In the chaos, maybe she would have her chance. Thora made her way swiftly through the city streets, keeping hidden. She came upon a late-working gardener who pushed a small cart filled with night soil, tending the grapevine trellises for the vineyards long after dark. With a shovel he scooped his fertilizer into the plants, then looked up at her. “Good evening, my lady.” Then he recognized her, reacted with surprise. “Sovrena Thora! I thought you were—”
She snapped his neck with a gesture, and he collapsed into the steaming brown load in his cart. She should have felt a flicker of guilt, since he was one of her subjects, but she didn’t consider any of them her people anymore. They were just obstacles hindering her escape.
As she approached the towering wall, she heard shouts and a clamor of marching feet, whinnying horses, the jingle of armor. When she finally came within sight of the tall gates, she watched a battered and disorganized army returning from battle in the darkest hour before dawn, hundreds of fighters in mismatched uniforms, armor, and weapons. What had happened? Members of the city guard marched alongside arena slaves. She even saw several morazeth among them, which proved to her how much Ildakar had been corrupted. The fabric of her city was ruined!
She tried to put the pieces together from what she saw. Had Ildakar launched some kind of attack? Had this mismatched group of defenders attempted to challenge General Utros and his myriad soldiers? The returning fighters looked battered, sullen, and they didn’t cheer or whistle as they might with a well-earned victory. Rather, they seemed badly bruised.
Then she saw the hated Nicci riding a bay charger with Nathan in the saddle behind her, trotting alongside Damon, with Elsa behind him. Even Oron, head of the skinners’ guild, and Lady Olgya rode with the duma members, as if they belonged there. Lani strutted about, drunk with her own power. Returning fighters poured through the gate even as it crashed shut behind them.
Damon and Quentin extended their hands and worked a barrier spell, the locking magic that secured the towering doors. Thora realized she would never escape that way. All the gates would be likewise sealed. She would have to make it over the wall somehow and leave these people to their well-deserved fates.
Soon after the great gate sealed, she heard the monotonous pounding of Utros’s hardened soldiers against the immense walls. Thora herself, just one person, had smashed her way out of her cell, and with countless thousands of hard fists battering the wall, she knew it had to crumble before long, no matter how many reinforcement spells the wizards used.
But she intended to be on the other side with the victors when the city fell.
As the returning Ildakaran army milled around the gate, Nicci was still shouting commands from her horse, while other duma members called upon subcommanders for reports. Suddenly, a group of shouting guards ran through the main streets, heading toward the duma members. With a cold trickle of fear, Thora realized what they were saying. “The sovrena has escaped! She smashed her way out of the dungeon.”
Thora began to run, darting through back streets and dirty shadows, then becoming even bolder as she reached the steps leading to the watchtowers on the wall. After the nighttime attack the sentries would be on high alert, making it even more difficult to sneak past them. If she used her gift to unleash storm blows or a flare of fire, she could clear a way to the wall. If she climbed to the top, she could probably even jump and survive the landing with her stone-hardened body. That was her desperate chance. It would not be subtle, and her surprise would last for only a few moments, but it would be enough for her to get away.
Throwing aside all caution, Thora ran forward, gambling everything. As she burst into the well-lit open areas, several nearby soldiers saw her. “Here she is. Sovrena Thora is here!”
She knocked them aside with a blast of magic, but didn’t waste time killing them. Right now, she just needed them out of her way. Clearing a path with brute force and magic, she ran to the stone steps that climbed the wall. The resonant booms of relentless pounding outside echoed through the faint dawn.
On the wall above, sentries shouted as they saw her ascending toward them. Several shot arrows at her. Most missed, but two shafts struck her arm, scratched a gouge, then clattered off. A thin line of blood welled up on her skin, but she would heal it later, after she escaped.
The uproar increased as more soldiers rushed to capture her. Thora kept climbing, dismayed again that her own people had turned against her. Below, she saw powerful duma members ride to the base of the wall, including Nicci and Nathan. The sentries above were shouting and the soldiers below rallied, rushing up the stone stairs after her. Thora kept climbing.
Nicci dismounted at the base of the wall, her black dress flowing around her. She came after her, like a vengeful storm. “We will stop you, Thora.”
Thora put on a burst of speed. Almost there.
Reaching the top walkway, she blasted aside the sentries who confronted her, sending three of them over the wall to their deaths. Far below, lined up against the thick stones were hundreds of the enemy soldiers. If Thora could drop down there, she would present herself to them and demand to be taken to General Utros. She could help him bring down Ildakar and restore herself to power. She knew the city’s weaknesses.
But it was a long way down, and she quailed. Even with her stone skin, she wondered if she would survive the fall. And when she landed, would those angry soldiers listen to her, or would they just kill her outright because she was from Ildakar? She hesitated as she looked over the edge.
Nicci strode toward her across the top of the wall. Her once-long blond hair was ragged and short. Thora lashed out with a blow of wind, much like the one she had used to hurl Nicci out the high windows of the ruling tower during their previous duel.
But Nicci was obviously stronger now, and Adessa wasn’t here to help the sovrena fight. Nicci blocked the blast and launched rippling wizard’s fire—which no mere sorceress should have been able to use! Thora barely dodged in time, but the edge of the searing flames burned her skin, blackened her garments, reminding her that she could indeed be wounded. She peered over the sheer drop again, not sure she could survive the fall.
“You intend to kill yourself, Thora?” Nicci mocked, stepping closer. “If that’s your wish, we can make it happen.”
“I mean to save Ildakar!” Thora said. “You’ve all turned against me, and the only way to save my city is for Utros to win. When you are overthrown, we can rebuild Ildakar the way it should be!”
Nicci said, “So you mean to betray your city, just as Maxim did.”
“Never! I love Ildakar.” Appalled, she lashed out with a lightning bolt, and Nicci blocked it with lightning of her own.
Lani climbed up beside Nicci, followed by Nathan, Elsa, and Oron. “So you said in your cell, but now look at you, Thora. You try to justify your actions, but they aren’t for the good of Ildakar. You’re only saving yourself.”
“I am the sovrena! I am Ildakar. Whatever I do—”
Nicci interrupted. “Whatever you do is not for these people. More than a thousand of them went out tonight, and hundreds gave their lives to test General Utros. Would they have done that for you?” She lowered her voice, sounding harder and more threatening. “Would you yourself have made that sacrifice for Ildakar?”
“I would never do anything to harm my city,” Thora said.
Damon and Quentin reached the top of the wall, adding their powerful gift to the air as if the magic itself were alive and threatening.
“You truly meant to betray us to General Utros?” Elsa asked, shocked and saddened.
Thora’s thoughts spun as she fought to deny it. She looked at Elsa, then Lani. She hated her rival sorceresses, but was it really for the “good of Ildakar” if she sold herself to the enemy army? If she allied herself with the very force that wanted only to conquer the city?
Thora glanced beyond the walls at the hundreds of thousands of fighters gathered across the plain, who had once been petrified by the wizards of Ildak
ar. They had been turned to stone for centuries, taken away from their own time. If she were to help them break through Ildakar’s defenses, she knew they would exact their revenge. There would be fires, destruction, rape, and pillage, as conquering armies always did. How could she let that happen to her city? How could she? What was she doing?
Thora looked at all the besieging soldiers far below. She didn’t dare aid the enemy. As Nicci and the other duma members closed in, preparing to fight her with powerful combined magic, she realized it was her last chance to throw herself over the wall. But she couldn’t do it.
Instead, she turned to Nicci and the others facing her. “I would never do anything to harm Ildakar,” she insisted, then lowered her voice. “I won’t be like my husband.”
She let her hands fall to her sides and bowed in surrender. The wizards came forward, and she didn’t resist as they bound her.
CHAPTER 41
Bannon couldn’t remember what had happened to him, but the ache of his muscles and his bruised and battered skin gave him a dull awareness. Memories began to return, though they remained a blur. Previously, whenever he went into his blood-maddened state, he didn’t remember what he had done.
Nevertheless, against all odds, he was still alive.
As he blinked his way back to consciousness, Bannon discovered that he was confined inside a wooden shack. Dim morning light filtered through gaps in the mismatched boards. When he drew a deep breath, he hissed in involuntary pain. He hurt everywhere, inside and out. He gingerly touched an egg-sized lump on the back of his head where someone had struck him a hard blow.
“He’s finally awake,” said a ragged voice.
A second, closer voice sounded forlorn. “Maybe they’ll kill him first, but I know they’ll kill us all.”
Bannon turned toward the voices and winced. The aching throb turned into loud drumbeats in his skull. He saw Jed and Brock huddled against the wooden wall of the shack. They sat on the ground, knees drawn up to their chests. Their bright silken robes were stained and bloody, their eyes swollen, their faces covered with scabs.
“You survived, too!” Bannon said. “Where are we?”
“In the enemy camp, of course,” Brock said. “Prisoners.”
“Keeper’s crotch!” Jed hung his head. “I suppose we should thank you for getting us captured instead of killed outright.”
“He only delayed what’s going to happen,” Brock groaned. “It might have been cleaner to let them kill us out there. At least it would be over with.”
Bannon pressed the swelling on the back of his head, felt dried blood in his hair. “I got us captured? How did I do that?” He touched his bruised eye, looked at the cuts on his arm, and decided not to take a complete inventory of his injuries. “I don’t remember anything except fighting the soldiers.”
“We knew we were going to die, but you battled like a madman,” Jed said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. When you threw yourself on them, something changed. You went berserk.”
“I…” Bannon shook his head, which made him grit his teeth from the pain. “Sometimes that happens. I lose myself in a fighting frenzy.”
“You saved us, whatever it was,” Jed said. “Brock and I tried to defend ourselves, but you—I think you killed a dozen of them before they finally took you down. The soldiers said you fought so well, they wanted to show you to General Utros. We surrendered, too. We had no other choice.”
Brock added, “These silk robes showed that we are important people. That is probably why they saved us.”
Trying to look outside, Bannon pressed his good eye against a gap in the wall boards. He smelled thick, pungent smoke. In the daylight he saw blackened hillsides and hundreds of warriors scurrying across the scorched area, putting out smoldering patches. As his thoughts came back to him, he recalled Lila and the morazeth fighting and Mrra tearing apart enemy soldiers. He remembered Nicci and the other gifted using wizard’s fire and lightning, while he and the countless Ildakaran defenders fought with more conventional weapons.
“Did we win?” Bannon asked. “Is the rest of the army safe inside the city?”
Brock made a rude noise. “We didn’t win. It was never possible we would win. We killed plenty of them, and they killed a lot of our army.”
“We caused some damage, though,” Jed admitted. “More than Utros expected, I think.”
The shack’s door flung open and one of the pale soldiers stood there. “I am commanded to bring you to General Utros. You will come.”
Bannon lifted himself to his feet. “Good. I was going to demand to see him.”
“He’ll kill us now,” Brock groaned.
“The general will question you first,” said the soldier. “Maybe he will kill you afterward. It depends on your answers.”
The three captives were marched out into the open, and Bannon shrank from the bright morning light after the rank-smelling shadows of the shack. He saw the enemy soldiers working in the encampment, repairing damage. The hills still smoldered, but the conflagration had been stopped. Some of the swift flames had encroached on the great camp, burning tents and structures. The blaze had even approached the general’s headquarters, but a valiant effort had stopped the fire’s progress in time. Ancient soldiers, some singed, glowered at the three young prisoners walking under guard toward the command structure.
Though his head throbbed, Bannon dredged up bravery from within. Jed was physically shaking, and Brock sniveled. The two noble boys had been so haughty when they were with Amos, but now they seemed broken and terrified.
Bannon had wanted so badly for them to be his friends, but Nicci often told him he was naive. He realized that he no longer had Sturdy, which was no surprise, though he didn’t remember being disarmed. The loss of the weapon saddened him, but Bannon feared he was about to lose much more.
As the captives approached the rough headquarters, he recognized the legendary figure of General Utros. He was a big man, well muscled, wearing a leather vest that sported a stylized-flame symbol. Utros had a full beard, neatly trimmed, but the left side of his face was scarred from an ancient burn. His skin and hair were grayish white from the stone spell.
Two strange, beautiful women emerged from the dark interior of the command structure and took places on either side of Utros. They stared at him with predatory eyes. He realized they must be the sorceresses who had attacked Nicci with her own hair.
Jed and Brock fell behind Bannon as if hiding in his shadow, but he had learned a great deal about bravery. He moved closer to the general without being encouraged. “My name is Bannon Farmer. I’m a swordsman and a traveler. I came to Ildakar with my friends Nicci and Nathan.”
Utros remained silent, then gave a respectful nod. “You are an exceptional fighter. You managed to impress even my invincible army.” He took a step closer. “You are not of Ildakar, then? And you know the sorceress Nicci and the wizard Nathan, who came to parley with me?”
“Yes, I’m friends with Nicci and Nathan.” He turned to his companions. “And these are Jed and Brock, from Ildakar.”
The two young men scowled, as if they preferred to remain invisible and unidentified.
“I know they are nobles, possibly worth a ransom,” Utros said. “They did not help you much during the fight, however.”
Jed and Brock looked offended, and Bannon said, “They aren’t fighters.”
“Ildakar’s defenders did surprisingly well,” Utros said, in grudging acknowledgment, “but you cannot win. I have orders from Emperor Kurgan.” He gazed over Bannon’s shoulder, as if seeing something that wasn’t there; then his focus snapped back to Bannon, like a raptor sighting prey. “Those two are useless, but you fight well, Bannon Farmer. Why not join my army? Be part of the victory.”
Bannon was horrified. “I would never do that. I couldn’t betray my friends.”
“We’re not useless,” Brock said. “Even before your stone army woke up, we destroyed hundreds of your soldiers. That’s more than anyone
else in the city accomplished.”
Utros flipped his attention to the young man behind Bannon, and his stiff features twisted in an expression of disgust. “You smashed statues? When we were helpless?”
Jed said defiantly, “We didn’t know you’d ever wake up, but we damaged hundreds.”
Brock said, “I wish we had destroyed all of you.”
The twin sorceresses whispered in voices that hissed like serpents. Utros said, “Then I change my opinion. You weak nobles caused inexcusable damage.”
Bannon squared his shoulders, facing the enemy general. “The people of Ildakar are not helpless. They have many powerful wizards, and Nicci and Nathan are the strongest of them all. Your siege doesn’t have a chance of succeeding.”
One of the painted sorceresses said, “How did Nicci survive our spell that possessed her hair?”
Bannon flared his nostrils. “We all fought together. I was there. Nathan and I helped cut her hair, and she used her own magic to break the bond. They’re stronger than you think.”
“So are we,” Utros said.
Another ancient soldier rushed up to report to the general, interrupting their conversation. Utros listened to the whispered report, then called two guards. “Take them back into confinement. I will interrogate them further after I finish my work here.” He turned a steely glare at Jed and Brock. “These two noble boys deserve painful questioning to reveal everything they know about the inner workings of Ildakar.”
Chalky guards manhandled the three prisoners back toward their shack. As he was herded along, Bannon studied every detail of the camp, hoping to see some chance of escape.
CHAPTER 42
Nicci had seen the morazeth in action, knew the steel of their bodies, the anger that pulsed through their veins, but when a battered Lila came to her the morning after the sortie, Nicci saw something she had never expected. Lila looked defeated.
Siege of Stone Page 29