XII
The Archivist shuttered. Something was wrong, very
wrong. A moment ago all the lights had blinked out, then the monitors
had flared to life. There was no picture, only static, but the sound
coming from the speakers was of words. They were unintelligible to
unknowing ears, yet their meaning was unmistakable. The Archivists had
buried that language, with blood and war, and they knew better than
anyone what the words meant. There was no mistaking the battle cry of a
Septemberist goddess.
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