Leaving the compy behind, the two xeno-archaeologists descended the scaffolding stairs along the canyon wall. They could write more detailed reports later, but because of their new understanding of the hydrogue threat they wanted to send an immediate summary of their discovery via the green priest.

In Rheindic Co’s night, the desert heat had dissipated after sunset. The breezes that whistled across the barren ground carried a chill. When they arrived at the encampment, their tents and huts were dim.

Margaret saw no sign of the green priest. The mechanical water pump hummed in the stillness. An automatic light had switched on inside Margaret and Louis’s tent, and another one shone dimly within Arcas’s dwelling, but she could see no shadow of the green priest inside.

“Arcas!” Louis called. “Boy, do we have news for you. We need to send a telink message right away.”

But no answer came to him in the night. The camp remained silent and brooding. Nothing stirred. Uneasy, Margaret looked around, peering into the shadows.

As always, Louis remained optimistic. “He’s probably over by his trees, and that’s where we need to go anyway to send our message.” But when Margaret followed her husband to the stand of treelings, she stopped short. She saw the details in the moonlight even before Louis switched on his handlight to verify what she had feared.

All of the worldtrees were destroyed.

Each one had been uprooted, its trunk severed. Some had been chopped off neatly, as if with shears; others had been ripped apart, leaving ragged ends that still dripped sap like golden blood. The dead fronds drooped into the dust.

“What—what…”

Margaret turned, her face set. “Arcas,” she said, not calling his name as much as uttering her fear.

She ran back toward the camp where she still saw the faint glow inside the green priest’s tent. Louis followed her.

Margaret was already terrified, her stomach queasy. She reached the tent first, yanked open the door flaps, and stared. Louis followed her, then stopped abruptly.

Inside, Arcas lay brutally murdered on the floor of his tent. His green-skinned body had been broken, lacerated, pummeled, and crushed. A hundred fatal injuries covered him, as if his attacker had not understood what constituted a mortal wound and had chosen to guarantee the result.

Sickened and horrified, Louis crept out on wobbly legs, unable to believe what he had seen. From the entrance to the tent, Margaret looked out into the night, knowing how completely alone and defenseless they were.

109: NIRA

109NIRA

The Mage-Imperator’s brutal raid came while Nira was asleep. She had no chance whatsoever to defend herself.

During rest periods inside the bright Prism Palace, under the always-dazzling light of the seven suns, Nira had grown accustomed to wearing an opaque mask. The blindfold allowed her to sleep in darkness while her green-tinted skin continued to tingle with the constant nourishment of sunshine.