The tent was so silent, there was a hiss, only irregularly interrupted by cries from outside. But even these seemed to be muted, as though the entire place had been wrapped in wool blankets. Terror reigned on all faces, on all high-strung shoulders, on all white knuckles being gripped so hard, Adelaida imagined she heard joints creaking in the quiet.
“This is . . . horrible.” It was Mirnían, who looked like his entire life had suddenly been revealed as a vain parody of a life.
“Not one . . . but three,” murmured Lebía to herself, as though unaware that she was speaking aloud.
“What hope have we of defeating . . . three ancient gods?” Etchigu wheezed in his raspy tenor. “And what about the giants?”
“Their appearance now,” continued Derzhava, her face still flushed, her eyes still mostly
