Nicci recognized it. “That looks like one of the sacrificial knives the council members held during the blood magic.”
“Yes, a fitting irony, don’t you think? One of the raiders who sold the sacrificial slaves now has to face pain from the same sort of knife.”
“Where did you get it?” Nicci asked.
Mirrormask held up the blade, turned it in front of his reflective face as if regarding the details. “My followers are everywhere.”
“King Grieve and his army will come here,” Dar insisted. “Why do you think our slavers trade with Ildakar? We are gathering information. You think your city is invincible, but you are overconfident and weak.” His excessive jaw opened and closed like a flapping skull. He worked up the saliva to spit at them, but it only drooled down the scarred sides of his mouth. “We sell the walking meat, take your gold, and learn everything about your city so that we can capture it along with the rest of the Old World.”
“He is quite ambitious, isn’t he?” Mirrormask said in his muffled voice.
Nicci did not dismiss the threat so lightly. “What do you mean, the Norukai have armies and navies? How do they intend to conquer the Old World?”
Dar sneered at them. “You are all walking meat to us. You are weak. We build our strength on the Norukai islands, and we intend to take over the mainland.” He laughed. “We saw the thousands of stone soldiers outside of your city. You thought that was a fierce army? With our ships, we will have twice as many warriors—and soon we will launch.” He laughed, knowing he would die eventually.
Nicci wondered how long the rebels would continue peeling the skin off of him. He could probably survive for days longer.
Rendell and several other rebels had quietly followed them down the tunnels to watch the interrogation, and many of them seemed restless and hungry, wanting their chance to inflict pain as well.
Mirrormask looked at the golden-handled knife, where his reflection ricocheted in the polished steel of the blade. “Alas, you will not be here to see that victory.”
In a swift motion, he slashed the Norukai’s throat. Dar writhed and jittered on the manacle chains. As blood spurted out, Mirrormask deftly stepped aside so that the spraying crimson did not splatter his gray robe, but several warm drops struck Nicci’s cheek. The other rebels stood back, muttering as the blood flowed down the slaver’s naked chest, pooling on the narrow walkway and dripping into the canal, adding blood to the city’s water supply.
The people of Ildakar had been exposed to blood before. Nicci was not queasy about the murder of Dar, or the blood in the canal. “I do not like his talk of a great conquering army. What do we know of the Norukai?”
“Very little, nor do I care,” Mirrormask said. “We are protected inside the shroud. The business of Ildakar is my concern.”
After Dar stopped twitching, Mirrormask grasped his forehead and pressed him back against the sandstone wall. He pressed hard with the long knife and sawed across the throat again, slicing through the larynx, windpipe, and finally the spine. He held Dar’s severed head by one of the dangling braids at the back of the skull and tossed it to Rendell, who meekly caught it. Blood splashed on the escaped slave’s drab clothes.
Mirrormask said, “Under cover of darkness, take that and mount it on a pike somewhere inside the city. Because of the shroud, we can’t take it to one of the paths leading to Ildakar, as we did with the others. But the message should be plain enough.”
The rebel leader turned and strode away along the aqueduct tunnels, leaving his hidden nest of followers.
CHAPTER 61
Warm afternoon breezes picked up, whistling through the narrow slickrock canyons, but the wizard Renn kept his eyes downcast, watching his feet as they plodded one step after another. The eleven surviving members of the expedition led by Captain Trevor trudged along the unruly paths.
None of them knew where they were going.
“I am certain we’re almost there,” Trevor said, for the fifth time that day. His foolish optimism was the only thing that kept him from insanity.
After they crossed over the spectacular pass of Kol Adair and worked their way into the lower mountains, they found worn paths that were overgrown with weeds, even trees. It was as if the world had reshaped itself to erase any stubborn markings left by ancient humanity. Eventually the expedition had found the high desert plateau and the start of the slickrock canyons. The expedition kept moving onward, convincing themselves they were on the right path.…
Desperate for a drink, the group fought through stunted piñon pines, spiky yucca plants, and brittle gray tamarisk. The soldiers could hear the flowing stream, so close, so inaccessible. Somewhere in the tamarisk thicket, water flowed into a pothole and then spilled over the rock. “Keeper’s crotch!” said one of the soldiers. “Curse these weeds.” They used their swords to hack away at the stubborn tamarisk, splintering sharp dry twigs.
“Wizard, can’t you use your magic to make a path?” asked another downcast soldier. “Or at least to tell us where we are?”
“My gift isn’t a map,” Renn said. His throat was too dry to argue. “Don’t you think if I could, I would have created a magic map two weeks ago?”
“It was just a suggestion, Wizard,” Trevor said in a calming voice.
Scratching the bothersome stubble on his multiple chins, Renn huffed. “Step back. I can use magic to clear that debris. It’ll be something, at least.”
The nine soldiers backed away from the aggressive thicket clogged around the trickle of water. Renn jerked his hand and called upon his gift to uproot the stubborn, spiky growths. Expressing his anger and frustration at the whole situation, he yanked the tamarisks out of the ground and sent them away with such vehemence that the dry branches whistled through the air until they crashed far down the canyon in a heap of debris. The water continued to gurgle from the spring, but now it was a muddy mess. The pools of clear water were slurries of red mud from the slickrock soil. Crowding forward, the men stared in dismay. “Now we can’t drink that.”
“Just wait for it to settle out,” said Captain Trevor, always cheerful. “Or we can filter it through rags.”
“Let’s camp here,” Renn suggested, though it was still just midafternoon. “At least we know there’ll be water.”
“What about food?” asked one of the soldiers. “Our packs are empty.”
“Go catch some lizards,” Trevor commanded. When the soldiers grumbled, he replied, “If you complain, then you aren’t hungry enough.”
The soldiers, once brave members of the Ildakaran city guard, had become scavengers, foraging up and down the canyons, throwing rocks at lizards or trying to catch them with their bare hands. Three days ago, one man had found a bush filled with dark purple berries, which he ate greedily, not wanting to share with his fellows. He had returned sheepishly to camp, his lips discolored. His companions were upset with him for having gorged himself on fresh fruit.
The man had died screaming that night, vomiting and spasming from the poison. After that, they were much more careful.
Renn longed for his own villa back in Ildakar, his household slaves, his gardens, his lovely wind chimes. “We were not trained as woodsmen,” he complained to Trevor, loud enough for the other soldiers to hear.
As the scouts came back with their meager offerings from the hunt, they even brought the dried branches of the uprooted tamarisk for the campfire. The dry, airy wood blazed so hot and fast, the fire got out of their control and set nearby bushes on fire. Renn was again forced to call upon his magic—and some of the water from the spring—to extinguish the blaze.
It was just one more catastrophe on their endless journey.
Renn hated the sovrena and the wizard commander, resenting them for sending him out on this fool’s errand without a clear goal, without specific directions to their destination, and without any training. They had been pampered inside the legendary city for their entire lives. When had Renn ever needed to know how to camp, hunt, or find
edible roots and leaves? None of them knew. The city guard had no such training.
Now they were lost and miserable in the wasteland. They had been gone for so long, he doubted they could ever find their way back home. Instead, they had to discover Cliffwall and claim the vast libraries of magic in the name of Ildakar.
Renn wasn’t so sure he even cared about Ildakar anymore.
As they bedded down to sleep, still smelling the smoke from the now-smothered campfire, Captain Trevor said, “I’m sure we’ll get there tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 62
From her seat in the high ruling tower, Thora could feel the dark energy and unrest in the streets of Ildakar, and it made her furious. She had been on edge for days, ever since the defiant sorceress Nicci challenged her.
Thora had been suspicious of the outside visitors since their arrival. Such an unsettling and contradictory worldview did not fit well with what she and her fellow wizards had accomplished in Ildakar, the perfect society. Nicci had been quick to criticize, but she didn’t belong here, and her wizard companion had no powers. Thora wished they had never come to the city.
At least the outside sorceress was defeated now, and Nathan still lay unconscious in the fleshmancer’s mansion. Maybe he would be less of an annoyance when he woke up. If Andre’s experiment did restore his gift, then Nathan Rahl might feel gratitude. And if he proved intractable, Thora would destroy him as well.
Meanwhile, the useless young man Bannon was being trained in the combat pits. That way he could serve some purpose to the city. Yes, all was well.
At the sovrena’s request, Adessa came to the ruling chamber first thing in the morning to give her report. As it was early, Maxim and the duma members were not present.
The morazeth leader stood below the throne, knowing her place. “Bannon Farmer is an adequate fighter, Sovrena. He even fought well against our champion, though he suffered a severe concussion. Lila has been instructing him. He needs to be thoroughly blooded, but he will be a decent warrior once he is finished.”
“At least he will serve as sufficient entertainment,” Thora said. “I don’t care if he falls in his first combat. He was Nicci’s friend, and that still angers me.”
Across the room, fresh masonry showed where workers had repaired the edges of the smashed windows and the wall. Much of Adessa’s spell-marked skin was discolored from the many blows that Nicci had landed on her. Adessa called it the price of her combat. Every blow was one little defeat. Even though she had ultimately helped destroy Nicci, the morazeth had not won her battle as quickly or cleanly as the sovrena had expected.
“Have you found her body yet?” Thora asked. “She fell from the tower, so she must be sprawled down in the city below.”
Adessa twitched as she turned away. “No, Sovrena. Captain Stuart and the city guard have searched the streets and the rooftops. We should have found her broken corpse somewhere down there.”
In cages behind her raised chair, newly captured larks twittered and chirped, but their music did little to calm Thora now. She stood from her throne and walked across the polished blue marble tiles to the newly repaired windows. She threw them open, breathing in the cool morning breeze, and stared down at the city. Nicci had been flung through these windows with all the force Thora could summon. She could have fallen anywhere. “I’d expect some citizen to report a smashed body in his backyard or gutters.”
“We would expect that, Sovrena, yet it has not happened.”
“Find her body,” Thora said. “The people are talking about Nicci as much as they mutter about that fool Mirrormask.”
Though no duma meeting had been called that morning, she preferred to stay in the ruling chamber, because it was hers. Sitting on her throne, staring out the windows, the sovrena was reminded of her power and her place. Ildakar belonged to her. The duma members, and even her husband, were just trappings. She was the sovrena, and this was her utopia, her plan all along. She had developed her vision after seeing the army of General Utros cross the plains. The rest of Ildakar had been terrified, but Thora had seen an opportunity.
With the shroud in place, they were protected, yes, but they were also sheltered from outside influences, dangerous ideas, the poison of teachings and opinions that did not match her own. Ildakar had been perfect for fifteen centuries … until the magic weakened and the shroud spell faded. A decade ago, the legendary city had flickered and returned from its bubble outside of time—exposed and vulnerable. Visitors could come from lands afar and bring their unsettling ideas that did not belong in Ildakar.
Nicci was merely the most egregious example of the dangers Ildakaran society faced. Fortunately, after the recent bloodworking, the shroud was back and Sovrena Thora could rest easily … for a time.
But she also knew that spell was thin and temporary, because they had not spilled enough blood. She and Maxim continually bickered over whether to make the shroud permanent again. The rules of magic in the outside world had changed dramatically, unstable and shifting now, and Thora couldn’t tell how long even a grand-scale bloodletting would last.
But it had to be done.
As she stood inside the ruling chamber, listening to the breeze curl through the open windows, Thora made up her mind. She was the sovrena. She didn’t care what the duma members thought, because they would follow her command. Some might mutter, and Maxim would surely complain—but he always complained, and she would keep to her decision.
“The shroud is in place,” Thora said, “but we must make it stronger.”
Adessa straightened. “The only way to make the shroud stronger is to shed more blood.”
“Yes,” Thora said with a thin smile, “and we must shed so much blood that the shroud remains intact for a thousand years. That will give us enough time to ferret out Mirrormask and his vermin. Begin the preparations! We have to restore and calibrate the apparatus on top of the pyramid, but I want you to begin selecting and gathering slaves, all of the remaining ones the Norukai just brought, and more.” She tapped a finger on the stone sill of the window, calculating. “I would say three hundred. Yes, let us make it three hundred. Round up the candidates we need, seize additional ones from the gifted nobles … and if they complain, tell them to consider it a tax for their own safety.”
She slowly paced the room as thoughts churned in her mind. Yes, all that blood would be extravagant, but powerful. “Have the slave masters work with them, use the peaceflowers to keep them docile.” She climbed back to the dais and settled into her throne, where she belonged.
“That will take some time, Sovrena,” Adessa said. “At least two or three days.”
“Two days,” Thora said. “And enlist the aid of the city guard as well. The people will cheer and rejoice. They know what Ildakar used to be and what it can be again—but only if the shroud is permanent.”
She was still troubled about Nicci’s challenge, which had very nearly succeeded. Thora stared at the petrified figure of the sorceress Lani standing near the wall. That woman had been defiant, too—principled and naive, wishing to expand the duma to include members of the lower castes. Absurd!
Lani had been overconfident in her own abilities and underestimating Thora’s. She had been a dreamer, a gifted woman who played with water and performed tricks for children, as if the gift were such a trivial thing. Lani, too, had fed birds and drawn them around her. Thora remembered how she would delight in standing on the highest levels of the tower, holding out her arms and letting the songbirds flit around her.
After the sovrena defeated that challenge, she had decided to cage the larks, which seemed appropriate. Beaten and bleeding, Lani had crawled away, withdrawing her challenge, begging and surrendering. Lani thought that would be the end of the matter, but the sovrena was just getting started. Taking his wife’s side, Maxim had worked his petrification spell to turn the defeated challenger into the statue just as Lani turned with a last gesture of defiance. Lani served as a grim reminder for any other duma members who might consi
der a similar challenge—as Nicci had done. And Nicci had failed as well.
Thora gritted her teeth, still wishing they could find the woman’s lifeless body. Maybe she could convince her husband to turn the broken corpse to stone. She wanted to stand Nicci’s mangled statue in the ruling chamber as yet another reminder.
“Three hundred slaves will be rounded up for the ceremony, as you command, Sovrena,” Adessa said with a curt bow. “Although with that much bloodshed, I wish we could use some of the slaves in the combat arena. It seems a waste. All those potential fighters…”
“It is not a waste if the bloodworking solidifies the shroud,” Thora said. “We will have plenty of time to encourage the common slaves to breed and replenish their stock.” Her face hardened. “Gather the sacrifices.”
The morazeth nodded. “Yes, Sovrena. In two days.”
“Two days,” Thora agreed. She could already feel the anticipation building.
CHAPTER 63
Down in the training pits, with his body scabbed and sore, Bannon braced himself for another day of training.
His skull still thrummed with echoes of pain. He had been so severely injured by Ian’s knout that one of the gifted workers had been forced to heal his cracked skull. Lila forcefully prevented the healer from doing anything more than was absolutely necessary, however. “The boy needs to feel his pain,” she had said. “Every bruise, every ache, every cut is a lesson he must remember.”
“Sweet Sea Mother, I remember well enough,” Bannon groaned.
Lila had playfully stroked his cheek. Her smile was filled with more hunger than humor. “I prefer to keep you intact for more play. You have so much to learn.”
He resisted, but it did him no good. Soon enough he learned to use his energies in more productive ways, such as keeping himself alive. He had heard nothing of Nathan or Nicci, but he was sure they must be looking for him. What if Amos and his companions had covered up his disappearance? His heart ached.
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