round eyes. All Tremia will fall under my power. The kingdoms of the west and south will be destroyed and those of the east annexed. Nothing will get in my way. Nothing! I shall be the most powerful woman in the world! Whoever gets in my way will be destroyed. Whoever fights me will die amid unthinkable suffering and agony.”
“So it must and will be, my Empress.”
“Join me in the Chamber of Destiny, Counselor, and bring the Skull with you. We shall invoke its power and see whether destiny is really that which it should be, or is still the nightmare which torments me and gives me no rest.”
“Of course, my Mistress.” Isuzeni made a small bow.
The Empress descended from the impressive throne. She was dressed entirely in black, with elaborate red trimming. Isuzeni could not remember ever seeing her in any other color. She wore tight body armor, black as night, which had been crafted by the best Master-Craftsman of all Toyomi. It was a unique piece, which emphasized the sensual curves of the Empress’s slender body. The material it was made of was harder than steel and a hundred times lighter. The breastplate and sides bore intricate decorative relief-work in red. A long red cloak fell from her shoulders to the ground. The mastery of the work was such that it was impossible to tell where the pieces of the tight, compact armor joined. It gave the impression of having been painted on the Empress’s body, but swords bounced off that hardened metal. It was rumored that Yuzumi had imbued the armor with the soul of the Master-Craftsman who made it, in order to give it such fantastic qualities of resistance and lightness, since the man who had created that masterpiece had never been seen again.
Isuzeni did not know the truth about the matter, but he accepted the rumors.
What new visions would the Skull grant them, if any? Would the ill-omened Premonition have changed, or would it still be the same?
Unfortunately with the whimsical Skull of Destiny there was no way of telling.
For his own sake, Isuzeni hoped something would change.
Filled with anxiety, he left the throne hall.
Guesses
Only two candles on the pine-wood table and a torch on the wall lit the tiny cell in the Temple of Light. The room was bare and uncomfortable, with a cold solemnity about it. The few pieces of furniture were old and plain, the stone walls without ornament. The window-curtain was a worn length of cloth, originally white but grayish yellow at present. The Light dictated the way of sobriety and austerity, and its disciples followed this teaching.
“Don’t move,” said Hartz. He was holding Komir’s head with both hands as he examined the bloody wound on the young man’s head. Komir was sitting on a small wooden stool, complaining at his friend’s insistence on trying to cure him.
“I’m telling you, it’s nothing, I’m all right,” he said as he tried to push Hartz away.
“No way, little one, you have a good gash and it’s deep enough to need stitches, right away.” Hartz grasped his head firmly.
“Do what he says,” said Kayti, who was bringing the wounded Norriel a glass of wine.
“All right, let me have a sip of wine, then you can stitch the wound if you insist.” Komir took the wine from the smiling redhead.
Lindaro walked into the room with a look of worry on his face.
“I don’t understand how something like this could have happened. It’s unheard-of!” he said. He handed Hartz a curved needle and thread to stitch the gash. “I’m devastated. In our own city, no less! Just a few feet away from the Temple! I’d always thought we lived in a safe, peaceful place. It’s awful! Really, the more I think about it the less I understand! Who could do a thing like this?”
“I’ll need a bowl of water to bathe the wound and some cloths,” said Hartz.
“Of course,” said Lindaro, and left the room to fetch them.
“Thank goodness your head is harder than rock, otherwise you wouldn’t
“So it must and will be, my Empress.”
“Join me in the Chamber of Destiny, Counselor, and bring the Skull with you. We shall invoke its power and see whether destiny is really that which it should be, or is still the nightmare which torments me and gives me no rest.”
“Of course, my Mistress.” Isuzeni made a small bow.
The Empress descended from the impressive throne. She was dressed entirely in black, with elaborate red trimming. Isuzeni could not remember ever seeing her in any other color. She wore tight body armor, black as night, which had been crafted by the best Master-Craftsman of all Toyomi. It was a unique piece, which emphasized the sensual curves of the Empress’s slender body. The material it was made of was harder than steel and a hundred times lighter. The breastplate and sides bore intricate decorative relief-work in red. A long red cloak fell from her shoulders to the ground. The mastery of the work was such that it was impossible to tell where the pieces of the tight, compact armor joined. It gave the impression of having been painted on the Empress’s body, but swords bounced off that hardened metal. It was rumored that Yuzumi had imbued the armor with the soul of the Master-Craftsman who made it, in order to give it such fantastic qualities of resistance and lightness, since the man who had created that masterpiece had never been seen again.
Isuzeni did not know the truth about the matter, but he accepted the rumors.
What new visions would the Skull grant them, if any? Would the ill-omened Premonition have changed, or would it still be the same?
Unfortunately with the whimsical Skull of Destiny there was no way of telling.
For his own sake, Isuzeni hoped something would change.
Filled with anxiety, he left the throne hall.
Guesses
Only two candles on the pine-wood table and a torch on the wall lit the tiny cell in the Temple of Light. The room was bare and uncomfortable, with a cold solemnity about it. The few pieces of furniture were old and plain, the stone walls without ornament. The window-curtain was a worn length of cloth, originally white but grayish yellow at present. The Light dictated the way of sobriety and austerity, and its disciples followed this teaching.
“Don’t move,” said Hartz. He was holding Komir’s head with both hands as he examined the bloody wound on the young man’s head. Komir was sitting on a small wooden stool, complaining at his friend’s insistence on trying to cure him.
“I’m telling you, it’s nothing, I’m all right,” he said as he tried to push Hartz away.
“No way, little one, you have a good gash and it’s deep enough to need stitches, right away.” Hartz grasped his head firmly.
“Do what he says,” said Kayti, who was bringing the wounded Norriel a glass of wine.
“All right, let me have a sip of wine, then you can stitch the wound if you insist.” Komir took the wine from the smiling redhead.
Lindaro walked into the room with a look of worry on his face.
“I don’t understand how something like this could have happened. It’s unheard-of!” he said. He handed Hartz a curved needle and thread to stitch the gash. “I’m devastated. In our own city, no less! Just a few feet away from the Temple! I’d always thought we lived in a safe, peaceful place. It’s awful! Really, the more I think about it the less I understand! Who could do a thing like this?”
“I’ll need a bowl of water to bathe the wound and some cloths,” said Hartz.
“Of course,” said Lindaro, and left the room to fetch them.
“Thank goodness your head is harder than rock, otherwise you wouldn’t
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