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Sarsour sighed with relief, then turned to his father, who’d followed him off the bridge and now stood beside his son.
“Thanks,” Sarsour said.
“Don’t thank me just yet, boy. You’ve still got a ways to go. Ferran gestured past Sarsour, and the necromancer turned to behold a huge desert of black sand stretching toward the gray horizon.
“I don’t suppose I can just will my astral body to soar across that,” Sarsour said.
Ferran shook his head. “The laws of Gadaran-”
“-forbid it. I was afraid of that.”
He started walking, Ferran following close behind.
Sarsour knew, academically anyway, that time passed very differently in Gadaran than it did in the realm of the living. But actually experiencing this phenomenon was an entirely different matter. Sarsour had no idea how long they had walked. Indeed, he had no real sensation they had made any progress at all. The sky above remained so unchanging that Sarsour wouldn’t have been at all surprised to learn that he had been merely lifting his feet and putting them down in exactly the same spot for hour after hour. But eventually a black spire appeared in the distance, slowly growing larger as Sarsour and the spirit of his dead father approached.
Sarsour had read descriptions of Tenebron, the Obsidian Palace, in various sources, but while most had gotten the basic details right, none had been able to communicate the immense majesty of the dark tower. Seemingly miles high in length, it stretched toward Gadaran’s empty sky as if it were a pillar holding up the great void above. The pi
Father and son continued on until they reached the tower and stood before its main gate. It rose fifty feet into the air and at first glance appeared to have been wrought from black iron. But as Sarsour looked closer, he saw that what he’d taken to be bars of metal were instead long lengths of bone-femurs, to be precise. But these were the leg bones of giants, and colored black instead of ivory. Sarsour knew of no such creatures in Qadira-at least, none humanoid-that were huge enough to have femurs like this. But this wasn’t Qadira; it was Gadaran. The sight of the gigantic leg bones, and the thought of what they’d might have once belonged to, sent a shiver through Sarsour. He hoped his father hadn’t noticed.
“This is Tenebron, the Obsidian Palace,” Ferran said, speaking loudly and formally, as if he were a tour guide or perhaps one of the palace staff greeting a newcomer. “Home to her most dread majesty, Lady Sumehra, Queen of the Oblivion.” Ferran lowered his voice and added, “Be careful, my son. Though you yet live, that condition can be remedied easily enough should Sumehra wish it.”
Though his physical body was an illusion in this place, Sarsour nevertheless swallowed nervously. “I understand.” He started to reach for the gate, but it swung open of its own accord, as if the tower had been expecting him. Who knows? Perhaps it had.
Sarsour passed through the open gateway and underneath the black stone arch that formed the tower’s entrance. He expected the atmosphere inside to be cold and frigid as midnight in winter, but he was surprised to find the temperature most comfortable. Beyond the arch was a long corridor-the floor, walls, and ceiling of which were made entirely from blocks of highly polished black stone. Though no source of light was visible, Sarsour had no trouble seeing. More of Sumehra’s magic, no doubt. The corridor had no door or open entryways-at least, none that Sarsour could detect-so he began walking. His sandals made soft slapping sounds that echoed up and down the corridor, seeming to grow louder and harsher with each echo. Ferran’s feet made no noise; he was dead after all.
The corridor seemed to stretch on and on, far longer than it should have given what Sarsour had seen of the tower’s apparent circumference from outside. But he didn’t question this and, in fact, really didn’t care how and why this could be so. He’d come here in search of only one piece of knowledge: how Kardel had made himself immune to death. After a time, the corridor began to widen, and finally it opened onto a grand chamber that Sarsour guessed lay at the center of the Obsidian Tower. A large gleaming black throne rose from the middle of a round stone dais. Atop this throne sat a woman so beautiful that for a moment Sarsour couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, wasn’t even aware that he wasn’t breathing. The woman had smooth skin as white as porcelain, and long alabaster hair that hung down on either side of her finely sculpted face. Her lips were black instead of red, and her eyes were open and completely white, like those of a statue. She wore a dark-blue gown cut low in the bodice, along with a great deal of jewelry. Earrings, necklaces, rings, bracelets, all of them made form the same highly polished white substance. With a sick roil of his stomach, Sarsour realized he wasn’t looking at real jewelry. Sumehra’s accessories had been made from human bones, ligaments, and teeth.
Though Sarsour had studied every text that had ever been written on Gadaran and its queen, none of them had ever attempted to describe Sumehra’s appearance. Many scholars believed this was because the Dark Lady was too hideous for mortal comprehension, but now Sarsour knew otherwise. It was because she was too beautiful.
The floor in front of Sumehra’s throne wasn’t empty, though. It was filled with dark figures that appeared roughly human-shaped, but which seemed to have been fashioned from living shadow. These creatures knelt before their mistress, row upon row of them. Incoherent whispering filled the chamber like the susurration of ocean waves as the shadow-things prayed to their goddess-queen.
Sumehra turned toward Sarsour and Ferran as they approached, and she smiled. Her ivory teeth were so white-Like polished bone, he thought-that they seemed to glow with a bright light. So intensely did they gleam that Sarsour had to squint, and even then he couldn’t look directly at Sumehra. He’d read numerous accounts written by men and women who’d nearly died but managed to hold onto life and revive. They all spoke of moving through a dark tu
“Welcome, Sarsour, Lord High Executioner of the Citadel of Tabari, and one of my most loyal and faithful servants.”
Sumehra’s voice seemed to emanate from the very air, issuing forth from everywhere at once. Her tone was warm and smooth as honey, but there was a jarring undertone that sounded like the buzzing of angry bees.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sarsour saw his father kneel to the Dark Lady, and he began to do the same.
“Hold, Sarsour,” Sumehra commanded. “In Gadaran, only the dead owe me obeisance. You, however, are still alive…for the moment at least.” Her smile widened slightly, and though still bright, Sarsour no longer had to avert his eyes from the glare.
Having no wish to offend the Queen of the Dead, Sarsour straightened and inclined his head in thanks.
Sumehra stepped down from her dais and came toward Sarsour, the hem of her long dark-blue gown hissing softly across the stone floor as it trailed behind her. Sarsour could hear no footsteps as she approached, nor could he detect any movement of her legs. He had the impression that the Dark Lady was gliding toward him, her feet-assuming she had any, that is-hovering inches above the floor. When she was within five feet of Sarsour, she stopped. He could feel the otherworldly strength of her presence pressing against him like a crashing ebon wave. He wanted to step back away from her, wanted to avert his gaze. But he stood his ground and forced himself to look her in the eyes.