9
The man who was more than a man, who was known as the One to many, and as Rasalom to a few, who had numerous names, the most important known only to him, stood on the roof of the Lodge and waited.
In an hour or so, perhaps more, it would happen. He would know when it did. He would feel it.
And so would someone else.
You’re nearby, Glaeken. I know it. When it happens you’ll feel it and you’ll know my time has come. And you’ll be afraid.
Though difficult to imagine Glaeken afraid, Rasalom relished the thought. Glaeken would have good cause for fear when the Lady was gone. For the beacon would be turned off, the Enemy would abandon this sphere as lifeless and worthless, and Glaeken would be on his own.
What would that mean? Would he lose his power—his resilience, his immortality? Would he become just another mortal?
Wouldn’t that be delicious.
You will pay for what you have made me suffer down these millennia. You imprisoned me, you even thought you’d slain me, but always I found a way back. And this time you will die, long after you wish to, and you will find no way back.
Rasalom’s only regret was that success today would mean forgoing his vengeance on the transgressor. Slowly destroying that man’s soul a second time would have been pure bliss. But he couldn’t have everything. He’d see the man suffer like everyone else, but that universal fate lacked the élan of what he’d been planning.
Prepare yourself, Glaeken. The end begins today.