The King of Light and Shadows (Omaran Saga Book 3) by Adrian Cole

Author:Adrian Cole [Cole, Adrian]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 2014-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

Deep within Mount Timeless, far from the place where Wargallow had escaped from the Exalted, a chamber of darkness was abruptly filled with rich, green light. Its walls were perfectly circular, its ceiling invisible, hidden in light that flooded from above like the sun. Plants grew here in profusion, rich in perfume, their flowers opening now to drink the rain of light like blessings from a god. Into the chamber, hovering like ethereal spirits of another realm, came a dozen of the Esoterics, their faces serene, their eyes fixed on some inner bliss. They arranged themselves about the tiny pool in the center of the chamber and studied its surface as if it would impart to them limitless knowledge.

In a while a section of the curved walls moved aside like silk, silently. A lone Exalted warrior entered. He wore a sword, his head covered by his helmet, and he bowed stiffly.

“It is here,” he said simply.

One of the Esoterics waved condescendingly and the Exalted withdrew at once. Moments later he came back, this time carrying a bundle of cloth. He placed this on the floor beside the pool, bowing low as he did so.

“Open it,” came the musical voice of one of the Esoterics.

The Exalted undid the cloth, revealing a short length of metal. He was again dismissed and at once the Esoterics studied the rod, though none of them moved close enough to it to touch it.

“Summon the one from afar.”

In union, the Esoterics closed their eyes and in the silence that followed, the air began to stir. The brilliant light flickered as though a storm were coming, and shadows clung to the walls where before there had been none. The water in the pool trembled, ripples spreading from it as if it had been struck by a hand. The Esoterics drifted back, their own faces clouded, for once disturbed. They had seen the presence that was about to come among them before.

The water in the pool rose up like living matter, molding and shaping itself, defying gravity and hanging in the air, a dripping ball. In a moment it had become a vague face, a vast head without true features, save for the open mouth. Eyes and a nose partially shaped themselves, but they seemed to be obscured by thick layers of skin, as if thrusting up against a membrane.

“Who summons Anakhizer?” said the mouth, and the words rumbled like a curse.

Horrified but fascinated, the Esoterics watched as the eyeless head turned this way and that, like a blind man searching for movement.

“We speak for the Sublime One, the Voice of Omara,” they told the vision.

The voice dropped, but its words were clear. “Those things that were promised—have they been done?”

“The last rod of the Werewatch is before us.”

Light blazed in the hidden eyes of the face and it shone for a moment on Orhung’s rod, drinking in its shape.

“The Sublime One communes with Omara,” said the Esoterics. “When he wakes from his work, the rod will be brought to you in the west.

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