28
Petron, Nurtle and Jared stood side by side at the foot of the great throne that held Cortis’s remains, eyes locked on the shrunken figure, their minds alert, ready for anything.
‘Are you sure?’ Petron whispered.
Nurtle squeezed Jared’s hand in hers. ‘It moved, Petron. His hand. It definitely moved.’
‘Perhaps it was just the—’
‘It wasn’t just the wind. Can you not feel it now, the growing pressure? Prepare yourself.’
Nurtle’s tone brooked no argument, and Petron sunk to his knees, pulling a large chalk out of his robe and scratching a long line on the ground between them and the throne. As soon as he was done, he stepped back and clapped his hands together.
Immediately the chalk line flashed in response and seemed to burn away, leaving no mark on the stone floor.
‘Leave us!’ he
