The seating had been built for imps. Even they had trouble finding room for kneeling. So did djinns and merfolk. Jotnar and trolls just made room, and sounds of splintering timber exploded through the Rotunda. Then there was only the child weeping and Zinixo’s shrill screaming.
“Let there be silence!” the God said, and there was silence. The voice of a God was not especially loud, yet it rolled like thunder.
Sounding muffled, Gath said, “KADIE? Is that you, Kadie?”
“No longer,” the God said. “Come out from under that throne, silly!”
Gath squirmed and wriggled until he got his arms free and could gain leverage on the base of the throne. Then he hauled himself out, began to rise . . . He choked, averting his face away from the incandescent glory. He settled on his knees beside Lord Umpily and bowed his head in reverence.
Slowly, all over the Rotunda, hands were rising to cover eyes as people peered over seats and bent shoulders. The God was a figure of roiling white flame, too bright to look upon, although They cast no shadow.
The Opal Throne crashed to the paving with a bang that shook the Rotunda and could be felt through the bones. Zinixo bounced. Ears rang.
“Rap?” the God said, and Their voice, although still tuneful and feminine, was subtly different. “Why do you weep?”
“For the loss of . . .” His voice broke. “Loss of my daughter!”
“But she is not lost. Rather do We weep for you, who are mortal and transient! This glory We know should by rights have been yours. Do you understand now?”
“I understand. Forgive my lack of faith, God.”
“You see now why you had to be warned?”
“I do. There would not have been time, else.”
“Gods are made of love, but there is more than one kind of love! And Inosolan? Do you also accept?”
There was a long pause, then the queen said, “The Gods’ will be done.”
There was another pause before the God continued, still in the second voice. ”It will suffice. We are the God of Rescues, for in our mortal form We prayed for rescue and We did rescue, each to each. It is traditional for a new God to announce Their presence by a public miracle, so that Their name may be added to the lists. All now present bear witness! We hereby decree, as token of Our Godhead, that this chamber and this place shall be for all time proof against the use of sorcery.”
“Great!” Gath said. He was closest of all—it seemed amazing that the white radiance did not scorch him. “What happens with the merfolk?”
“That, too, of course!” the God said snappily, in Their first voice. “We’d thought of that, stupid.”
“Sorry,” Gath muttered.
“Now, Sorcerers, We shall see what good you can find in the evil of this day.”
With those dread words, the God vanished.
The first to recover was the dwarf.
Zinixo leaped from the throne and sprinted toward the eastern exit. Dwarves were not built for sprinting, and several male jotnar were sitting next to the passageway he had chosen. They sprang over the edge and plunged into the canyon as he passed beneath them. Whether any of them actually landed on him is unknown, but he was caught before he reached the door. He screamed once.
The jotnar returned to the auditorium, carrying him. They paraded around the arena, waving to the hysterically jubilant crowd. There were four of them—that much is certain, because two circled clockwise and two counterclockwise. Later reports that the usurper had been ripped into five pieces may therefore have been slightly exaggerated.
2
The loyalty spell had snapped in a pang of heartbreaking loss. Shandie felt as if he had just awakened from a nightmare, or discovered that his best friend was a traitor. He needed time to adjust, and if he felt that way, having been enthralled for only a few minutes, what of those who had been Zinixo votaries for years? They might not recover for months. At last he had a chance to speak with his wife and child . . . He turned to Eshiala as the jotnar went raining down on the dwarf. Zinixo screamed.
The killers’ lightning-fast reaction told Shandie that he had no time for family or personal feelings. The next few minutes would be a pivot point in history. No one had expected this! With the old order in ruins, a new order must be proclaimed or chaos would prevail. Something would replace what Zinixo had torn down. The new millennium began now, for better or for worse. It was up to Shandie to seize control of the gathering.
He ran across to the Opal Throne—passing Lord Umpily, who was just now struggling to his feet—and sprang up onto the seat the dwarf had so recently vacated. He was standing there with his arms raised in triumph as the blood-spattered giants returned and marched around, waving their gruesome trophies. He let the first hubbub fade a little, then bellowed at the top of his lungs:
“Praise to the Gods for this deliverance!”
A ragged “Amen!” rolled through the Rotunda.
The audience had given him its attention, but only for a moment. Perhaps he had an advantage in that he had never been a sorcerer. If sorcery was banned from the chamber, then most of the audience must be feeling blind and deaf, but he could sense their mood changing by the second as they began to comprehend all the implications of the God’s miracle.
The thrones of the Four had disappeared. No matter . . . “Wardens, take your places!”
The three shot him odd glances. Then Lith’rian, Raspnex, and Grunth stalked to the platforms where those thrones had been. A mutter of disagreement rumbled and grew like an approaching earthquake. Men were rising to their feet.
“Emine’s Protocol is ended!” Shandie cried at the top of his voice. ”The new protocol begins!”
That was a little better. That was more what the audience wanted. It raised a halfhearted cheer. But other voices were rising, also. Imminent riot crackled in the air like lightning.
“I made certain promises!” Shandie yelled. “I now confirm them! Sorcerer Ishist?”
Gnomes? What did the imperor want with gnomes? The muttering dwindled as speakers paused to listen. Some of those who had risen sat down again.
“I am here, Imperor!”
The thin voice was barely audible. Half the crowd said Sssh! to the other half.
“I stand by my promise to Oshpoo. I shall pull my legions from Guwush! Will you save time and further bloodshed? When the orders are cut, will you convey them to the troops by sorcery?”
“Gladly we will!”
The hubbub died to an astonished muttering as the spectators realized that history was taking shape in front of their eyes.
“Witch Grunth?”
The huge woman stood on the western dais, hunched and grizzled, eyeing the young imperor with open skepticism. “Yes, Mundane Brother of the Center?”
“I shall take immediate steps to end the impressment of trolls in Pithmot! You have our word.”
She bared her great fangs. “My son is more concerned with that than I am. Convince him of your good faith—if you can.” Sweat trickled into Shandie’s eyes. If he could not even hold the wardens on his side, then explosion was inevitable. “I hereby appoint him proconsul with plenipotentiary powers. Will that satisfy you?”
A troll? Astonishment rippled across the hall. Some of the imps cried out in disgust, but that rallied the other races. A gruff bass voice began a cheer and it was taken up. That was better, but there was still no real enthusiasm. Shandie caught his breath. At eighteen he had begun his military career in earnest when he faced down the Creslee Mutiny. This was worse than that, because he had a wife and child here with him. He had learned a few things since those days, though.
“Friends, we are one warden short. Let us give tribute to Warlock Olybino, who died to proclaim the new protocol! A minute’s silence for a hero and a martyr!”
It was a sleazy trick, but it worked. They had all seen Olybino die. Most of them had helped kill him.
Of course only Shandie himself could end the silence. He allotted the dead hero about forty seconds, then spoke again. “The warlock decreed that in future new wardens should be elected, and I heartily agree. Let us make that a keystone of the new protocol that we must now forge! Let his own replacement be the first elected warden! Whom do you wish to be the new warlock of the east?”
The reaction was even faster than he had expected. The audience roared a name.
Rap and Inos and their son had been locked in a three-way embrace, mourning their own loss and paying no heed to millennia turning. Now the king broke loose and swung around, his face black.
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