Warsinger by James Osiris Baldwin

Warsinger by James Osiris Baldwin

Author:James Osiris Baldwin [Baldwin, James Osiris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tamtu Publishing LLC
Published: 2020-05-07T16:00:00+00:00


Chapter 27

In the vision, she had been nothing more than a sand-veiled silhouette striding through the desert, but the silhouette was unmistakable. She – this Warsinger was definitely feminine – was rendered like a mechanical saint. She had a pair of curved golden swords crossed over her chest, and a great flaming halo that hung behind her narrow head. The Warsinger’s helmet was styled like a falling meteor, with an angled crest of spikes surrounding a single long tail, all of it swept back from an impassive angular visor. A great flaming halo hung behind her head, and her feet were shrouded in fire. The artist had even detailed the engravings on the Warsinger’s armor. Roses twined around her hands, up her arms, across her chest and up her neck to either cheek, ending just beneath the baleful glowing grates of its her eyes.

“…The third aspect is the mantle of the Warsinger. It was the Warsingers who turned the tide against the Drachan and gave us time to create the Caul.” The whispering, sweet voice of Lahati turned over in my memory. “You already know of one of them: Sachara Ha’Shazir, the Demon Queen, pilot of the Warsinger Withering Rose and the Empress of the Shalid.”

“Withering Rose…” Was this… was this the tomb of Sachara? Surely there was no way.

I let my fingers hover over the image, barely daring to breathe, before I tore my eyes away and looked to the golden casket. It seemed to beckon to me, calling me to open it. As I had in Taltos, I just didn't feel right about opening the casket and disturbing the dead, but when I laid my hand on it, the air of the room seemed to sigh before settling into a heavy, expectant cloak around my shoulders. The Mark of Matir tingled pleasantly.

“Sorry, bro. Or sis. I don’t want to disturb you, but my Dark Lord compels me.” Grimacing, I put my shoulder to the heavy lid, and pushed.

The metal was lighter than it looked. It rasped as it slid over, and a pleasant earthy smell bloomed out of the sarcophagus. It smelled like cedar, woody and resinous. When I looked in, I saw a smaller wooden coffin. It was vaguely man-shaped, and painted with bright colors that looked barely fifty years old, not over a thousand. Feeling more awkward by the second, I pushed that lid aside, and in doing so, revealed the occupant.

The mummy was smaller than I'd expected, shrunken by time and desiccation. The body wasn’t bandaged up, but he seemed almost like he’d been magically cured, somehow. He lay in state, so perfectly preserved that I could still see the deep lines around his eyes. Dark leathery skin pulled back from twin rows of white teeth and clung tightly to the lines of his skull.

“Not Sachara.” I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. Something about the idea of a famous Empress being buried this close to a sewer just hadn’t seemed… right.



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