Chapter 1216 — The Oracle
Blade of Dawn · Page 2 of 5
Thick, gloomy walls girdled a city stacked in bizarre fashion, and tower after tower stood pointing at the sky among the serried eaves and spires. Beneath that forest of towers, houses layered atop one another as though defying the laws of space, and those leaning high walls and winding alleys spread across the ground like some labyrinthine hive — the buildings of Emberfall City were so crowded and dense that almost every figure walking its streets was swallowed by the piled-up structures. Even when one occasionally glimpsed a robed mage flying between the houses, they were swift and hurried, like ghosts flitting through the night.
And at the heart of Emberfall City, the towering royal spire known as the Dim Court stood as ever beneath the ever-gloomy vortex of the sky. The "Eye of Night" floating at its summit shed a cold, dim radiance, quietly overlooking the city below with something like divine detachment.
From the interior of the spire all the way down, through layer upon layer of floors, chambers and corridors, lay the "Cavern of Nightfall" at the tower's base. The "Dreamless" who stood guard had gathered beside the mirror-black "pool" and were devoutly performing a ritual of the utmost importance. The tips of the long staves in their hands glowed with a light unlike any of other days — clusters of pallid white flame, like faint light squeezed out of the shadows; they burned quietly, yet illuminated only a small space around them.
In that faint radiance the guardians chanted their prayers in unison, low, obscure syllables flowing from their throats — ancient incantations, a language that had long since belonged to no age of this world. Layered together, the sounds were as grotesque as the mumbling of a fevered dream; they echoed through the cavern, everywhere at once and fading at any moment.
How long such prayer lasted, none could say, until the leader among the guardians suddenly stopped, and then those beside him ceased their invocations one by one in a certain order. As the echoes in the cavern gradually stilled, every gaze could not help but fall upon the surface of the mirror-black "pool" — and under their watching eyes, that pitch-dark surface lay utterly still at first, then suddenly rippled.
The guardians tensed, alert at every moment for some improper mutation to appear upon the mirror's face, but when a low, gentle murmuring issued from the surface, the nerves of every guardian visibly relaxed.
Their leader tilted his head and listened, as though discerning a clear decree within that low, gentle sound. He nodded as he listened, a reverent and joyful look coming over his face, and only when all the sound had faded and the ripples on the mirror had returned to calm did he step slightly back, whereupon the pallid flame at the tip of his staff turned into an ordinary orb of magical light.
At the summit of the Dim Court, in a circular chamber spread with dark red carpet, Arcane Prince Nash Nalt sat at his desk reading a letter sent from afar. Suddenly he seemed to sense something and looked up toward the edge of the desk — a crystal ball floating there brightened the very next second, and within it appeared the somewhat pale face of the guardian leader from below ground.
"My Prince," the guardian leader said, his tone respectful, "the ritual has ended."
"Thank you for your labors, Rudolf. Was all well?" Prince Nash set down the letter in his hand and gave the guardian leader a slight nod. "What decree does our Lord send?"