A great gasp came through the singing as the golden image shimmered and seemed to move in the glare of the fires that had suddenly ignited in a trough at its feet. The tower itself was dark and so the astonishing figure appeared to float, hovering over the Shrine and city. The priests’ song deepened, strident and triumphant, as Shar-ra’ul came bearing the tiered crown of the North, fashioned as ascending tongues of flame and bordered with the pelt of the dread wolf of Archran that great Ur-thromath had slain in the terrible realm in distant days. The archpriest placed the crown, flashing and glittering, upon the bowed head of Jarthastra, Thirty-fourth of the Blood by the will of Arna. Over them both the golden hands were lifted. And above them all, Tyr knew, were the hands of fire. He sigh
