Heart of Black Ice

by Terry Goodkind

  “This war won’t be over for a long time, and it’s about to get much worse. That’s why I need to get to Tanimura and rally the D’Haran garrison.” She bit her lower lip. “I only hope that by now reinforcements have arrived from Lord Rahl. I dispatched an important message to him the last time I came here.”

  Nicci felt a pang to think that she was so far away from Richard, the man she truly loved. She and Nathan were doing this task for him, helping to spread the word of the D’Haran Empire, and now she needed Richard’s help. If he sent a powerful military force marching south to Tanimura as a defense against the double threat, Nicci knew their victory was assured. Richard had never let her down.

  “Just get me to Tanimura, Captain,” she said, “and you will have done a great service for the war effort.”

  * * *

  When the Chaser entered Tanimura Harbor, Nicci regarded the whitewashed buildings of the city she knew so well. Houses were crowded against one another, forming uneven lines of streets and alleys. Banners rippled from rooftops, showing the colors of D’Hara and the stylized “R” of Lord Rahl. Fishing boats and cargo ships crowded the harbor, but most importantly she saw dozens of large vessels that had been refitted as warships for the D’Haran navy. The sight satisfied her greatly, showing that General Linden had heeded her warning and begun to build up serious defenses.

  Tanimura Harbor was much larger than Serrimundi’s enclosed, sheltered harbor. Assisted by Nicci’s directed breezes, the krakener cut a straight line toward the docks. The Chaser cruised past the flat expanse of Halsband Island, which was separate from the main city although it had been connected by graceful bridges. The island once held the towering Palace of the Prophets, where Nicci had lived for many decades as a Sister of the Light and secretly as a Sister of the Dark. She had trained here and served here, and she had also served the Keeper of the underworld. Now the entire island was just rubble. By triggering the constructed spell that ran through the palace, Richard Rahl had brought down the gigantic structure.

  Jared stood next to her, holding the ship’s rail. “Ah, Tanimura! I love the smell of that harbor.”

  Nicci couldn’t smell anything beyond the fishy slime of the krakener. “It is good to be home,” she said, but her voice held no warmth. This place had too much darkness for her.

  After the Chaser docked, Nicci disembarked quickly, intent on reaching the garrison. Captain Jared called after her as she walked down the gangplank, “My ship is at your disposal, should you ever need it again, Sorceress!”

  “I’ll remember that. It was a fast ship.”

  “With a good captain,” he said.

  She didn’t reply as she worked her way through the bustle of dockside activity. Mules pulled wagons loaded with heavy crates; men stacked bales of hay and sacks of grain where merchants dickered over prices. Familiar sights and sounds brought back memories of when she had been an acolyte determined to serve the Imperial Order, because her mother had beaten those teachings into her. That upbringing had sent her down a dark path that had only worsened until Nicci finally reached a crossroads in her life in a man named Richard Rahl.…

  Now, she moved through the streets toward the D’Haran garrison. Several weeks ago, General Linden had dispatched a rider up to the People’s Palace carrying her message and her request for help. Nicci knew Richard would believe her about the threat of General Utros. A large army of reinforcements might not have made the journey yet, but she expected they were on the way. She hoped Richard had at least sent a reply. She had not heard from him in such a long time.

  Approaching the garrison, she was relieved to see soldiers patrolling the streets in chain mail and leather armor, with the officers wearing colorful capes. Word traveled swiftly as she walked at a deliberate pace, and by the time she reached the gates of the walled garrison, many soldiers had lined up, anxious to hear what she had to say.

  “It’s the sorceress!”

  “Nicci’s back.”

  “Death’s Mistress!”

  The anxious garrison soldiers parted as Nicci walked straight across the training yard and past the barracks to the two-story headquarters building. It had been built with fresh-sawn wood and only recently whitewashed to match the common architecture in Tanimura.

  At their desks in the first offices, clerks looked up from writing notations in their ledgers, but she strode past them without a word. As she climbed the stairs to the second story, she had no doubt that General Linden would already be waiting for her.

  Indeed, he sat at his desk, hands folded. Linden was a thin, thirtyish man, young for his high rank but promoted after so many officers had been killed in the previous war. A port-wine birthmark was prominent on his left cheek, and his crooked nose had obviously been broken more than once.

  He gave her a serious nod of welcome. “I didn’t expect you back so soon, Sorceress. We are working hard to increase the city’s defenses. We built warships and refitted other vessels so we can secure the harbor. Our patrols have doubled on the water. Troop numbers have increased substantially, and we are getting stronger every day.”

  “Good,” Nicci said. “General Utros is on the move, as I feared, and the Norukai are ravaging the cities on the coast. Serrimundi was attacked not long ago, as was Effren, and possibly Larrikan Shores. Things are about to get much worse.”

  “Yes, we’ve received reports.” Linden tapped his finger on the desk. He had straightened the papers in front of him in anticipation of her arrival. “We dispatched aid down to Serrimundi after the last Norukai raid, and we are recruiting widely among the city people and the hill villages. I want to expand the army so that each large town has a well-armed defense force against other raids.”

  She stepped forward to grip the edge of his desk. “Make no mistake, General, these are not just raids. The ancient army of Utros forged an alliance with King Grieve of the Norukai. Together, they will overrun the Old World. Did my message reach D’Hara?” she asked, realizing that was the answer she most wanted to hear. “Will Lord Rahl send the D’Haran army to defend us? If your courier traveled as swiftly as I hope, the troops should already be on the way. We will need them soon.”

  Worry lines appeared on Linden’s brow. Subconsciously, he rubbed his birthmark with his thumb. “Lord Rahl did send a response. He says he would like to aid Tanimura and the threatened cities, but … it is not possible at this time. He and D’Hara cannot help you.”

  CHAPTER 52

  Exhausted and soaked with blood from all the enemy soldiers he killed, Nathan hauled himself up the rocks at the end of the dwindling side canyon. He climbed handhold after handhold, anxious to reach the highlands and the wilderness where they could shelter. Olgya climbed next to him, along with ten D’Haran soldiers who had retreated with their band. On General Zimmer’s instructions, the defenders had separated into many different parties, all taking different routes.

  One of the wounded soldiers with them, a cocky card player, was bleeding badly from a deep gash in his side. He spilled a trail of red as he plodded alongside the others, painstakingly working his way higher. Nathan wasn’t certain the man would survive much longer. Though the wizard had little strength left, he could have used his gift to heal the deep cut, if they stopped for a while and rested. But that was not an option. Utros threw thousands upon thousands of warriors after the last surviving defenders of Cliffwall, and they kept closing in.

  When Nathan finally reached a high point, he turned and watched Verna’s Weeping Stone spell destroy Cliffwall. The roof of the archive grotto dripped down and closed over, sealing the tunnels and the library chambers forever. The rock walls melted and sagged like a mudslide, pouring down onto part of the army.

  Even from his distant vantage, Nathan could feel the prelate’s building magic that resonated through lines of force. The sheer walls began to run like wax, and as the destruction continued, he stared in disbelief. Verna had only planned to collapse the alcove opening and seal the books and scrolls in stone before s
he retreated. But the devastation continued to unfold. “Dear spirits, she is destroying the entire canyon!”

  He saw Verna’s tiny figure climbing above the slumping alcove, racing to get out of the way, but the stone itself shifted beneath her. Nathan sensed the exact point at which she lost control of the powerful spell. It was like a vicious dog that turned on its master.

  Beside him, Olgya and the soldiers watched half of the Cliffwall canyon turn into liquid, and the flood of stone rolled down to engulf the countless ancient warriors. With a groan of dismay, Nathan watched Prelate Verna slip and plunge into the flowing rock. She tried to pull herself out, but sank down, engulfed.

  The world went silent as the shock shut down his senses. His heart ached with a swell of memories. So much of his life had been bound up with the prelate. He had never loved Verna as he had come to love her predecessor, Prelate Ann, but now watching her die, he felt a tremendous blow. Tears glistened in his azure eyes and spilled down his cheeks.

  Elsa had done a similar thing, unleashing enough magic to save them, even though she knew it would destroy her. Now both of those marvelous women were gone, sacrificing their lives in order to wound the army of General Utros.

  After Verna died, her spell faded, and the lines of magic came untangled as fields collapsed and webs unraveled. The stone hardened again.

  While the refugees stared in horror, though, they lost track of their pursuers. With an outcry, one of the gaunt enemy soldiers charged toward them with a notched sword. The wounded card player had sagged down on a rock to rest, bleeding heavily from his side, but now he lurched to his feet and used the last of his strength to deflect the attacker’s sword. He drove his own dagger into the enemy’s throat, but in the process he suffered another deep stab wound. Dying, the card player pushed himself over the edge of the drop-off so that both he and the ancient soldier tumbled down the steep canyon in a bloody tangle of arms and legs.

  Although Nathan’s party had finished the climb and worked their way into the high desert wilderness, enemy stragglers still pursued them up the canyon. Blocking off his grief, he found the strength to call up more wizard’s fire, a sphere in each hand. With anger at Verna’s death driving him, he hurled the searing fire toward the pursuers. They threw up their gauntleted arms to deflect the fire, but they could not block the unstoppable inferno that burned them to ashes.

  Nathan dropped to his knees and wept. His long white hair was a tangled mess. His new vest and embroidered cape dripped with blood and human cinders. During the battle at the bottleneck in the headwall, he and his gifted companions had used every desperate trick, all the spells they knew. He had even killed five with his sword, and now his arm was sore from ringing blows.

  Olgya stepped closer to him. She was compact and tough, wearing skirts and a wrap of her enhanced silk, which remained unfrayed even after all the abuse. Crimson droplets spattered her face. One of her tight braids had been severed by a knife stroke, and the ragged end hung down to her ear like a decapitated snake. Her expression was tight, as if all the gift had been wrung out of her, but she clung to life and determination. She nodded at the blackened stains in the wake of his wizard’s fire. “We don’t have to worry about pursuit anymore, Nathan. We can take care of any stragglers that managed to get through.”

  Nathan wiped his cheek and looked back down the canyon to where the flood of rock had rehardened, leaving innumerable bodies trapped within like flies in amber. “I know. Prelate Verna did what she needed to. Neither General Utros nor anyone else will get their hands on the dangerous knowledge from the archive. It is gone forever.”

  “It was necessary to protect the world,” Olgya said. “We all agreed.”

  “That’s true, but Verna is gone … just as Elsa is gone. With each victory like this, we lose a part of ourselves and a part of our heritage. What will be left of us when all is said and done?” He turned away so he no longer had to look at the ruins of the once peaceful canyon. He couldn’t even feel satisfied to know how many of the enemy soldiers had been killed in the flood of stone. Thousands? Tens of thousands?

  Verna was still dead, and the core of Utros’s army was still out there. Even with Cliffwall destroyed, they would continue marching across the Old World.

  “Let’s get to the rendezvous point,” Nathan growled, “and take stock of who we have left.”

  * * *

  They followed a tangled route through the high canyons up and beyond Cliffwall, and they met up with the other evacuating parties. Thorn and Lyesse guided six soldiers, Rendell, and a handful of shaken Cliffwall scholars. The two morazeth were covered with gore and soot, their rune-marked skin laced with minor wounds, but they were charged with energy, as if this were no more than an enjoyable game of Ja’La.

  Thorn looked at her partner. “We killed so many that we each lost track of our score.”

  Lyesse said, “Therefore we will consider it a tie and start over. I look forward to the challenge.”

  The other woman nodded. “There will be more of them to kill.”

  When all the groups gathered in their makeshift camp, Oron was clearly relieved to see that Nathan, Olgya, and Perri had survived. “Good, we could not afford to lose more of our gifted.”

  “We’ve already lost too many,” Nathan said.

  “Who else is gone?” Olgya asked, looking around and counting heads.

  Oron described how the wizard Leo had fallen from the outer cliff when Ruva blasted the stone. In addition to many D’Haran soldiers, two of Captain Trevor’s Ildakaran guards had been killed. Perri hunkered down and shook her head. “Almost nothing remains of our great city of Ildakar anymore.”

  “We remain,” Lord Oron said.

  “There won’t be much left of the Old World once General Utros is through with it,” Nathan said. “Ah, Verna … poor Verna.”

  The Sisters of the Light were deeply shaken by the loss of their prelate. Sisters Rhoda and Eldine joined Nathan by the small campfire. “After the star shift eliminated prophecy, our order’s reason for existence suffered a terrible blow,” Rhoda said. “But Verna didn’t give up. She helped us try to find new purpose.”

  “No, Verna did not give up,” Nathan said. “She made quite a difference for all of us, and for me in particular.”

  More Sisters joined him, and they all reminisced about the prelate. Nathan let out a bitter laugh, and when Mab looked at him in surprise, he said, “Considering all the resentments I held for the Sisters of the Light, the irony is deep that you should comfort me.”

  Amber also joined the group. “We should all comfort one another, because we’ve all been hurt, but we have to keep moving.” She looked around for reassurance. “We are going to keep moving, aren’t we? General Utros and his army will continue marching to the coast. My brother Norcross is at Renda Bay. He’ll help us fight.”

  “Yes, my dear,” Nathan said. “We must get to Renda Bay before that army does.”

  CHAPTER 53

  The Norukai celebration for King Grieve and Captain Lars was loud, boisterous, and violent. Bannon found it sickening.

  Caked with blood and covered with bruises and scabs from the selka attack, along with the daily abuse they suffered aboard the serpent ships, the new slaves were pressed into service in the Bastion kitchens. Overworked and terrified, old Emmett limped about loading platters with food, including a goat that still sizzled on the spit.

  The head slave barked orders to his sullen kitchen crew, occasionally pausing for hurried explanations to the newcomers who didn’t know what to do. “Take the roast goat! There’s a rack behind the king’s throne. He will slice off the meat himself, and I pray he doesn’t complain that it’s too bloody, if he is even willing to eat goat tonight. I don’t dare tell him the banquet isn’t ready.” Emmett sighed, panting hard. “I have seen Grieve eat animals raw, and maybe he’ll be in that sort of mood. I wish I had something other than goat or fish.…”

  One of the kitchen slaves, a downcast man with a scar o
n his cheek, picked up an end of the spit while a new slave was shoved forward to take the other end. They shuffled off with their burden as a Norukai guard marched behind them. Whole fish were scraped from racks in the fiery ovens and placed on platters. Urns of pickled fish were carried off by slaves who staggered under the weight. When one such urn was thrust into Bannon’s arms, he looked down into the hunks of gray meat preserved in salt water, vinegar, and lye. The stench reminded him of the horribly preserved fish that was a food staple during lean years on Chiriya Island. As the fumes roiled up, he held the urn as far out in front of him as possible and followed the roasted goat.

  Emmett gave Lila a brass pitcher of wine, and she glared daggers at him. “I have no wish to pander to these vile creatures.” She looked uncomfortable in the formless dress that covered her slender body.

  “Neither do I, but my wish to live is stronger than my disgust, and if you want to survive, then you must cooperate.” The old slave’s voice had a pleading tone. “After the banquet is over, I can explain in detail how the Bastion functions and how you may be able to live another day, another month, and another year.”

  When the Norukai guards had left the kitchen to escort the servers, Lila slowly and deliberately dripped a mouthful of spit into the open pitcher of wine. The other slaves watched her, shocked but titillated.

  Emmett was horrified. “They’ll cut you into pieces and roast you in the fireplace if they find out!”

  The morazeth faced him, defiant. “They didn’t see me, and you aren’t going to tell them.”

  On his way out the door with his pickled fish, Bannon saw what she had done. Mirroring her rebelliousness, he dredged up a lump of phlegm and spat it into the urn. “Sweet Sea Mother, we have to fight in any way we can.”

  The corridor beyond the kitchens led into a loud banquet hall. The walls were black stone, and smoke-stained timbers crossed the ceiling. Desiccated heads hung from hooks on the rafters, probably enemies that King Grieve had slain.