It must have indeed been a wonder in its time, featuring enormous broad colonnades, raceways, roads, and parks where large animals could mingle. The architecture had faded and weathered, worn down by water, accumulated freshwater reeds, and pond scum. Enough had survived for Kihrin to see that yes, that was a centaur, and yes, those were firebloods. He didn’t spot any human statues, but then Khorsal had been a god-king who’d loved horses far more than humanity.

They swam forward, assuming all roads led to the horse king’s throne room.

Kihrin saw no skeletons. He supposed if there had been any—if every centaur hadn’t all died on the bridge to Atrine—fish would surely have eaten any remains.

Everywhere, the accommodations catered to equine needs: no stairs, no second floors, nothing one might call a roof. As they swam farther, Kihrin caught odd glimpses of architecture unlike the streamlined style Khorsal had favored. As if Khorsal had himself built on another city’s ruins.

Then they found the only stairs they had seen in the entire city, leading to a space that was less a room than a formal receiving courtyard, either intentionally open to the sky or made that way through the centuries. The floor had been enrobed in the silt, mud, and muck of ages, interrupted only by sticks and branches sticking up at odd angles.

Still, some details of the throne room’s splendor remained. Qown’s mage-lights glinted against gold, and four rearing centaur statues decorated the corners. The stairs led up to a large throne, whose back formed a large spike rising several feet higher than the chair. Something was going on at the top of that spike: a faint beam of light led either to or away from that apex.

Thurvishar pointed to the top of the throne and said something.

“What?” Kihrin shouted. “I can’t hear you.”

As Thurvishar started to shout again, glowing gold lettering appeared, floating in the water before them. The writing said: I’m removing the water from this area. Be ready to fall.

Kihrin saw Thurvishar give an affirmative sign to Brother Qown.

The priest concentrated and Kihrin thought Qown must have transformed the water to air, since a vacuum never filled the space.

All three men fell to the ground, Kihrin more gracefully than the other two. He brushed himself off as best as one could while sopping wet and ankle-deep in mud.

“Is that what we’re looking for?” Kihrin pointed to the spike behind the throne. The light was harder to see, but still faintly present.

“Maybe,” Thurvishar said. The wizard walked over to the throne and used it as a stool to climb up and examine the top of the spike.

Wiping the mud away revealed an eight-sided gemstone. Thurvishar stared at it, concentrating.