It was true that the Beysib could show white all around their eyes even when
they were staring. The priest gasped and clung to Torchholder’s wrist with both
hands. “Yes, Lord Torch-holder.”
The mosaic floor of the hypocaust room was hidden under icy, ankle-deep water.
Isambard removed his one-and-only pair of sandals and tied them together over
his shoulder before stepping into it. With his lantern held high he moved
cautiously, knowing there had been snakes down here once and not knowing if the
cold water would stop them.
“Most Reverend Lady Jihan?” he inquired into the darkness, addressing her as he
would have addressed Molin’s long-absent wife.
Silence.
“Most Reverend Lady?” he repeated, sloshing a few steps further.
They were all heaped together on the pallet where they had tied the demon
possessed mercenary, Nikodemos: Jihan, Tem-pus, Randal, and possibly Nikodemos
himself-Isambard couldn’t be sure in this light. They weren’t dead, or not all
of them anyway, because someone was snoring.
“Great Vashanka-Giver of Victories; Gatherer of Souls- abide with me on Your
battlefield.”
Lantern rattling in his hand, the acolyte moved forward. He cleared one of the
great columns that continued upward all the way to the Hall of Justice. A faint
light reflected off the water- a faint blue light such as his lantern could
never cast. His heart seized with panic and his gut tumbling with fear, Isambard
turned around.
A column of ice loomed midway between the bodies and the far wall. Within it a
blue sphere the size and height of his head throbbed; water cascaded to the