Konstantins Crusade English version - E W (ebook reader for comics .txt) 📗

Totally noiseless, he stood up, the wide, black and blue robe for a moment drawing the silhouette of an ancient, bony body. His footsteps did not produce any sound, were imperceptible, making him seem to float.  Three steps separated him from the floor of the chamber, then he was on par with them. For the first time, Damotes could see clearly what was hidden under the dark hoods of these creatures. Eyes that reminded him more of a cat looked at him for a moment. Yellow with vertical pupils. Almost like a Gejarn. Eyes sunken deep into fine, alabaster skin. White, almost translucent, so that the blue veins underneath were visible. And despite the apparent, unimaginable age, the skin was smooth, unnatural so. It was neither a Gejarn, nor did he believe that a human could look like that. Even the tortured magicians of the Sangius Order still looked like living things. Twisted and aged before their time, deprived of strength and youth… but clearly alive.

This ... thing looked more like a doll, had it not been for those eyes. Eyes that were quite alive. And bathed in green and gold fire. In just a few steps, the High Priest approached the basin in the center of the chamber and pulled back his hood. No, this thing was not human, Damotes thought. His features looked too fine, like porcelain, which explained why it made him think of a doll. His eyes burned with an inner light that made him think of the marsh-ligths that appeared in the swamp areas of Helike's western shore. Thin, silvery hair and ears that were not round but pointed.

 The priest made a gesture over the basin. The blood rose in a pillar of glistening, green light that broke to the dome of the temple and then… reality itself seemed to give way. A sound like bursting stone filled the entire hall as shards of light descended around Damotes and ran for a moment like liquid across the floor, back to the pool, the contents of which had also turned into a lake of pure brightness. Again the light was flung upwards until it broke. It was like rain. A Rain of glowing hot glass ... It was amazing.

What had the high priests unleashed?  The Swordmaster backed away, careful not to touch any of the floating lights. His own mirrored image blurred in them. With green, burning eyes ... Voices whispered around him, louder, then quieter. And this time it seemed he understood some of the words.

„Can they not at least silence that?“ He rubbed his temples, closed his eyes and shut out the strange vision in the light. By Laos, what would he give, to just never have come here?

“What do you mean? "Priam looked at him , his head tilted. Did he not hear anything?

Schemes rose from the glowing waters, wandered through the hall and through the priest, who still stood with raised arms on the basin. Frozen and motionless. His porcelain skin looked even more lifeless than before, the fire in his eyes gone. Damotes was not even sure he was still breathing. In front of him, just above the pool, something floated in the light. Formed mist, which was apparently a reflection of the man who had conjured it. But ... more alive, Damotes thought. The nebula had the same subtle features, but they did not look fake here, but noble, the skin not unnatural, but seemingly bright. The creature stepped forward, touched the blood in the pool with its feet and created waves in it. Damotes put his hand to the sword handle. The nebulous figure seemed to draw all the heat from the surrounding area. Green fire danced around its feet. It had no solid form, no face that could have betryed ist emotions, yet he could feel the hatred that emanated from this thing. It was not purposeful anger, not a conscious act ... it was just blind destruction. Chaotic, undirected ... and insane. And it whispered, thought Damotes. It leaped forward, its arms outstretched, then the first of the high priests raised his hand. Green glass talismans clinked as he moved, and for a moment it appeared to Damotes  as if he could see the sound making waves in the air, spreading ... The waves that curled the blood pool suddenly changed direction a gust of wind arose and the nebula was pushed back as if by an invisible force. For a moment the figure seemed to resist it ... then its form dissipated, lost its grip ... and disappeared into the darkness. The column of light slowly collapsed, leaving only the louder sound of bursting stone. Still the priest remained with outstretched arms at the edge of the blood pool.

Darkness enveloped the entire hall. The ceilings opening had suddenly become gloomy. Sealed, Damotes thought. As if they wanted to keep secret from the sky, what happened here. And then he slowly realized where the sound came from. Green light flickered in a niche opposite him. Dozens of hammered crystal eyes, each as big as his head in which the same fire burned. More eyes opened, Stone shifted and came to life. One by one, the stone constructions pushed into the light, seeming to break free from the rock of the temple itself. There were douzends of them, he thought. Beings of rock and crystal, slowly pushing forward, each step crunching stone. But these beings were different than the usual golem guardians he had seen before. They were giants, he thought. Each big enough that he would have broken through the ceiling of the hall fully erect. And while he did not necessarily consider the Rock Guards of Xihuitzin good-natured, he had never felt threatened by them. These creatures, however ...  Hate burned in their lifeless eyes. The same hatred, fueled by green fire, emitted by the ghostly figure. What had the high priests done?

"The empire is no threat. They will break.” Priam translated their words once more. The slight trembling in his voice showed that he too did not like what was going on here. Damotes took a deep breath, banishing the whispering voices back into the back of his mind.

Thousands of tents covered the plains around the city. Clouds had half obscured the sun, throwing ever-changing patterns of light and shadow. The wind had become stronger  and drove them now evr southward, as if even they were fleeing from what was coming.  The few patches of grass left pushed to the ground, banners and flags fluttered in the wind, some badly anchored tents ripped lose and danced through the air.  No one tried to fix it, or even cared about it.  All eyes were on what was emerging out of the windblown clouds, like the remnants of a dream somehow transposed into reality.

 The city hung motionless between heaven and earth, a marvel of glistening white marble from which the banners of the Canton empire hung. Eagle and lion, one of gold, the other of silver, intertwined. In Xihuitzin, the defenders gathered on the ramparts and stared upwards, thousands of men talking in confusion, pointing to the citadel in the sky. Someone shot an arrow up, but the projectile could not even cover half the distance and drifted harmlessly back to the ground. For a while, nothing happened.

Both the Guards' soldiers and the city's defenders began to slowly overcome their amazement. Messengers were sent to collect information, officers brought their units to orders. New men appeared on the walls of Xihuitzin, along with stone golems that stared empty-eyed at the siege camp. They still felt safe behind their cyclopean walls, made of granite blocks as tall as houses. After all, so far they had held everything Canton had thrown against them. Yet nothing could dispel the increasing nervousness on both sides.

 Everyone knew that something would happen. Above their heads was the man who saw himself as the ruler of the world. Something would happen. The Guardsmen of the Empire waited just like their opponents. Metal rattled where armor was made. Men gathered in rows in front of their officers, occasionally one could hear short, whispered prayers. The tension in the air was palpable, as if a storm were going to break at any moment, despite the blue sky that appeared in the gaps in the clouds. Minutes passed in perfect silence. The wind, which still lashed through the streets of the city and the paths of the camp, had now become one of the only sources of sound.

A single flash of light, bright enough to dazzle the men for a moment, came down from the flying city and struck right outside the wall.

 The teleport spell fanned out, forming a field of golden light that seemed to swallow the world inside. Then the first figure stepped out of the glowing mist.

The personal bodyguard of the Emperor was so different from the often ragtag regiments of the normal guard, as it was possible as they emerged row for row from the light. Forty men were assembled in a row, armed with muskets whose wood was polished to a high gloss. Each of the weapons came from the best of the Empire's firesmiths, not from the mass manufactories found in every major city, which made firearms for hunters, nobles, and ordinary soldiers. These came from the personal smiths of the Emperor, whose products and plans were accessible only to the ruler himself and his direct agents. The wind-and-weather-prone mechanisms were provided with metal covers that made them virtually impervious to water, and the rifled barrels were of a precision and reliability that made even the weapons that the nobility display as symbols of statur seem cheap and useless. One officer each, armed with a saber decorated with the double emblem of the Belfare Empire, preceded each of the ranks, accompanied by two standard bearers. Embroidered in gilded threads, the flags were so heavy that the wind could not fully unfold them, each topped by the stylized depiction of an eagle. In contrast to other equipment, these flags looked old, the colors darkened by exposure to the sun and the remnants of gunpowder dust. Holes showed where bullets had penetrated the material in ages past. The Imperial Guard wore the signs of their past battles with pride.

Blue uniforms, trimmed with gold buttons, were reinforced with sewn-in steel plate. Without the need for a spoken command, the men fanned out as soon as they left the teleportation field and put their rifles on foot to fasten their bayonet. Every movement was exactly tuned, like a clockwork. No one hesitated, or slowed down at the sight of the cyclopean walls. Some of them were Gejarn, most Humans. It made no difference. These men did not belong to any regiment or province, and not even to a species, but they represented the best that the Empire had  to offer , personally selected either by the Emperor himself or his High General to protect the flying city and its ruler.

They were finally followed by a dozen figures in the simple, turquoise robes of the Order. Each of the magicians who sustained the teleport spell wore a heavy staff studded with reddish crystals. Thin bands of energy joined their