“Pyre Lord,” Naomi breathed back. “She’s got a variation on Helminth’s inference ability. She’s infamous for how quickly she can devise the best possible plan. It was the power she manifested when she became a Dread Blaze.”
“We can delay her for an hour,” said Desiree at last, her tone clinical. “Perhaps two, though that incurs great risk.”
Strangers were emerging from the stairwell, another dozen or so men and women, their eyes widening at the sight of those gathered on the rooftop, moving to flesh out the crowd that had grown around the central knot.
A pair of golden wings materialized behind the White Queen’s shoulders, resplendent and radiant, each feather picked out in glowing hues. She lifted into the air, the wind still pulling at her clothing, and gazed solemnly toward where Imogen was hidden.
“Attend me, Great Souls. Soon we shall go into battle against the greatest of our kind. An Imperator whose life and deeds are the very stuff of legends, and whose fall eight years ago spelled out the doom of the Empyreal Prophecy. We cannot hope to defeat her, not in direct combat, but that is not to be our goal. We need but distract her, for her greatest weakness is her mind. It is fractured, undone by the price she paid to save the other Imperators, such that even now, as she stands at the pinnacle of power, she is at her weakest. If we can but capitalize on that instability, we can keep her off-balance until greater powers arrive to assist us.”
Scorio rose quietly to his feet at last. He glanced about the crowd. Everybody was rapt, their attention focused on the Charnel Duke.
“Her powers are limited by her cloud of darkness,” continued the White Queen. “But given her ability to direct her fog where she wills, it is a slight restriction. Her powers are varied; she can hurl beams of destructive darkness; control the minds of those who stray into her fog, rearrange the terrain as she sees fit; and travel through the fog at will.”
Scorio rocked back on his heels, trying to understand the implication of all those powers.
“But those are merely the abilities she manifested by the time she became a Dread Blaze,” continued the White Queen, her tone inexorable. “Her mastery over all forms of mana is nearly total. Her halo allows her to establish preeminence, which none here can contest. Her Ferula is infamous for its destructive power, and her shroud is nigh impervious to any attacks we can muster. And as an Imperator, she can summon legions of servants from her private realm, though I doubt we can press her hard enough to force her to do so.”
Desiree was frowning up at the winged Charnel Duke. “Our only chance is to engage her in successive lightning strikes that continuously distract her and prevent her from bringing her full might to bear on any one target.”
“Teams,” affirmed Helminth. “Four?”
“Four,” agreed Desiree. “I would suggest the following. The first team will consist of those capable of landing the heaviest strikes while retaining mobility. They will be led by Nova, our White Queen, with…” Her gaze raked the cloud. “Amity, Lady Maeve, Sharess, and Emakar. The second team will consist of our most powerful hand-to-hand combatants. Grunsch, Raugr, Paumentar and…”
“I should join it,” said Helminth decisively.
“Yes, with Helminth. They will be afforded mobility by Valdun.”
A large, almost violently handsome man with long blond hair and a full beard that reached his belt grinned in affirmation, his teeth strong and startlingly white.
“The third team will provide ranged support, concentrating their attacks when the first two teams are exchanging point. Havarn, Feng, Hera, and myself will distract Imogen when the time comes, with Jarex providing mobility when needed.”
“This is going to give me the worst hangover,” said the wild-haired man, wincing.
“A fourth and final team will provide utility and battlefield control. Praximar, Echo, and Ivashtar, you are to range where needed and either rescue the wounded or clear Imogen’s constructions to prevent us from becoming overwhelmed.”
Scorio waited, wondering if he and his friends would be assigned roles, but Desiree didn’t even look in their direction.
Helminth picked up where Desiree left off. “We need to think of ourselves as mosquitoes. We sting and fly away. We must give her just enough time to return her attention to the Portal, and then the next team moves in. We keep her off-balance. But we shouldn’t cross the line—if she turns her full attention upon us, we’d be…”
“Damned,” finished Raugr, expression grim.
From her vantage point a few yards above them, Nova the White Queen turned to regard the far end of the city once more. “I can provide some measure of protection, even from her full attacks, but not for long. Our greatest assets will be flexibility and improvisation. Those of you who were not called, remain alert. If Imogen’s wrath is truly aroused, the whole city may come under attack. You must be prepared to assist the people of Bastion as best you can.”
As if on cue, screams sounded from across the city, a thousand voices raised in panic, made thin and reedy by distance, but coming from every direction.
Scorio looked up and saw what had terrified them so.
The sun-wire was undulating.
Ripples were rushing along its length as if a dog had taken hold of its far end and were wresting it back and forth.
“We are out of time!” The White Queen’s wings flared out wide and she rose higher into the sky. “Amity! Maeve! Sharess! Emakar! To me!”
The summoned Great Souls moved to stand beneath her, and a golden glow washed over them, flaring brightly for a moment, and then they were gone.
Valdun raised his hand and a half-dozen bolts of lightning came thundering down from the sky, causing great chunks of rock to go flying, the air momentarily shattered by their brightness. Scorio threw his arm before his face protectively, and when he lowered it, blinking away the afterimage, he saw that where each bolt had struck now stood a massive, armored steed, white pegasi who stirred and stamped and beat their feathered wings.
“My lords,” cried Valdun, vaulting atop the largest with the ease of one born in the saddle. “We ride!”
The hugely muscled Grunsch hauled himself up, and in moments the others were mounted as well. Valdun drew a miniature spear from within his robes and with a careless rush of power flooded it with mana; a second later the treasure burst into full size, easily five yards long and becoming a glittering lance made of peerless gold whose tip coruscated with energy. Valdun’s pegasus galloped toward the edge of the roof, the others pounding behind it, and leaped the railing to spread their wings and soar into the sky.
Havarn turned his shadowed gaze upon the saturnine man. “Jarex, are you ready?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” grumbled Jarex in his gravelly voice, rising to his feet. “Gather in close and make a chain. This might upset your stomach.”
Desiree and the others drew near, each reaching out to touch either Jarex or someone already touching him.
The wild-haired man grimaced, raised his face to the heavens, eyes squeezed shut, and liquid metal flowed out of his mouth, washed over his body, and encased him perfectly like a liquid mirror suit. It rapidly spread out over the others, encapsulating them in the blink of an eye, and the liquid metal imploded, collapsing into a sphere the size of Scorio’s fist, and was gone.
Praximar had already lifted into the air, his duplicate forms spreading out from his own, but with a gesture, he pulled his two charges up from the roof to take a pair of his reflections’ places.
The four remaining reflections then turned, leaned toward the distant boiling clouds of night, and then together in a tight cluster they shot through the air, speeding away over the city.
“This is our chance,” said Naomi as the remaining Great Souls either moved toward the railing to watch or began hurrying down the stairs. “We’ve been overlooked. Time to escape.”