Shroud of Eternity

by Terry Goodkind

  Then, faster than he could see, she delivered a sideways chop to his kidney, which sent him staggering. Spangles of light swirled behind his eyes. He couldn’t breathe.

  Lila swept her bare left foot and knocked his legs out from under him, buckling his knees and giving his shoulder an additional shove as he fell. Bannon slammed onto his back, sobbing for air.

  The morazeth was on top of him, pinning his shoulders to the ground. Her face was close to his. He could see perspiration glistening on all the marks across her face, neck, and shoulders. She was laughing. “You’re not very good at hand-to-hand combat, are you, boy?”

  “I never claimed to be.” He had gotten into a few brawls as a boy on Chiriya Island, but nothing where his life depended on it. In the scuffles, he had suffered bruises and torn clothes, with his pride injured more than his body.

  He remembered the training Nathan had given him in swordfighting skills, and the many monsters Bannon had killed made his talent self-evident. But the old wizard had never spent time training him in fighting with his fists. Bannon couldn’t imagine the erudite and dashing Nathan Rahl bothering with such a lowbrow form of fighting. He preferred his ornate sword as a more noble means of dispatching an opponent.

  “I’d rather use a sword,” Bannon said, catching his breath. “But you would be too afraid to let me have one.”

  Lila remained on top of him, pinning him down. Her eyes reminded him of the color of a stormy sea. Then she laughed and rolled off of him, springing back to her feet. “On the contrary, that was our next step.” She brushed sand from her bare skin and shouted up to the rim, “Bring me the sword. Toss it down here.”

  Within moments, a young man in drab clothes came to the edge of the pit holding a long object wrapped in rough burlap. Without meeting Lila’s gaze, he unceremoniously dropped the package. Lila caught it with a deft move and stripped off the cloth. She pulled out a sword with a simple leather-wrapped hilt, a straight and unadorned cross guard, and a blade discolored from impurities in the steel during its forging.

  “That’s Sturdy!” Bannon cried, feeling a leap of hope inside his chest. “How did you get it?”

  “Your friend Amos delivered it from the grand villa. He thought we might like to use it as a toy.” Lila turned the sword from side to side. “The blade is as unimpressive as you are, boy.”

  Bannon felt the burn of the insult. “Both of us may surprise you.”

  “Good. I like to be surprised.” With an expression of distaste, Lila extended the sword hilt-first toward Bannon. “Take it. You’ll need it.” She called upward, “Stick!” The slave boy tossed down a polished wooden pole, which Lila caught. “If you’re a swordsman, prove it. Fight me. Kill me if you can.”

  “I don’t want to kill you,” Bannon said.

  “You will.” Her thin smile flashed at him. “Or I am not training you properly.”

  When he didn’t move, Lila attacked him. She gritted her teeth, twirled the wooden rod, and swung at him.

  Instinctively, Bannon brought Sturdy up in a clean defensive move, met the wooden rod with a crack that jarred all the way through to the morazeth’s wrists. A flicker of anger crossed her face, and she drew the rod back, more serious now. She swung again, but Bannon felt comfortable with the sword in his hand. He deflected her blow and pushed forward. He would no longer be on defense. He had a sword, his sword, and she just had a little stick. He couldn’t think about what would happen if he did kill this morazeth. He was sure Adessa and the others would punish him.

  In the moment of distraction, Lila ducked under his guard and cracked the wooden staff hard across his right thigh. The pain stung, and he nearly collapsed. His leg buckled, but he braced himself, straightened again, vowing to concentrate on this fight, this enemy, and worry about the consequences later.

  He drove in, slashing sideways, jabbing with the point and sweeping in a reverse arc. Lila spun and twirled like a tumbler at a traveling carnival show. Bannon met the wooden staff each time she tried to strike him with it. He could tell she was no longer toying with him, but genuinely fighting to the best of her abilities.

  And Bannon fought to the best of his.

  With a dim sense of peripheral vision, he realized that others had gathered at the edge of the pit above, some morazeth and arena fighters. He didn’t care. He needed to defeat Lila. The red rage behind his eyes reminded him of what he had felt when he fought the Norukai at Renda Bay.

  He swung his sword like a scalpel and then a bludgeon. Nathan had taught him that brute force was as acceptable as finesse, so long as it defeated the enemy.

  Lila found herself on the defensive now, holding up her wooden staff. Pale chips flew as Sturdy’s blade hacked into the rod and finally cut it in two. The halves of the fighting staff broke, and Lila staggered.

  Biting back a roar, Bannon swung his sword at her face, but at the last moment, turned the blade. He couldn’t kill her, couldn’t cleave her head in two. Instead, the flat of the blade struck her cheek with bruising force and drew blood. She collapsed backward, and Bannon was on top of her, driving her down.

  He shuddered, realizing what he had done. “Sorry,” he said quickly.

  Lila snatched something with a black-painted wooden handle from her hip. He heard the snick, barely saw the tiny needle tip as Lila’s thumb touched the spell symbol carved into the hilt. She poked him with her agile knife, and pain exploded within him. He threw himself backward, writhing in agony.

  Lila sprang to her feet, wiping blood from her face. As the thunder of pain throbbed through his head, Bannon heard cheers and shouts from the spectators above. Looking smug, she stood over him and kicked Sturdy away out of his grasp. It slid across the pea gravel and sand.

  “A fighter must use any weapon available,” she said. “Winning is all that matters, because losers die.”

  After she put away her agile knife, the pain swiftly faded within him. Still sprawled on his back, he propped himself up on his elbows, heaving great breaths, tossing his loose, long hair out of his face.

  “That is enough for now.” Lila raised her hand, and someone threw down a rope ladder from above. “Climb after me. It’s time to go back to your cell.”

  Though he ached from the fight, barely able to move in his exhaustion, Bannon got to his feet and followed her. Keeping his head down, he climbed the rope out of the pit and looked around at the spectators, who watched him with surprise and even a hint of admiration.

  “This way,” Lila snapped, demanding his attention.

  They wound through the torch-lit tunnels, past other cells. Down other connecting corridors, Bannon could smell the musk of combat animals, the trained killing beasts kept by Chief Handler Ivan. He felt like nothing more than an animal here.

  Lila brought him to the open door of his cell and said in a grudging voice, “That was a good effort. You may be worthwhile after all.”

  Bannon didn’t know if he should thank her or not.

  She shoved him into his cell, and he stumbled toward his pallet. Lila followed him and closed the barred door behind her. “Time for my reward,” she said. “And yours … if you know how to receive it.”

  Bannon swallowed hard, knowing and dreading what she intended to do. She removed the black leather wraps and let them drop to the sandstone floor of his cell. Bannon’s pulse quickened. He blinked furiously and wiped perspiration from his brow. “I think … I think I need a drink of water.”

  Lila came closer, planting her hands on his chest. “I’m more concerned with what I need.”

  Bannon could feel his pulse thrumming like a drumbeat inside him. With a wistful desperate memory, he thought of the lovely acolytes from Cliffwall, the warm embraces and tender kisses of Audrey, Laurel, and Sage, his first lovers, enthusiastic women who shared him and lifted him to honeyed heights of pleasure … before Victoria had turned them into bloodthirsty forest monsters, who only wished to spill his blood to fertilize the ground.

  Lila seemed to be a little of both
.

  Stepping toward him, naked, with her eyes fixed on him, she laid her agile knife in one of the small alcoves in the sandstone wall. “Don’t forget, it is always here, right within reach. I suggest you not let me think of a reason to use it.”

  Then she wasn’t paying any attention to her weapon while Bannon fought an entirely different kind of battle.

  CHAPTER 47

  Nicci had killed wizards before, and she had no qualms about doing so again. In fact, after the horrific bloodworking at the pyramid, she was sure she would have to fight them, one at a time or all at once. Yes, she had to save the world … for now, she would start with Ildakar.

  Overhead, the clouds seemed barely distorted by the shroud, but the air itself had an unnatural gleam. The sky was just slightly off, the wrong color of blue, as if the magical barrier somehow spoiled the sunlight. Pointing toward the sky, the gifted nobles looked pleased and content to be protected under the bubble again.

  If only she hadn’t hesitated when the slaves were ready to be sacrificed, expecting the wizards to use their killing knives in a more traditional manner. Sovrena Thora had been so focused on working her magic that Nicci could have blasted her with Subtractive lightning or even just a furious windstorm to interrupt the ritual before it could be completed.

  But Thora had slaughtered all her victims in one swift, unexpected slash of an invisible knife.

  As the shaken duma members walked past in a subdued procession, Nicci and Nathan stood their ground. Nicci had brushed herself off, regained her dignity, and Thora walked by, her head held high, her hair a complex tapestry of thin golden braids. The sovrena paused, glancing at Nicci. “It is time for you to be on our side, Sorceress. You are under the shroud, and you cannot leave.”

  Maxim added cheerily, “Until such time as we decide to drop it. This is still just a temporary shield.”

  Thora’s face tightened. “Only for now. But I intend to work the blood magic again with a large enough sacrifice to make the shroud permanent for centuries.” Her eyebrows lifted as she mused, “Maybe even forever. Since time passes differently here, it doesn’t make much difference.”

  “I cannot stay that long,” Nicci said. “Nathan has not been helped here, despite your efforts. We need to find our friend Bannon, and then we will leave.”

  “He is somewhere,” Thora said. “With Amos and his friends, I’m sure.”

  “Fear not; we’ll find something useful for you to do here,” Maxim murmured, then sauntered away at the sovrena’s side, oblivious of the sharp ice in Nicci’s blue eyes.

  Yes, she had killed wizards before. And she would do it again.

  Work crews pulled carts to the base of the pyramid while sullen slaves climbed the steps to remove the bodies and polish the metal apparatus. Nathan’s eyes had a haunted quality. “Now it’s all the more important that I regain my gift. I need the heart of a wizard.” He looked around, scanning the crowd. “I wonder where that dear boy Bannon went?”

  * * *

  Because of the fleshmancer’s unsettling obsessions, Nathan went to talk to a more sympathetic listener. He wasn’t certain Elsa would be able to assist him, but at least she might offer advice. He was deeply disturbed by the slaughter he had witnessed. Elsa had stood there holding her wicked-looking ceremonial knife, and even though she had made no active move to slash the throats of the slaves, she had been prepared to do so.

  In the late afternoon following the ritual, Nathan found Elsa in her elaborate private home. The front of her stone house was guarded by statues of leaping stags, and Nathan believed they were genuine artwork, rather than spell-petrified animals.

  “Always delighted to see you, Nathan. We can discuss the nature of the gift, even if you can’t demonstrate your powers.”

  “Yet,” he said.

  “Yet,” she conceded, and gestured him inside to a lovely private courtyard. Elsa had iron-gray hair shot through with darker strands; in her younger years, she had raven locks. Her features were quite pleasing, he decided, and he thought she must have been beautiful, but now her curves had shifted, making her more distinguished than gorgeous. He was still pleased to be in her company.

  She took a seat on a stone bench near a trickling artificial waterfall that ran into an ornamental pool. Water bubbled up from a hidden spring, perhaps driven by the force of magic. The rocks around the pond were marked with spell symbols, though Nathan did not know how to interpret them.

  Sitting next to her, he could not contain his consternation. “Even when I had full control of my gift, I never … permitted anything like the blood magic we witnessed this morning. Those innocent victims you sacrificed, all the blood you spilled—were they willing to pay that price? How could you tolerate that?”

  Elsa looked troubled, but not defensive. “Ildakar must be protected. That is how we survived for so many hundreds of years. The shroud hides us from enemies, shields us from outside attack. If we had to battle an invading army, thousands more people would die.”

  “And what attack were you worried about this morning, my dear?” Nathan asked. “Why did the shroud need to be restored at the cost of those twelve poor people?”

  “They were not citizens of Ildakar, but brought here as slaves. The Norukai could have sold them anywhere. If they didn’t die in the bloodworking, maybe they would have died in a quarry or a dank mine. Other masters could have tortured them to death at their own whim.”

  Nathan brushed his long white hair, but did not soften his voice. “And is that what you do to your slaves?”

  “Of course not! How could you think that?”

  “Then those slaves might have lived long and productive lives, content in their service to you, to work in your home perhaps.”

  As if hearing the conversation, two of her slaves arrived bearing a platter of fruit and a glass pitcher of water flavored with squeezed lemons.

  Elsa admitted, “That was not to be. The shroud is up again, and we are safe. We have to make our lives here now. We will still try to restore your magic, Nathan, so that you can be an important member of Ildakaran society. Even your ungifted but endearing friend Bannon can find a good occupation. He seems to be quite close with the sovrena’s son.”

  Nathan frowned. “I’m not certain that’s an entirely good influence. I haven’t seen the dear boy in days.”

  Elsa clucked her tongue. “With the shroud in place, it’s not as if he can go anywhere. I could make an inquiry, if you like?”

  He felt an unexpected relief. “Why yes, my dear, that would be most helpful. One less thing for me to worry about.”

  Though he was still disturbed, Nathan changed the subject. “Andre studied the loss of my gift and created a map of the Han inside me. I am missing an important part centered around my heart.” Using his forefinger, he traced a circle around his breastbone. “But we’ve made no progress in some time, and I’m not convinced he’s giving the matter his full attention. I don’t know your particular specialty with the gift, but I wondered if you might give me some advice?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Nathan,” Elsa said with a relieved smile. “You must know that I’m adept in transference magic. If you want me to transfer the gift back into you, I’m afraid that cannot be done. I can only do minor things with physical objects.”

  “Transference magic?” Nathan asked. “I suspected as much. In the New World, such practitioners are rare. And you’ve developed it?”

  “It is a specialty of Ildakar, shifting power from rune to rune,” Elsa said. “I use the physical qualities in the world, and although I cannot add or take away—like with Additive or Subtractive Magic—I simply … move it.” She gestured with her hands. “I take a quality from one thing and transfer it to a different thing.” Elsa glanced around. “For instance, look at this pitcher. Touch it.”

  Curious, Nathan reached out to touch the glass pitcher. It was cool but not cold, the water and juice tepid.

  “Hand me that unlit candle over there.” She gesture
d to the corner of the table. Nathan picked up a red candle in a small holder and slid it toward Elsa.

  With the tip of her finger she smeared a thin looping rune on the beaded moisture on the side of the pitcher. Then with her fingernail she began to make the same design in the wax of the candle. “See, I am taking heat from the water in the pitcher and moving it from there to here.” She finished the drawing on the candle wax.

  Suddenly the pitcher trembled. Sparkles of condensed water appeared along the outside, and a faint whiff of chill vapor rose from the liquid it held. In contrast, the wick of the candle flickered and burst into flame.

  Elsa smiled. “I drew the heat out of the pitcher and moved it to the candle. It’s all perfectly rational.”

  Nathan looked from one object to the other. “That is different from any method I’m familiar with. It requires great study.”

  She smiled. “And I’m quite good at it. I could show you more … when you get your gift back.”

  Nathan touched his chest. “But you can’t…?”

  “I’m afraid not. If Andre says you need the heart of a wizard, then you truly need the heart of a wizard.”

  “But I don’t know what that means.”

  “I’m certain Andre does. He’s just waiting for the right moment.”

  Nathan was frustrated. “And I suppose you think we have all the time in the world now that the shroud is back in place.”

  “Well, we do. You’re safe here. Don’t be so eager to escape. We could have many more conversations like this. I rather like your company.”

  “My dear Elsa, while I enjoy our conversations, I spent far too much of my life held prisoner in the Palace of the Prophets. I did not go through all the trouble of escaping just to wind up inside a larger prison.”

  “Nathan, you’re so dramatic,” she said.

  “I am indeed, but only when the situation warrants it.”