion and said, "Thank you, Seer of Zakash. I shall remember this, for you've truly given me something useful to think about. But the ability to recall someone from the dead is not a common one at all. I am unfamiliar with this sorcery."
Kamorah laughed again. "That's because it isn't sorcery. It's necromancy. Might I suggest that you meet with the headmaster of the Girl's Academy of Lianon Pard in Zanda and ask him how he would go about resurrecting a notorious Nightshade that's been dead over a year? And without a body I might add."
"Once again, your vision has educated me. I am in your debt, high priestess Kamorah," Kahket said.
"You would be wise to remember that, Dreaded Irtemara," Kamorah replied. And then the red-haired women guards showed the lamia out of the room.
Chapter Forty is now available to read at http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/discussion-board-for.html under the label "The Orb of Winter" if you care to read ahead.
Are there any artists out there willing to draw some pics for my story? If so, please email me. There is an "Orb of Winter" map now in both the NEWS section of my website and in the FORUMS of my website.
If you go to my website directly from this posting, you will want to begin with "CHAPTER Fourteen" (and skip to the point after the three asterix) in the forums.