CHAPTER

Forty-three

Y ou have done well, Nicholas, the young adept heard the Guild of the Heretics say. Their many voices came to him as one—both male and female, both strong and soft. It was as if a choir sang the most beautiful songs imaginable within the depths of his consciousness. His very blood was alive with their sound. And as he hovered in the depths of the Caves, taking in their words, he closed his eyes in ecstasy.

The Gates of Dawn shall soon be complete, they said. The Chosen One continues to grow more ill, and will soon come to you on bended knee. Complete the Gates as soon as possible, our son. At that time the Vagaries, the truly sublime side, will reign continually and without contest. And the Ones, our enemies of the craft, shall be locked within the firmament forever.

I shall, my parents, Nicholas told them. I shall.

―Nicholas soared through the cold, clear sky and quickly approached the construction site. He hovered near the magnificent black-and-azure Gates.

The three massive structures had climbed even higher, and their graceful, more artistic aspects would soon be in evidence. Nicholas was pleased. In only two more weeks they would be finished, and he could then activate them, bringing his parents of above back to the earth.

He had just come from yet another blood-drawing session in the special room at Fledgling House. That was the slowest part of the process: He could only take a bit at a time from the children without killing them.

But he still had time. The Chosen One‘s Minions were not yet here, and his wizards were already drastically weakened. His father of this earth was therefore in no position to challenge his hatchlings, much less stop the construction of the Gates. Soon, very soon now, the Chosen One would see the awesome power of his son‘s creations for himself.

Nicholas flew higher to examine the new construction.

The blood of the children ran freshly from the seams between the great stones, dripping lazily down the sides of the stunning black-and-azure pillars and forming little endowed ponds around each of the legs.

Satisfied, Nicholas backed away, and closed his eyes.

Almost immediately the blood of the children began to turn azure. Steaming with heat and glowing brightly, it began to pull the massive stones closer together, their surfaces grating against one another as the joints slowly, agonizingly fused.

Excess blood ran down the sides of the Gates, leaving macabre, winding trails down the smooth edifices, adding crazily patterned streaks to those already shot deep throughout the stone.

Smiling, Nicholas flew down to hover near the base of one of the legs.

Ragnar stood there waiting, dressed in his fur robes, Wigg‘s ceremonial dagger at his side. He bowed, then pulled the robe closer, warding off the cold.

―The bond between the most recently erected stones is now complete,‖ Nicholas said quietly.

―Later this night I will harvest yet more of the children‘s blood. I shall return with it at midnight to repeat the incantation for the pieces the consuls shall erect between now and then. In less than a fortnight, we shall be victorious.‖

―Yes, my lord,‖ Ragnar answered obediently. He placed two fingers into his ever-present vial of yellow fluid, then sucked on them. Almost immediately he felt warmer.

―Keep the consuls working,‖ Nicholas ordered quietly. ―I will brook no slackness in this.‖

Again Ragnar bowed, smiling.

Nicholas soared into the sky, his white robe and dark hair billowing about him, and disappeared.