Konstantins Crusade English version by E W (different e readers txt) 📖

" That’s my life you are discussing there. Maybe also have something to say about this ?" Anselm looked uncertainly between the two men for a moment.

"No." Both Cyrus and Macon spoke almost simultaneously.

"Why always  me ..." Cyrus mumbled. "What do you expect me to do? Just let him die and disappear? You will not gain anything from this."

"Oh, let's just say, I can judge people ferly well. And I'm certain to have judged you correctly."

"You might be disappointed. There isa bunch of dead people that tried to do the same thing ... my hetman. "Cyrus grin did not really do much to reassure Anselm. The wolf couldn’t really think about leaving him alone with the Golden Guard. What he had gotten himself into…

"He does not actualy mean that?" He asked in a thin voice.

"Oh, I fear so.” Macon replied. "But he will not do it. Not because it would really matter if your reports were missing among the carts of treasures and works of art. You are here to see how this siege progresses. And you will, believe me. "

"You put a lot of trust in me.” Cyrus replied. “ And why do you want Anselm if he does not fight for you? "

"I have my reasons for wanting a magicianaround. Let's leave it at that.”

 But for what? Anselm thought. It did not seem to make sense. The Order had dozens of members here, why did the Hetman of the Golden Guard think he needed him? A magician could decide a battle, but he was not one of these kinds of sorcerers, and he had made that very clear. So what was this about? What kind of magic existed here, that one could require help with?  The answer seemed strangely simple.

"It's about the armor," he stated. For the second time, the Hetman's self-assured mask showed cracks.

"You are brighter then I thought. Another reason not to let you go. I do not owe you any answers. We'll discuss this when the time comes. "

The hetman turned back to Cyrus. "And if you want to take care of him ... well you will follow my orders just as he does."

"That's what others have tried."

"Then go away. As I see it, I either get a magician. Or a magician and his watchdog. What you think about it does not interest me. "

 Cyrus sighed. "We will have to talk about this later. But for now I'm not going anywhere. "

"Thanks," Anselm remarked.

"What? For not wanting to see you die? I thought I  had already made that clear that. Just do me a favor and try not to mess with anyone again. "

"Not as long as you do not push me."

"After all, it can hardly get worse."

"I'm afraid you're wrong." Anselm tapped him lightly on the shoulder and as Cyrus turned to face him, he saw that the young magician had turned pale. His eyes were wide and staring at the horizon.

Not on the city as Cyrus would have expected.

Nor the Cyclopean ramparts from which at any time a new attack could occur. He looked across the camp and the jungle to the horizon. Or where the horizon would have been.

The clouds parted like a curtain. A shadow so huge that it covered the rising sun and shaded the camp emerged from them. Slowly, almost as if they were forming out of the fog, towers, figures and buildings emerged from the fog. Palaces of marble and gold that reflected the light of the hidden sun and seemed to glow from within. Floating islands, each large enough to form a separate city, connected by bridges of pure silver. Eternal waterfalls plunged into the depths and fell down as man-made rain on the camp. Men screamed, others turned and covered their eyes, others fell to their knees. Cyrus, on the other hand, could only stare silently as the clouds finally ripped apart, revealing what lay there in the midst of the white haze. It was a city so vast that it occupied the entire northern horizon, standing like a heavenly counterpart to the dark granite walls of Xihuitzin. He had heard stories about it, of course. Everyone had . And many here had seen and tried to describe. None of the storys  had prepared him for this. It was a miracle, born of magic and the will of a single person to control everything. A palace of gold and marble and a reminder of what these men fought for. The flying city of the emperor was here ... Seventy years after their disappearance, revenge had come for the Bernardet expedition. And for the first time in months, Xihuitzin seemed no longer indomitable.

Silence. And fear. Priam could feel the fear of the high priest. The confusion. None of the twelve had even so much as moved a muscle since the man had spoken. Only the handful of Shadowguards stirred in the dark corners of the chamber, almost invisible with their ever-changing skin. But what were they afraid of? The words of the strange man whom they themselves had brought into their midst? The Ice Nomad, if Priam was not mistaken.

"Whas that supposed to mean?" The question was asked in a voice that had hardly anything human to it. Thin and yet dangerous as the hiss of a snake. In any case, if the Ice Nomad felt threatened, he did not show it. The man still maintained an attitude which, considering where he was, was almost more disturbing than the presence of the priests. But only almost, thought Priam. Why had they insisted to bring him here? Nothing made sense to him. And the way the seer had looked at him had disturbed him. More, it had scared him, mantra or not. It was just speculation, but ... what if he was not here at the High Priest's request at all. It would mean that this man had the power to make demands from the high priests. And this thought was joined by another, perhaps more important. Damotes should have been here too. His presence had also been requested.

I think that's the first time I'm really happy to be alone with these ... creatures, he thought. Whatever was going on here today, it made him restless. At least his father would not be endangered by it, no matter what happened.

"It means that the end is clear to me now." As little as the man's words made sense to Priam, none of the high priests seemed to share his astonishment. Well ... hard to say without seeing their faces, he thought.

"Then speak. What is he doing? You were not brougth here alive  to threaten us, seer. We know your ways. Do not try to fool us. Your life is as meaningless as that of your people. Your prophecies are as inaccurate and empty as your own future. "

"Is that so? Well, I'm afraid, then you have to be clearer. Who has plans? After all, I'm just a mere mortal. "

" Falamir. Thirteenth.  And the one you call your emperor. Konstantin Belfare. "

Falamir? Priam frowned. He knew the language of this city but that word ... it sounded like a name, but the high priest had used it like a title. And he knew it. He had read this name once before somewhere. Somewhere in the archives ... Something in connection with a deep blue jewel he had once found and cataloged in the vaults. It was a name that had something to do with magic. And that alone was enough to be suspicious.

"So you call him that? I guess he would feel honored, even if you do not mean it. As for his plans ... What plans did Falamir have? To stop you. The emperor, however, will not be so gracious as to spare your life. "

"You said it yourself, seer. He will not overcome us. He will not survive. Nothing can stand against us."

The Ice Nomad smiled. "I would not be so sure. Your time is long gone. And your existence will not be tolerated forever. "

"Do not mock us." The figure of the first highpriest rose up from his throne. The ringing of glass could be heared and a gaunt, skeletal hand shot up. Gray skin stretched over fingers, their nails curling into long claws. The seer was torn off his feet, his legs kicked in the air, which seemed to have thickened all at once. Priam could feel the sudden charge in the air as if a thunderstorm were about to begin. The seer cried out as his bones were squeezed by an invisible force, his clothes pressed to his body. And yet his smile remained, as distorted as it was and even though Priam could not see the face of the high priest, he could imagine the indifferent expression on it. The pressure vanished and the man fell to the floor. Coughing, he straightened up. His blue eyes flashed.

"If you think you can hurt me, you are more foolish than I thought. I know the moment and the circumstances of my death. I've seen them a thousand times. "

Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and onto the stone floor, flowed down to the collection channels that ran through the bottom of the chamber.

"And what would prevent us from killing you here and now,denying any prophecy?"

The air in the room seemed to get colder. The seer did not reply, looking only challengingly at his twelve jailers. Priam was convinced that the man would die now. During all this strange conversation he had done nothing but provoke the high priests. They had no choice, even if they had not planned to kill him. Not if they wanted to prove their superiority. Even the Shadowguard seemed to retreat a little farther into the darkness. The seer would die ... and maybe that was the best. It would end this confusing nightmare and he could forget it ever happened. Everything that happened here raised too many questions. Questions about the things he had seen in Helike's archives ... and for good reason buried under the stone of the inner city. Magic was against Helike's laws. It was no good to occupy oneself with that, Damotes had warned him too often. Priam took a deep breath, waiting for one of the high priests to raise his hand again and strike down the ice nomad for good.

With a huge blow the doors of the temple flew open. Light flooded in and dispelled the shadows from the deep corners of the chamber. Priam exhaled. Fresh air ... and warmth stremed in from outside

The heat of the jungle was not comparable to the pure fire of the desert, but at the moment it was just as welcome to Priam. The Shadowguard, who had just been hidden, reacted immediately and jumped forward. Knives drove out of sheaths, their blades as dark as the skin of their wearers. Obsidian. Blowpipes and arrows pointed towards the entrance.

The man standing in the now open doorway slowly measured the guards surrounding him. The paladins' red cloak had been placed over one arm and the other hand lay loosely on the hilt of his sword. The gray hair was crowned by a plain ring of blackened metal,