Before too much of her own life force drained from her, Grace broke the connection. She had done all she could with magic; she had stabilized Deirdre, but the Seeker had to have more blood or she would die.

Grace . . . ?

Oh, Deirdre,Grace said inwardly. She had seen it all, had felt it all: Deirdre’s quest to unravel the mystery of the arch, only to discover the truth behind everything. The Seekers were a lie. For over four centuries, the Philosophers had desired only to get to Eldh, to learn the secret of true immortality. The Philosopher Marius Lucius Albrecht had tried to stop them, and he was dead. Deirdre’s partner Anders was in a hospital. And Beltan . . .

Grace searched among the threads. There—she saw one brighter than the others, tinged with emerald. It was Beltan. He was lying on the floor in the shadows of the mezzanine. He was motionless, but he was still alive, still strong. The woman, Phoebe, had placed him in some kind of stasis. However, Grace could already sense Beltan trying to break out of it. He was struggling against the hold on him, and he was winning.

Grace couldn’t help a sharp smile. Drugs, poisons, magic— even Galtish ale—none of them affected Beltan as severely or for as long as they did other human beings. It wasn’t just because of the fairy blood in his veins. When he was still a boy, his mother, the witch Elire, had made him drink draughts she brewed in order to increase his tolerance to such toxins. Had Elire possessed some shard of the Sight? Had she known that he would need such resistance more than once in his life? Grace didn’t know, but she was grateful all the same.

Come on, Beltan. You can do it. You can break her spell.

She could not hear his voice, but she felt his will, his strength. He was breaking free. . . .

“No!” a woman shrieked.

Grace’s hold on the Weirding snapped, and her eyes opened. Across the room, Vani stepped back as the last of the security guards fell to the floor. Travis and Farr stood nearby, both breathing hard. Travis’s skin was glowing like that of the golden beings who slumbered in the sarcophagi. Blood trickled from Farr’s lip, but he appeared otherwise unhurt.

“So much for your guards,” one of the men said, giving Phoebe a sour look.

“Stop your sniveling, Arthur,” she snapped. “I see, as always, I will have to take care of this myself.” She bent down and picked something up off the floor.

It was a gun. She pointed it at Travis.

“I believe your wizard is too tired to pull one of his little tricks again,” she said.

Grace glanced at Larad. He gripped Sinfathisar, and he was muttering under his breath, but the Stone remained quiescent in his hand. Vani was too far away. The T’golwould not be able to close the distance in the moment it took Phoebe to pull the trigger. She took aim at Travis’s heart.

“You don’t understand,” Travis said.

Phoebe’s eyes flashed. A less arrogant person would have simply shot him, but it was clear she could not let such a challenge go unanswered.

“I am a Philosopher. I understand all.”

Travis laughed, and her face blanched with rage. “No,” he said, taking a step closer. “You understand nothing. You’re ignorant thieves, that’s all.”

“Stop!” she said, shaking the gun at him. “I do not need to listen to your ravings. There is nothing you know we do not.”

Travis shrugged. “Suit yourself. Then again, I’ve been to the otherworld, to Eldh, a half dozen times. And isn’t that where you’re trying to go? If you want, I can tell you all about the Sleeping Ones—who they are, why they’re here, and what they want.”

One of the black-robed men took a step toward Phoebe, a hungry look on his bearded face. “He knows something, Phoebe, and he seems inclined to tell us. Why not talk to him before we kill him? What harm can it do? Even if he’s mad, as you say, he might know something useful.”

Phoebe did not look as if she appreciated the opinion. Her eyes became slits, then she nodded. “Very well, Gabriel. We’ll humor you, though I think it’s a waste of time.” She waved the gun at Travis. “Go on. Tell us what you think is so terribly important. And be swift. The gate will not stay open indefinitely, and I do not want to waste more of the blood of the Sleeping Ones to open it again.”

Travis moved toward one of the sarcophagi, gazing at the figure inside. Phoebe trailed him with the gun.

“They’re nothing to you,” Travis said softly. He looked up at Phoebe. “They’re something to be used, a means to an end, that’s all. I suppose you think they can give you true immortality.”

Phoebe tightened her fingers around the gun. “They can and they will. We know that what granted them eternal perfection is in that room, on the other side of that gate. And we will have it.”

“That’s not what they came here for.” Travis bent over the Sleeping One, as if speaking to the golden man. “That’s not why they came to Earth, to give their blood to the likes of you. They’ve been waiting. Waiting for a time when the two worlds would draw close, when they would have a chance to do what they knew they had to do.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?”

“They intend to heal the world. All the worlds. The rifts in the sky are the beginning of the end. Don’t you see? You can’t escape them by going to Eldh. The rifts are there, too. If the Seven don’t unite with those Stones my wizard friend is holding, then it’s over. For Earth. For Eldh. For everything.”

The black-robed men exchanged startled looks. For a moment, even Phoebe’s visage seemed clouded by doubt. Then her expression grew hard once more.

“By unite, you mean consume, don’t you? What you propose would destroy the Sleeping Ones, wouldn’t it?”

Travis shrugged. “It might. I don’t know. But if the union doesn’t happen, there will be no Earth, there will be no Eldh. There will be nothing at all.”

The bearded man, Gabriel, gasped, and some of the others muttered among themselves. However, they all looked to Phoebe. Her lips curled in a sneer.

“You lie. You want the blood of the Sleeping Ones for yourself, and you tell us these fantasies to trick us. But it won’t work.”

Before Travis could speak, she leveled the gun at him. Grace reached out with the Touch. Phoebe’s thread was a brilliant gold. If Grace could take hold of it, she might be able to stop Phoebe from—

There was a deafening crack!of thunder. Grace staggered back. For a dazed moment she wondered if Phoebe had fired and missed, if the bullet had struck Grace instead, knocking her back.

The thunder grew into a roar. A crack snaked across the marble floor. Phoebe stumbled into the other Philosophers, the gun flying from her hands. Travis lurched against Vani and Farr, and Larad fell to his knees. Sinfathisar spilled out of his hands, rolling away from him, skittering across the heaving floor toward Grace.

Again came a crack!

“No!” cried a shrill voice.

Grace managed to look up. On the dais, the stone arch vibrated and twisted, a wishbone gripped by two angry hands. With a sound like a piano wire breaking, one of the supporting steel bands snapped, then another, and another. The blue fire flickered and winked out. The image of the throne room on the other side vanished.

With a groan, the arch collapsed into a heap of rubble.

47.

Deirdre felt light.

The green-gold power that had rushed into her through Grace’s life strand buoyed her like the helium in a balloon. The pain in her shoulder had faded, and her breath came easily. When the floor stopped shaking, she was one of the first to regain her feet. Beneath her boots, the marble was stained red.

You’re bleeding to death, Deirdre. You can’t feel this good. It’s impossible.