Scorio. Xandera’s voice came from the closest Titan. You have arrived on time. Follow this child of mine. It will lead you to me.
The Titan turned and began marching through its fellows, who edged back, allowing Scorio and Naomi to follow it into an ancillary hallway which curved up around the caldera and let out into a balcony.
The same balcony from which Bravurn had watched the duel.
Queen Xandera took up most of it, her coils curled beneath her, her human torso rising up so that she could gaze out over the caldera.
Scorio and Naomi stepped up to the railing. The many windows and crude balconies that the Great Souls had punched into the walls were gone, smoothed over as if they’d never been. Some twenty eggs had been carefully placed on the floor below, each supported by a cup of clay that had risen from the ground as if of its own accord. The eggs glowed gold, and radiated such power that Scorio had no doubt to their infusion.
“The time has come,” said Xandera quietly. “Never has such a number of queens been born before. Never has so much wealth been available with which to make such a clutching possible. I will multiply like the stars.”
“One step closer to being the Everqueen,” said Scorio wryly.
“I no longer believe in such nonsense. My previous self, the original that you first met, left her musings and records for me to read written in the patterns of her walls. I have learned much from her, and now share her disdain for such blazeborn vanity. No. My queens shall fight the Gold-fiends that encroach upon my spires, and then those that survive shall spread out to found new colonies, raise new armies. Armies that shall fight for the health of Acherzua.”
Scorio studied the queen sidelong. He could hardly credit that the orange-haired waif he’d met only a few days ago had grown into her prodigious majesty. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Xandera looked down at him. “Don’t fear. You will always be a friend of all my selves. I have already woven your name into the fabric of our history. All that spring forth from my eggs shall know that they only live due to your assistance.. My selves shall always consider you an honored guest.”
To which Scorio could only bow.
“Now.” She turned back to the caldera. “We must draw the heat from the depths. My powers shall shield you. This is normally a sacred event. The birthing of a single queen is the culmination of a week of rites and celebration. Today we birth twenty, and do so with no ceremony. Somehow I find that fitting. These queens are born to war; they will know precious little of comforts or the delights of court. So shall it be.”
“So shall it be,” whispered Alain, then blushed and bowed his head.
“It begins,” whispered Xandera, and raised both her hands.
The ground rumbled.
The floor of the caldera began to glow, first a dull burgundy, then a rich red, which lightened in spots to orange, a color that spread as areas of bright yellow began to emerge.
The air shimmered. The runes blazed forth from within the walls. Scorio was sure that if he were to push his hand into the wall of livid currents that stirred before him that it would instantly char to the bone.
Or, perhaps it wouldn’t.
Soon the floor had passed from yellow to pure white, a light that arose to suffuse the air. Scorio narrowed his gaze, raising a hand to shield his eyes, and watched as the caldera became a crucible for the greatest heat he’d yet seen.
It lasted for only a moment.
Soon it faded, the glow flattering and falling into streaks, then dulling so that the contours of the room appeared.
Blinking away afterimages, Scorio peered below.
The ground was darkening, returning to a sullen crimson, but everywhere he saw young queens sitting, knees beneath their chins, their hair, long and lava-orange, flowing down to mingle and form a burning latticework. They were exactly the same as the young nine-year-old Scorio had seen a lifetime ago down in the Telurian Band.
As one, they blinked their burning eyes, then raised their faces to gaze with unerring focus at Queen Xandera.
The sight of twenty identical faces was unnerving. The terrible heat of the caldera had receded, but something just as intense had replaced it; each face possessed the same intelligence and alertness, the same power and personality as the queen.
“Welcome,” cried out Xandera, her voice swelling with pride and emotion. “Welcome, my daughter-selves! Welcome, Queens! Welcome, my royal host. Welcome to Acherzua. Welcome to hell, and to war.”
Chapter 58
Scorio and Naomi found a nook just within the main entrance of the spire and there sat together, backs to the wall, shoulders pressed together, and waited.
Each moment that passed, a calamity unfolded on the far side of hell. Scorio interlaced his fingers with Naomi’s and tried to imagine it. The vastness of this land. The extent of the Telurian Band giving way to the mists of the Silver Unfathom, which in turn bled into the endless Lustrous Maria with its tenebrites. And on the far side of that shifting expanse, the Emerald Reach where the Viridian Heart commanded its Emerald Legions. Then the Scorched Swale where Crimson Earl Endergrast’s Golden Star floated, and beyond that the Azure Expanse, which gave way to the Diamond Veil, and then, only then, so far he couldn’t conceive it, the Twilight Cradle that encircled the Pit.
It made him feel tired. Small. Irrelevant. This battle against the Blood Ox had been haunted by betrayal, blood, and desperation, but what was it when compared to the wars and miracles that lay beyond?
Scorio stared out at nothing. Naomi’s head rested on his shoulder as she slept.
He thought on the Archmagus. The old man who’d orchestrated this entire resistance. How had the Great Souls gone from agreeing to fight demons on Eterra to forever binding their souls to the Archspire? Why had the portal home closed? What would happen if they failed to destroy the Pit?
All of which led him back to the Herdsmen. Praximar had confessed in his journal to being one in a previous life. Bravurn had been one, he was sure of it. But what was their goal? Why this mystery and obfuscation? Were they sided with the Pit? Is that why Bravurn had been able to communicate with the Blood Ox? But Bravurn had been a Great Soul himself, mortal, and tied to the Archspire. Why work for his own destruction?
The answer had to lie in the journals and ledgers they’d collected. Alain hadn’t had time to work on them yet, but when this was done, they’d find Lianshi and see if together they could crack the code.
For what was the point in laboring in hell if they couldn’t even be sure why and for what they sacrificed?
Scorio turned Naomi’s hand about and studied her fingers, her knuckles, the faint tracery of veins just beneath her skin. One good thing had come of this all. Or could come of it. He still felt unsure of how things stood with them. A door had been opened, a new intimacy that often felt right, but why this unease? He rested his cheek on her head and breathed in her scent. Closed his eyes. How could something feel so right yet keep him on edge at once?
Perhaps that was love. Perhaps the very intensity of it made it so you couldn’t relax.
Scorio’s thoughts turned to more intimate moments. Perhaps they should slip away, have a few moments before the Blood Ox arrived…?
But no. He wanted to laugh at himself. What manner of figure would he cut if he came running to the battle while pulling up his pants?
His thoughts slowed, became a mélange of memories and quiet hopes. If they could but survive the next hour or two…
Shouts from within, the sound of pounding feet. Scorio and Naomi jerked awake and leaped to their feet.
Sharess and a handful of the Iron Vanguard came racing into the main hall.
“The Blood Ox’s fiends! We’ve sighted them coming up the valley!”
“Alright.” His fancies and daydreams died away, leaving him cold and certain and ready. “How much time do we have?”