The figure moved away from the throne, towards the doorway… silver and ebony cane tapping on the pavestones.
A short while later it reached the temple's entrance and looked out.
There, at the gate, walked the last of them. A Gral, and the chilling, dread apparition that was Icarium.
A catch of breath from the huddling shadow beneath the arched frame, as the Jhag paused once to glance back.
And Shadowthrone caught, in Icarium's expression, something like a smile, then the faintest of nods, before the Jhag turned away.
The god cocked his head, listening to the party hurry back up the path.
A short time later and they were gone, back through their gate.
Meticulous illusion, crafted with genius, triggered by the arrival of strangers – of, indeed, any but Shadowthrone himself – triggered to transform into a shattered, powerless wreck. Meanas, bound with Mockra, flung across the span of the chamber, invisible strands webbing the formal entrance. Mockra, filaments of suggestion, invitation, the surrendering of natural scepticism, easing the way to witness the broken throne.
Lesser warrens, yet manipulated by a god's hands, and not any god's hands, either. No… mine!
The Edur were gone.
'Idiots.'
'Three sorceror kings,' Destriant Run'thurvian said, 'rule ShalMorzinn. They will contest our passage, Adjunct Tavore Paran, and this cannot be permitted.'
'We would seek to negotiate,' the Adjunct said. 'Indeed, to purchase supplies from them. Why would they oppose this?'
'Because it pleases them to do so.'
'And they are formidable?'
'Formidable? It may well prove,' the Destriant said, 'that even with the assistance of your sorcerors, including your High Mage here, we will suffer severe, perhaps devastating losses should we clash with them. Losses sufficient to drive us back, even to destroy us utterly.'
The Adjunct frowned across at Admiral Nok, then at Quick Ben.
The latter shrugged. 'I don't even know who they are and I hate them already.'
Keneb grunted. Some High Mage.
'What, Destriant Run'thurvian, do you suggest?'
'We have prepared for this, Adjunct, and with the assistance of your sorcerors, we believe we can succeed in our intention.'
'A gate,' Quick Ben said.
'Yes. The Realm of Fanderay and Togg possesses seas. Harsh, fierce seas, but navigable nonetheless. It would not be wise to extend our journey in that realm overlong – the risks are too vast – but I believe we can survive them long enough to, upon re-emerging, find ourselves off the Dal Honese Horn of Quon Tali.'
'How long will that take?' Admiral Nok asked.
'Days instead of months, sir,' the Destriant replied.
'Risks, you said,' Keneb ventured. 'What kind of risks?'
'Natural forces, Fist. Storms, submerged ice; in that realm the sea levels have plunged, for ice grips many lands. It is a world caught in the midst of catastrophic changes. Even so, the season we shall enter is the least violent – in that, we are most fortunate.'
Quick Ben snorted. 'Forgive me, Destriant, but I sense nothing fortuitous in all this. We have some savanna spirit driving us along with these winds, as if every moment gained is somehow crucial. A savannah spirit, for Hood's sake. And now, you've worked a ritual to fashion an enormous gate on the seas. That ritual must have been begun months ago-'
'Two years, High Mage.'
'Two years! You said you were waiting for us – you knew we were coming – two years ago? Just how many spirits and gods are pushing us around here?'
The Destriant said nothing, folding his hands together before him on the map-table.
'Two years,' Quick Ben muttered.
'From you, High Mage, we require raw power – taxing, yes, but not so arduous as to leave you damaged.'
'Oh, that's nice.'
'High Mage,' the Adjunct said, 'you will make yourself available to the Grey Helms.'
He sighed, then nodded.
'How soon, Destriant?' Admiral Nok asked. 'And how shall we align the fleet?'
'Three ships across at the most, two cables apart, no more – the span of a shortbow arrow's flight between each. I suggest you begin readying your fleet immediately, sir. The gate shall be opened at dawn tomorrow.'
Nok rose. 'Then I must take my leave. Adjunct.'
Keneb studied Quick Ben on the other side of the table. The High Mage looked miserable.
Kalam waited until Quick Ben emerged onto the mid deck, then made his way over. 'What's got you shaking in your boots?' he asked.