deeper.
Annarah raised a single hand to her mouth. “By the Living Flame of the Divine. A century and a half?”
“He tells it truly,” said Caina. “It has been that long.”
“I’m sorry,” said Annarah. “I’m so sorry for that.”
Caina blinked. She would have expected anger from Annarah, or perhaps denial and disbelief. Not contrition.
“For what?” said Morgant.
“For forcing you to do this,” said Annarah. “To spend a hundred and fifty years trying to rescue me. By the Living Flame of the Divine, Morgant…no one was meant to bear such a burden over so long a time. No one. I am sorry I made you do this.”
Morgant scoffed. “I keep my word. The cost of doing so is immaterial.” He grinned his wolfish smile at her. “I was hired to kill you, so it seems only fair, would you not say?”
“What…what has happened since?” said Annarah. “A hundred and fifty years. The world must have changed so much since.”
“Oh, less than you might think,” said Morgant. “I…”
“We have to go,” said Caina. “Right now.” Both the loremaster and the assassin looked at her. “Those nagataaru will be back, and they’ll bring friends. The valikon will not scare them off forever.”
“You are right,” said Annarah. “We must flee.” She turned to the ring of glowing pyrikon spirits. “Disperse, my friends, and thank you for your aid.” She gestured, and the balls of white began to drift away from her. “Which way to the gate?”
“This way,” said Caina, pointing at the gateway in the outer colonnade. “This is your sanctuary. I think you should be able to dissolve…”
The voice thundered out of the sky.
It was not a voice, not really. Caina heard it inside her skull, not with her ears.
Despair could not speak with words. Death did not have a voice. Loss and agony could not make orations.
But if they could, they would sound like the voice that exploded inside of Caina’s head.
BALARIGAR.
“What was that?” said Morgant, raising the valikon.
Annarah looked around, her pyrikon unfolding into a staff once more. One of the balls of light started to float towards Caina.
DO YOU THINK TO DEFY ME? THE THREADS OF DESTINY WRAP THEMSELVES TIGHTER ABOUT YOU, AND SOON THEY SHALL STRANGLE THE THREAD OF YOUR TROUBLESOME LIFE.
“The Great Nagataaru,” breathed Annarah. “Their prince and lord. His attention has turned upon us.”
“Actually, he’s talking to me,” said Caina.
Annarah stared at her in astonishment. “Kotuluk Iblis talks to you?”
“What can I say?” said Caina, scanning the sky. “I’m good at making friends.”
Morgant snorted. “There is an understatement.”
YOUR MOCKERY WILL NOT SAVE YOU, NOR WILL IT SAVE YOUR WORLD.
The sky beyond the towers of Silent Ash Temple darkened. Had she stood in the mortal world, Caina would have thought she witnessed the approach of a storm. Here in the netherworld, she knew what a darkening sky meant.
The nagataaru were coming for her.
Thousands upon thousands of nagataaru were coming for her, for Annarah, and for Morgant, so many nagataaru that they would blot out the sky of the netherworld like a horde of locusts.
“Run!” shouted Caina, spinning for the gate, some of the balls of light drifting in her wake. Annarah and Morgant sprinted after her. They tore through the courtyard and into the terrace, the sky darkening further.
RUN IF YOU WILL. THE OUTCOME SHALL NOT CHANGE. THE FATE OF YOUR WORLD SHALL NOT CHANGE.
Caina reached the edge of the terrace and skidded to a stop. Gravity did not quite work the same way in the netherworld as it did in the mortal world, but she still did not want to fall a thousand feet to the valley floor below. In the distance, at the bottom of the stairs, she saw the pale glow of the gate back to the mortal world.
“Annarah,” said Caina. “You have to dissolve your sanctuary. It will move us closer to the gate. The nagataaru will catch us on those stairs if we try to climb down.”
Annarah nodded. “A moment.” She closed her eyes, concentrating, both her hands wrapped around the pyrikon staff.
“Hurry,” said Caina. There was no way they could make it down those stairs before the nagataaru caught them, and she wished that Annarah had not recreated Silent Ash Temple with such devotion to detail. Perhaps Caina could think of something, could force the psychomorphic terrain into a more suitable shape.
YOUR FATE IS SEALED. YOUR WORLD’S FATE IS SEALED. I HAVE DEVOURED TEN THOUSAND WORLDS AND LEFT THEM AS EMPTY HUSKS IN MY WAKE, AND THIS WORLD SHALL BE NEXT. YOU CANNOT