“Ashhur.”
He squinted his eyes, expecting some sort of bright flash or signal. Instead, the silver stone began to glow softly, its golden light soothing to look upon. It pulsed once, twice, and then into the sky shone a great pillar, piercing the clouds so that its light pushed on through the slowly forming gap. Qurrah’s mouth dropped open, impressed. Its color was like that of Lathaar’s sword, or Jerico’s shield, a strong blue-white, vibrant with energy. In the center of the beam, soft smoke curled and rose, vanishing the moment it left the beam. The light spread nowhere beyond the beam, not even brightening his hands as they held the scepter. Given its distinct brightness and color, he had no doubt it could be seen for miles and miles even during the day.
In less than a minute he heard the sound of flapping wings. An angel landed before him, one of their warriors, his body clad in armor and a spear strapped to his back.
“I am Loen, and I bring to you the blessings of Ashhur,” the angel said. “I saw the signal in the sky and have come. What matter requires my aid?”
“My name is Qurrah Tun,” he said, bowing his head in respect. “I seek permission to travel to Avlimar and speak with Azariah.”
A look of curiosity passed over Loen’s face and quickly vanished.
“I remember you,” Loen said. “You were of much interest after the trial to decide your fate. You look healthier, now. More alive.”
Qurrah felt mildly embarrassed thinking of the trial, when he’d been ready to accept death at the angels’ hands. Only Harruq had stopped them by demanding whatever fate be given to Qurrah also be given to him. The idea of killing his brother while trying to atone for his own sins…Qurrah couldn’t do it. His brother’s selflessness had been the only reason he’d lived, and that’s what shamed him. At the time, Tessanna had been alone with that monster Velixar and Thulos’s legion of demons. Qurrah had been willing to give up even her, had twice tried to make his brother end his life so he might not feel guilt or anguish.
Such weakness. Such childishness.
“I’m a better man now than I was,” he told Loen. “Perhaps that is all you see?”
“Perhaps. Azariah is in his study. If you do not mind waiting outside it, I will see if he accepts your company.”
“Thank you,” Qurrah said, bowing his head again. “How will I arrive?”
The angel took the scepter from Qurrah and then tucked it into the same loops that held his spear.
“Do not fear falling,” he said. “But if you are afraid, I suggest closing your eyes and not looking down.”
Qurrah smirked as the angel flapped his wings several times, lifting them into the air. He’d stepped into the chaos that was Tessanna’s mind and seen the nightmares of her past; heights weren’t going to frighten him. Wrapped in the angel’s arms, he felt plenty secure. The wind whipped against his face, and he had to squint his eyes to see. The city of Mordeina shrank below him, and high above, the shining star that was Avlimar grew closer and closer.
The strangest sight was the floating rock beneath it all, as if the pull of the world meant nothing on the parcel of land broken and hurled free from the Golden Eternity. It looked brown and compacted, like any other earth, but it supported the great weight of the structure built atop it. Every precious metal was crafted into spires, towers, slender homes and broad bridges. Some buildings were gold, others silver. To his surprise, there were many gardens, their vibrant colors easy to see despite the night. Avlimar was always lit, no darkness allowed within. Copious amounts of torches lined the buildings, and it seemed the very gold of the streets hummed with ethereal brightness. In that light, the green of trees somehow complemented the extravagant colors, adding life and color to the otherwise overwhelming metal beauty.
There were many flat segments of street at the edge of the floating city, and they landed on one of them. Qurrah staggered momentarily when released from Loen’s grip, then quickly steadied himself. There was something unusual about standing there, almost like being upon a boat despite no discernible rocking or motion.
“Have you been to Avlimar before?” Loen asked him.
Qurrah remembered arriving as an undead monstrosity, pulled along by Velixar’s commands as war demons surged through the windows and towers, battling angels by the thousands.
“Only once,” Qurrah said.
“Follow me, then,” Loen said. He walked down the street, which slowly narrowed the farther from the edge they traveled. Qurrah marveled at the architecture. It seemed everything was ornamented to an absurd extent. Walls were decorated with intricate carvings, paintings, even sculptures cut into their sides. Pausing at one, he looked at a bewildering collection of overlapped concentric circles, making it seem like the doorway of the home were the center of a great vortex of lines and motion. It had to have taken hundreds of hours to carve, Qurrah thought. Of course, in a land of no ruin and death, time for even the most trivial things could be afforded…
“This way,” Loen said, breaking his line of thought. “Azariah rarely stays in Avlimar for long, and I would be remiss if tardiness kept you from meeting him.”
“Of course,” Qurrah said as his fingers traced along the lines. “Perhaps another time I can explore.”
It was to the very tallest of towers that Loen took him, located not far from the center of the city. Along the way, Qurrah was surprised by how few angels he spotted. The creatures did not sleep like regular mortals, so he saw no reason for the silence, yet it was there all the same.
“Why is the city so empty?” he asked as they approached the great spire, which rose like a sharp-peaked mountain, except instead of snowy peaks it was decorated with marble and pearl.
“The harvest is great, the workers few,” Loen said. “We are scattered throughout the land, and with our aid, many new towns have sprouted in the far north. But soon Avlimar will be filled with angels to vote in the coming council.”
“Council?” Qurrah asked.
“Did your brother tell you nothing of it?”
“No, he did not.”
“A meeting with human elders,” Loen said, pulling open the golden doors to Azariah’s spire. “To hear their concerns, and allow them to open their hearts to us so we might learn how to better serve them.”
“Wait here,” Loen said.
The angel stepped through the door, which was oversized to accommodate his wings. All of the doors and walkways were large like that, making Qurrah, who had grown up thin and sickly, feel all the smaller. Staring up at the spire, Qurrah admired the craftsmanship it took to build it. For some reason, it had a newness to it the rest of the city did not. Perhaps it was the height, or maybe because it was the lone building he’d seen so far that possessed a pointed rooftop instead of a flat one.
“Qurrah?”
Azariah stepped out of the door, followed by Loen.
“I’d have words with you,” the half-orc said, falling to one knee.
“Of course,” Azariah said. “All are welcome here. If we might have time alone, my dear Loen. My guest and I will require privacy for him to speak his troubled heart, but do not go far. He will need you to return home.”
Qurrah held back a chuckle. So his troubled heart would be the excuse to hide his lessons at magic? Oh well. Whatever worked.
When Loen was gone, Azariah gestured for Qurrah to step inside. As the door shut, Qurrah’s eyes needed a moment to adjust. Azariah’s spire was bright even by Avlimar’s standards. Light shone not from torches but instead various gems, crystals, chandeliers, even candles carved of marble with no visible wick. It all spoke of magic. Amused, Qurrah wondered if Azariah had lost his clerical abilities because he wasted them on something a simple torch and wax candle could accomplish.
“You should have requested my presence,” Azariah said, gesturing for Qurrah to take a seat. The chair was large, the cushions overstuffed with feathers. There was an ornate fireplace before it, and in the hearth burned a fire that gave off heat yet appeared to have no effect on the log within. The carpet was thick, a deep crimson that was easy on the eyes, a welcome respite after all the shining metals. Kicking off his sandals, Qurrah slumped in the chair (which was, of course, far too big for him) and let his bare feet sink into the carpet.
“If I’d known teaching you magic would have such comforts, I’d have agreed far more readily,” he said, closing his eyes as the heat from the fire washed over him.
