Now it was time for the Convocants to take their places as well. Most of them were dressed in white linen in the Greek fashion. The women were dressed in the longer peplos, except for Bat Anat, who wore a short chiton like the men. Queen Malta stood out from the rest by wearing red instead of white and the dark priest of Ydom wore the same black robes he always did. That left Jiria and Barthak, who were dressed in traditional robes in the fashion of their respective peoples, and the G'hah ih Sh'ach bedecked in bones, feathers and such.

A bronze framework was set in place so that Lady Aria might stand for the ceremony. While she was being secured in the frame, a reluctant woman was being dragged over to the position opposite the dark priest. Though she struggled against the servants who held her, her efforts were in vain.

The dark priest clutched at his heart. He did not appear to be in pain. Indeed, his face may as well have been a stone mask for all the change it showed. His hand then began to glow with a bright light that seemed ill-suited to such a one. He then stretched out that very hand and a blast of energy shot forth, striking the woman. She cried out, but soon went silent as her head slumped forward and her body went limp.

A change then came over her. Her body subtly reshaped itself, the color was leeched away from her hair and her skin began to glow faintly. She planted her feet and stood firmly under her own strength. When she lifted her face, it was not the same face as before. Beautiful, yet cold and distant with a trace of melancholy. The servants unhanded her and she touched the string of pearls around her neck, slowly running her thumb down one pearl to the next as if to reassure her.

Queen Malta looked at the assembled Convocants and said, "Shall we begin? The rest of you, leave us."

Except for a designated secondary for each Convocant, everyone else on the roof withdrew. Each secondary carried a torch and with a nod from the Queen, they lifted those torches high as she began the ceremony.

"We, the sixteen Convocants, have gathered in this place with one purpose, one Will. We seek the Power. We claim it. It is ours. By the very foundations of all Creation, we lay claim to the Power. In our names, we make it ours.

"I, Malta, the Mage of Fire. Dagon, the Mage of Water. Atlas, the Mage of Earth, and Jupiter, Mage of Wind. Aurore, Mage of Light, and Dox, Mage of Darkness. Juno, Mage of Life, and Pluton, Mage of Death. Pallas, Mage of Order, and Bacchus, Mage of Chaos. Venus, Mage of Love, and Baghi, Mage of Hate. Ceres, Mage of Flora, and Diana, Mage of Fauna. Barthak, the Mage of Metal, and Jiria, the Mage of Wood.

"We call on you, O Power! Come to us! Bend the knee and be subdued to our Will! In our names, we command you! We are your master! You are our possession! Hear our voice and obey!"

The Queen closed her eyes and stretched out her arms in the shape of the lines, reaching out toward Jovinus and Bor of Hanno—no, to Jupiter and Atlas. The other Convocants did the same and so they themselves formed the shape of the eight-pointed star.

The outside observer could not tell what was happening unless they were attuned to the flow of the æther around them. This place was one of the great confluences of the æther currents coursing over the face of the earth. It was the peak of Æthertide, which meant there was no better opportunity for the Convocants to put their powers to work to tap into the greater Power.

Malta could feel it, deep within the earth, vague and distant. As the Convocants harmonized with each other, it became closer, clearer. The last time it was like brushing your fingertips against something just out of reach. It took hours to get even that close, but now that they had the Witch, they were able to approach it much faster and this time, it looked as if it could easily come into their grasp.

The closer the Power came, the more unsteady the balance. Naturally, each Convocant wanted the Power all to themselves, but if anyone broke ranks too soon, they could find themselves with nothing. All of them were plotting betrayal and they were expecting betrayal from everyone else, but if they wanted the object of their desire, they had to remain united until the last possible moment. The irony would be amusing if so much were not at stake.

The Power was within reach. They could begin to draw from it, but it was not yet close enough to grasp firmly. They had to bide their time, but what if someone got hasty? The one who struck first would win, but if the timing was not right, it would all be for naught. Treachery was understood. It was expected, but once it was out in the open, they would never be able to come together like this again. For their ambitions to be realized, they had to hold up their rivals until the last possible moment.

Malta's fingers flexed in anticipation. Just a little closer now. The Power was here. She was going to be the one to take it. She would stand over all these self-proclaimed gods of the Old World and would exult in her triumph.

Her hand strayed toward the center of the star, reaching for the Witch, who was acting as the conduit for the Power. Even though the Power was not something you perceived through your fleshly eyes, she nevertheless found herself opening her eyes to see that the others were reaching out to the Witch as well. They could not touch the Power and yet their bodies moved of their own accord, seeking out the object of their desire the only way they knew how.

She closed her eyes again. She needed to redouble her focus. The critical moment was fast approaching. She was going to be the one. She had to be the one. She had given too much to let anyone else take it from her.

Before the Power could come any closer, though, there was a scream that shattered the delicate balance and threw the energies about the Convocants into a swirling disarray. Because the Convocants' powers were intermingled, for a moment Malta saw with eyes that were not her own. She saw the shades of the dead clawing at Pluton. This was the man who was said to have been the ruler of the dead, yet here he was cowed like a frightened child by a few mere spirits.

While she was busy scorning the fallen King of the Underworld, she felt a presence about her. She turned to see dozens of headless bodies standing behind her. The bodies carried their severed heads in their hands. She saw their faces and remembered. Men and women, lovers, rivals, among the countless souls she had condemned to the headsman's axe. She thought she had put them out of her mind, yet she knew each and every one of them. As if they were of one mind, they opened their mouths to speak and... the vision faded.

All the power about them was being drawn to a single point. It was the enigmatic Mage of Light, the one called Aurore. As her power was magnified, her entire body glowed more brightly, but even more intense were the shafts of light streaming from her eyes and mouth and the blazing string of pearls around her neck, which took on the likeness of the stars themselves.

The dark priest of Ydom seemed to know what was coming. His power surged, engulfing him in purple-black flames. The Mage of Light rushed at him, diverting her course only slightly to avoid the Witch. The two clashed, releasing a wave of energy that nearly flattened the other Convocants.

The dark priest could not simply repel the Mage of Light, it would seem. Rather, his body began to dissolve and was drawn into the Mage of Light. The powers of Light and Dark warred within the Mage of Light's body as the pearls turned black. Indeed, it seemed that all the power of both Convocants were being poured into the pearls. It was then that Malta realized what the Mage of Light was doing. She was trying to seal the dark priest's spirit into those pearls, even if it meant sealing away herself along with him.

It looked as if the pearls would not be able to contain so much power, but before they could fail, the Mage of Light rose up into the air. The pearls glowed a brilliant purple before breaking forth, scattering in all directions. Most of the purple streaks of light vanished well into the distance, but one bounced off another and struck much closer. The stray pearl buried itself in Master Balthasar's forehead. If his skull were not so thick, it may well have gone straight through his head.

While Master Balthasar was busy being racked in throes of pain and howling like a wounded beast, the body of the maidservant hosting the Mage of Light fell unceremoniously to the ground. She had reverted to her original form. No trace of the Mage of Light remained. Nor was there any trace of the Mage of Darkness, for that matter.

There was no time to stop and appreciate what had just happened, though. A brief tremor was the only warning before a new wave of power flowed through the lines of the star. Malta was not quick enough to properly shield herself and her half-formed defenses were plowed through like a palisade of dry twigs against a cavalry charge. She recoiled from the blast of energy as it hit her. In an instant, her mind shattered like glass.

It felt like she was dreaming. She could see what was going on around her and she had some sense of awareness, but she was not in control. Her body did not move according to her will. Her powers did not obey her commands. Her mind was filled with thoughts of destruction. Her will was too weak and fragmented from the attack to do anything about it.

She looked at herself, standing between Death and Chaos, and the will to destroy that overwhelmed her senses began to draw out her power. Her arms were wreathed in red-orange flames hungering for something to consume. Her eyes turned to the Mage of Death, still screaming in his torment. This was all his fault. If not for his cowardice, the rite would have been successful. It was all his fault. He deserved to burn.

Before she could do that, though, there was a bright flash as a bolt of lightning struck the Mage of Water. The Mage of Water's secondary, a young girl, cried out to her master as he fell. This drew the attention of Jovinus, who still had sparks of lightning crackling about him. He stalked over to the girl, seized her and lifted her up. He seemed to realize something, though. He dropped the girl and went after Marina. She could not ward him off. When he got his hands on her, lightning surged into her body. Her screams were terrible, but there was another sound closer to Malta. It was laughter.

The Queen turned to see the Mage of Chaos with his body contorted as he was thrown into a mad ecstasy. What little reason Malta could muster told her exactly why her mind was in disarray. Who else could be the culprit but the Mage of Chaos? He deserved to burn as well, at least as much as the cowardly Mage of Death.

Her anger flared and with it, the flames about her burned hotter. She stretched out her hand to the Mage of Chaos and the flames streamed forth, bathing him from head to toe. Even as he burned, his laughter did not stop.

While her attention was on the Mage of Chaos, Malta did not see it coming when an arrow struck her square in the chest. The flames evaporated as she reeled back. She looked across the sigil to Bat Anat. She had been allowed to keep her bow because she used it as her focus. That was clearly a mistake.

She felt herself fall into Sir Cyrano's arms. With the Mage of Chaos out of the way, she was coming back to her senses. Only the Mage of Life could save her now. Whatever price she would have to pay, whatever deal she would have to make, she would do it. She could not afford to die here.

However when she looked to the Mage of Life, it was already too late. Jovinus was standing over her body. Her power was not enough to fend off his wrath? Who was left now?

The Witch.

Of course, the Witch. If anyone else had the power to save the Queen, it was the Witch.

Sir Cyrano squeezed her hand to reassure her before gently laying her down. Malta's vision was already beginning to fade as she watched him walk toward the center of the sigil. The Witch was writhing around on the ground as if the disruption of the energies around them was tearing her apart.

There was a fresh tremor in the æther. Even as she was struggling to keep the life from slipping out of her, Malta turned her head and saw the Mage of Earth with his hand on the ground. The very stones shuddered and groaned, then a long crack split the sigil in two. And with that, the roof of the keep collapsed underneath them along with all their ambitions. Was this how the heavens punished mortals who dared to make themselves gods?