intervening space, then magick might become even easier at range. Two halves of the same stone, no matter how far apart, might react within magick as if they were still part of a whole.
Vlad closed his eyes. Tangents and angles, symbols and their duplications, and the implications of all that spread through his mind. He could see the spells he knew lining up in a new order. If the spell to shoot a gun was near the top of the sun spells, then the spell to light a candle would be much lower. And, not surprisingly, he’d always visualized that spell as the sun dawning. The spell to extinguish such a flame he saw as the sun setting.
He saw what Ezekiel Fire had seen, though he doubted Fire had completely understood what he discovered. Prince Vlad could peel the limitations that clothed magick and take it back to its most raw and powerful form. He could provide greater access more simply for more people, which would make their lives infinitely easier.
And give everyone the chance to be corrupted by that power. In a heartbeat he understood why the Church had done what it did. In the next he feared what their knowledge would allow them to do. They had distributed grimoires so their selected agents would have access to advanced magicks as needed. Until Vlad knew who those people were, and why they were being given knowledge forbidden to the average man, he couldn’t judge whether their effort should be encouraged or destroyed.
And he wondered, as he opened a blank notebook and began to outline his own system of magick, if he would fall victim to infinite power or if his purpose-balancing the Church’s tyranny-might somehow save him from magick’s corrupting influence.
Chapter Fifteen
1 May 1767 Antediluvian Ruins Westridge Mountains, Mystria
“I hain’t never seen the like.” Nathaniel stared up at the edifice carved into the side of the mountain. The arches over doorways were formed by squids linking tentacles. More tentacles dangled from atop pillars. Even the way the stones had been carved to sluice away rain water had a tentacular pattern. Nathaniel had never much taken to the sea and sea life, and was more than happy nothing squidlike inhabited lakes and rivers.
Even odder than the general theme of the architecture were the two figures decorating the twenty-foot-tall and half-opened bronze doors. Age had imbued the doors with a green patina, but they didn’t appear to be weathered nearly enough for having existed under the water for more than a couple of years. The nearby mud didn’t have the sour stink of age, either. Given that he’d never heard of the place in Shedashee tales-and some of them recounted events centuries old-something definitely strange was going on.
The figures were male and female, right and left as one looked at them. The female, on the lean side, had ample curves to her and wasn’t wearing much more than the bronze patina. Aside from her being nearly naked, she could have walked down any street in Temperance Bay without attracting a considerable amount of notice. Her strong jaw, noble nose, and deep-set eyes suggested she’d be a hatchet-faced crone by the time she got old, but in her youth, she definitely presented a handsome image that any man would be happy to have enter a dream.
The male, on the other hand, would have attracted notice and most of it hostile. Despite being clothed in something falling halfway between a fancy gown and the sort of vestments Bishop Bumble wore on high Holy Days, there was no mistaking the fact that the man was skinny to the point of looking consumptive. If there was an ounce of fat on him it was because he pulled it out of some animal’s carcass and tucked it in a pocket. His long-fingered hands rested on the head of a staff. It rose to the middle of his belly, making it a bit longer than a gentleman’s walking stick. Though it wasn’t easy to see, the stick had a squidlike thing worked at the head, and that design matched the ring on the man’s left hand.
His face and expression concerned Nathaniel more than anything else. He had more chin than he did nose, and that wasn’t because his jaw was particularly strong. His nostrils tended more toward slits, and his nose looked closer to that of a bat than it did of the woman. Sharp angles defined his face, including cheekbones and peg-teeth seen between half-opened lips. His ears sharpened and his hair had been pulled back tight to his head. Had the patina been any thinner, Nathaniel would have assumed he was bald. The eyes, sunken back, projected a venomous glance.
Owen started up the steps. “Not the welcoming type, are they?”
“I reckon not.” Nathaniel bent over and wiped a finger on the Temple steps. “No grit here, no mud.”
Kamiskwa pointed to a rough semicircle that ran around that end of the courtyard and then on up to the mountainside. “A dome protected this place. I can feel the residual magick and see traces of it still.”
Makepeace crossed himself. “I reckon I’ll not be going in. I’ll just keep watch out here.”
Rathfield looked at him. “I would have hardly thought you susceptible to cowardice.”
The Virtuan drew himself up to his full height. “Don’t take a coward to recognize that this here is an unholy place. The Good Lord wants me going in there, He’ll give me a sign. Until that point I ain’t seeing why I should risk Perdition right here and now.”
Nathaniel smiled. “Ain’t no reason you should. Fact is, I was gonna ask you and Hodge to stay out here to keep an eye on things. See anything, fire a shot and we’ll come running.”
Hodge nodded and Makepeace moved off in the direction the footprint had pointed toward.
Owen stepped up first and entered the Temple, with Kamiskwa close behind him. Rathfield and Count von Metternin went next, and Nathaniel brought up the rear. He kept his rifle cradled in his arms and forced himself to watch their backtrail. He checked on the doors, visually measuring the opening, and dreaded seeing them close.
The doorway opened into a tall and long corridor carved from the native granite. At least that’s what Nathaniel wanted to believe, but he couldn’t see any chisel marks. As with the statues outside and the settlement’s building blocks, everything had been joined seamlessly. Just the way Kamiskwa kept to the middle of the corridor, as far from the walls as he could, suggested he was feeling magick coming off the stones. Nathaniel didn’t want to be thinking about what kind of power it would take to have shaped what he saw.
Owen rubbed his nose. “Dry, musty air; not at all what I’d expect.”
Every ten yards or so a pair of statues had been placed to support the walls. They alternated male and female, repeating the figures from outside, save that all of them held a glowing stone ball about a yard in diameter. The stone looked similar to those used to build the settlement, and yet was a thin-enough shell that Nathaniel imagined he could see shadowy creatures swimming through the interior. He took comfort in the fact that he didn’t see anything at all squidlike, but he didn’t enjoy the fact that something lived inside those stones.
Halfway into the structure the corridor widened, quadrupling in size to create a cavernous room. Statues continued at regular intervals, now freestanding pairs back to back, holding more lights. At the far end they discovered a raised dais, an altar and a tabernacle structure, the latter of which lay open. Something had once resided in there, but since the Temple’s interior showed no sign of decay, Nathaniel couldn’t begin to guess how long the tabernacle had been empty.
Nathaniel smiled at Count von Metternin. “You seen its like in Auropa?”
The Kessian frowned. “For scale, yes, but…” He pointed to vast expanses of blank wall. “Any cathedral would have murals there and in the ceiling vaults. In the building outside the water washed images away, but here they should have been intact.”
Owen shook his head. “Maybe the water didn’t wash things away. Maybe they were all rendered in magick. Kamiskwa, can you feel it?”
The Altashee brave nodded slowly, and Nathaniel recognized how much conscious control his friend was exerting. Only seen that a time or two, when he’s been in powerful-bad pain.
“Yes, it is magick. The walls tell stories.” Kamiskwa exhaled slowly. “What you would see in a painting, the magick makes you feel. Over there, it must be a battle. I can feel the wounds. Screams are whispers, but they are there.”
Rathfield turned and stared toward the panel Kamiskwa faced. “Impossible. You would have to be touching that to get any magick sense from it.”
“The Shedashee, Colonel, they don’t exactly cotton to the rules of Norillian magick.”
“Do you, Woods, feel what he feels?”
“No, but that don’t mean what he feels ain’t true.” Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “You just think of him as
