Shroud of Eternity

by Terry Goodkind

  Nicci rallied the rebels as they raced up the streets toward the high levels of the city. “We have to stop the bloodworking, before the council members trap us here forever!”

  They passed orchards and hanging gardens, olive groves and trellised vineyards. She glanced back to see the hundreds of dirt- and blood-smeared followers that crowded up after her. The people looked to her with hope, with faith. She was reminded of the earnest citizens who had fought together to overthrow the Imperial Order in Altur’Rang—Victor, Ishaq, and so many who had followed her desperate plan. Nicci’s heart felt strong as she realized that these Ildakaran followers were here because they chose to be. They were willing to shed their own blood for this glorious goal, not because they were commanded to, but because they wanted to.

  In the streets below, she saw countless figures moving in the flickering light of hungry fires. Although the gigantic stone army of General Utros covered the plain outside the walls, hundreds of thousands strong, the greatest enemy of Ildakar lay under the protective shroud. Sovrena Thora. That one woman had caused more damage and pain than any invading army.

  Nicci’s followers reached the city’s highest level, where countless gifted nobles had already gathered. Some of them anticipated the spectacle of the ritual, while others sought protection against the bloody chaos in the streets. At the edge of the plateau, the ruling tower stood tall and dark, while bright celebratory lights surrounded the sacrificial pyramid.

  Seeing the ominous glow of ceremonial fires, the rebels rushed forward, howling for revenge. Mrra let out an earsplitting roar. Nicci, Nathan, and Bannon reached the upper level, accompanied by their ally Elsa. The front ranks of rebels obviously hoped to see Mirrormask waiting for them at their destination, ready for the great climax, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  It didn’t matter. Nicci led them now. “Free the sacrificial slaves, and they will be our allies as well. We’ll increase the size of our army.”

  The frightened, gifted nobles of Ildakar stood together, trying to defend themselves. Many summoned magic—flashes of fire, blasts of wind, even small lightning bolts that lanced down at the oncoming horde.

  Though seven of her followers were struck down in the concerted attack, Nicci didn’t slow her pace. She summoned a blast of wind like a hurricane, knocking over a dozen frightened nobles, but others redoubled their attack, hurling magical blasts at the oncoming mob.

  Nathan touched Nicci’s shoulder and offered her a quirk of a smile. “Allow me, Sorceress. It’ll feel so good to exercise my abilities.”

  He extended his hands in front of him, palms pressed together, and snapped his arms apart. With the full force of his gift, he parted the crowded nobles and cleaved open a path all the way to the base of the pyramid. Mrra bounded ahead, and Nicci ran forward, followed by Bannon and Elsa.

  When they reached the base, she saw hundreds of naked men and women held in pens, crowded on the wide platforms of the stair-stepped pyramid. The barricades looked flimsy, and the sacrificial slaves could easily have escaped, but they were cowed, drugged into complacency.

  Nicci ran up the steps, reaching the first group of slaves. They huddled, muttering wordlessly among themselves. All were gaunt and starving, because once they had been culled out of the ranks and set aside to be slaughtered, Ildakar would not have wasted any resources to feed them. Sovrena Thora just needed them alive for the bloodworking.

  Nicci was startled to recognize an old woman among them. She remembered Melba, the slave who always brought fresh bread down into the tunnels. Now Nicci understood why the woman had not joined them for several days. She must have been taken, gathered with these other slaves for the great bloodworking. Nicci’s anger grew even sharper.

  “Why don’t they run?” Bannon said, swinging his sword to frighten away a skittish nobleman. “They could all get away without much effort. They should just fight!”

  “It is the perfume of the peaceflower,” Elsa explained. “The red wisterias keep them docile, like herd animals.”

  Nicci saw that silver-coated bleeding troughs had been placed on every level, with channels leading up the slope to the complex spell-form on top of the pyramid. Hundreds of the slaves could be butchered at once, their blood flowing into catchbasins from which it would be drawn through magical compulsion into the proper patterns.

  Nicci knew that if they could be roused, the slaves would be hungry and maddened, ready to shed blood—like the tormented animals in the combat pits. Mrra padded next to her, growling.

  Elsa said, “We can awaken them using the gift. Simply release a flow of energy, and that will vitalize them.”

  “We can counteract the soporific effects of that perfume,” Nathan said. He extended his hand, looked down at his outstretched fingers, and closed his eyes. Elsa followed his motions, added her gift as well.

  Nicci stared up the steep steps toward the pyramid’s apex, where she saw three figures on the top platform: wizards Quentin and Damon beside the icy Sovrena Thora, who glared down at the rabble. Wizard Commander Maxim was not with them.

  Nicci knew where to focus her attention.

  The hundreds of sacrificial slaves blinked their eyes, raised their hands, and turned to one another, gasping, groaning, and raising their voices in angry confusion. Bannon ran to throw open the first flimsy barricade that held them there. “We freed you—now fight alongside us. We can end this oppression once and for all.”

  The awakened slaves did not need further instructions. They cheered, some in heavily accented voices. They had been captured wherever the Norukai raids took place, all across the Old World, and others had been drawn from the ranks of Ildakaran house slaves. Eager to get out, they broke down the corral walls and swarmed alongside the rest of the rebels. Even Melba was with them, shouting.

  Bannon flushed. “Sweet Sea Mother, they listened to me!”

  “Get them away from the pyramid, my boy!” Nathan called. “I don’t think it’ll be safe up here in a few minutes.”

  Concerned for her sister panther, Nicci sent Mrra after them. The big cat was growling and restless, but Nicci did not want to bring her panther up to the top of the pyramid. With a thrash of her tail, Mrra leaped down to join Bannon and the milling slaves.

  With Elsa following them, Nicci and Nathan ran up the steep stone stairs of the pyramid. Nicci was the first to reach the top, where Thora stood ready to face her with murder in her eyes. Quentin and Damon remained nervously on either side of the sovrena, near the complex apparatus of crucibles, mirrors, and rotating prisms, all of which sustained the shroud of eternity.

  Nicci stepped forward, her eyes locked on Thora’s sea-green gaze. “We will stop your blood magic, as I should have done the first time. We will tear down the shroud.”

  The other woman clenched her hands, and her looped, braided hair writhed around her head as she summoned the immensity of her gift. “Not if I stand before you! I defeated you before, and I’ll defeat you again.”

  Nicci called on her own magic. “Do I look defeated? I was hoping you would fight back. Just you and me.” She climbed a step higher. “Where is your husband?”

  “He is a coward. And a traitor!”

  Elsa called to her fellow duma members, “Damon, Quentin, you can’t support her in this. Do you wish to be trapped here forever? Do you want to see so much blood spilled just so we can hide from the rest of the world? There’s no longer any need!”

  Nicci called down lightning. Summoning both Additive and Subtractive Magic, drawing on the dark techniques she had learned when she served the Keeper, as well as the power she had stolen from wizards she had killed, Nicci pulled black lightning out of the air, calling it from beneath the barely visible dome overhead. Crackling bolts sliced down to strike the top of the pyramid and splintered into a dozen equally destructive bolts. Woven within the dark bolt, Additive Magic generated more traditional lightning. A second searing blast ripped open the carefully inlaid spell-forms on the top platform.

  With
a cry of dismay, Thora lashed out with her own writhing mass of electrical energy, which Nicci deflected. A storm of static sizzled up into the sky, spinning out and unraveling until it limned the boundary of the invisible dome.

  “You can’t have all the fun, Sorceress.” Nathan raised both of his fists, unleashing his reawakened gift in expanding spheres of wizard’s fire. The flames roared across the apparatus, striking the crystal prisms and splitting, fanning out in multicolored fire that destroyed the contraptions.

  Side by side, the wizards Quentin and Damon threw up their own defensive shields to block the onslaught and reflect the fire back, nearly striking Thora. It might have been an accident, but Nicci couldn’t be sure. At the last instant, the sovrena called up wind herself and blocked the destruction. Gouts of flame sprayed in all directions, scattering the angry evacuating slaves.

  “Get the slaves out of here!” Nicci shouted down. “Make them retreat.”

  As Death’s Mistress, she had sent countless thousands of soldiers to their deaths for a cause that she had believed appropriate at the time. She had enough blood on her hands that death no longer bothered her, but the people were innocents. They had been marked for sacrifice, and if she saved them from slaughter only to let them become collateral damage in her battle with Thora, then that would be no worthwhile victory at all.

  Bannon took up the cry as he rushed the slaves in the other direction, joining the panicked nobles who were also flocking away from the pyramid.

  Nicci did not want anything to hold her back. She knew she was going to need all her strength.

  Quentin and Damon looked over at Elsa, saw the danger in Nicci’s face, and decided they’d had enough. “We want no part of this, Sovrena,” Quentin cried, and he raced down the opposite set of stairs, followed by Damon.

  Nicci called down another braided bolt of lightning, and the explosion blasted the top of the pyramid, wrecked the remnants of the spell-form, and shattered the upper platform. The impact hit Thora in an eruption of fire and pulverized stone. The sovrena used her gift to encircle herself in a cocoon of smoke and light, spinning as she tumbled away from the blast, vanishing from the pyramid. Nicci couldn’t see her as the clouds of destruction spread in all directions.

  Nathan clasped her shoulder and said, “Together, we have enough power to level this structure once and for all.”

  “That would be a good idea, Wizard.”

  They retreated down to the base of the pyramid, gathering their magic for a final attack. From the bottom level, Nathan launched more wizard’s fire in a hot fury that ate away the mammoth blocks, sizzling through the stone platforms, breaking the pyramid to the core.

  Running backward, Elsa pointed up at the sky. “Look, it’s changing! It’s fading.”

  The stars overhead rippled as the watery dome began to thin and dissipate. The crowds below shouted, cheered, or wailed. “The shroud! The shroud is falling!” Others took up the chant.

  Nicci was glad. “That is exactly what I intended to do.”

  “And we have succeeded,” Nathan said.

  Together, she and Nathan—with assistance from Elsa—called down all the fury of their gift: explosions and fireballs, lightning bolt after lightning bolt. For long minutes, the awed crowds on top of the plateau, both gifted nobles and rebel slaves, watched the outpouring of destructive power.

  The towering pyramid, one of the most imposing structures in Ildakar, became nothing more than broken, smoldering rubble, veiled by clouds of smoke that drifted away into the tension of the night.

  A bright glint shone in Nathan’s azure eyes. “We’re not done yet, are we?”

  Nicci turned from the ruined pyramid to the high ruling tower. “No, too much still remains.”

  CHAPTER 77

  Wizard Renn was astonished when the optimistic Captain Trevor proved himself right—that they would indeed find Cliffwall. Despite his proclaimed confidence, though, the guard captain seemed just as surprised to stumble upon their destination.

  Weary, footsore, and hungry, having lost three men along the way, the group plodded along the rocky bottom of a high-walled canyon until they reached a dead end. Ignoring the groans of disappointment from the men behind him, the captain went to the stone wall and leaned against the cool slickrock. “At least there’s shade.” He shook his head. “We’ll rest before we retrace our steps.”

  He accidentally discovered a crack that led through the towering wall and into another network of canyons beyond. Renn followed. As the sky opened up above them, they heard running water, saw green meadows, terraced gardens—and buildings erected inside cliff alcoves high above … an actual city hidden here. Farther down the canyon, he saw horses, groups of men, lines of tents, a large encampment of some sort.

  “This is Cliffwall,” Trevor said. “It has to be.”

  Renn discovered energy again, and he suddenly realized he wasn’t ready for such an important meeting. Self-consciously, he brushed down his ragged and stained robes and released his gift, drawing on magic to freshen up the cloth, brighten the maroon dye, neaten the tattered hems. “We must look presentable when we reclaim Cliffwall in the name of Ildakar.” With a gesture, he released the magic into Captain Trevor and the other guards, polishing their armor, removing the dust from their faces, cleaning their hair.

  “There,” he said, satisfied, “you look fresh and intimidating now.”

  “Why couldn’t you have done that days ago?” complained one of the guards. “We’ve been miserable.”

  “Because it wasn’t necessary,” Renn said. “Come, if this is Cliffwall, we have our orders.”

  Renn, Trevor, and the guards hurried into the canyon, where they were soon discovered. When natives came up to greet them, Renn took charge, resplendent in his clean maroon robes. He placed himself in front of Captain Trevor so the others would know who was in charge. “I am the wizard Renn, and this is my escort. We journeyed long and hard to find Cliffwall. I would speak with your leaders. It is an urgent matter.”

  “We’ll take you there,” said one of the farmers. “Now that the archives have been opened again, we were told to expect many gifted visitors.”

  Renn was unhappy that after the toll of the arduous journey, their arrival wasn’t treated as something more significant. “You haven’t been expecting any visitors like me,” he said.

  They stared up at the huge alcove that held towering stone-fronted structures. Renn nodded and said to Trevor, “It’s not like Ildakar, but at least it’s civilization, and there’s plenty of water and food. It will do.”

  The relieved guards muttered their agreement. “Take us up there,” Renn instructed.

  The farmers guided the group to the base of a narrow trail that wound precariously up to the sheer wall, but none of the locals showed any interest in following them up there. “The path is clear. At the main entrance of the largest tower, you’ll find scholars who can help you.”

  Captain Trevor thanked the man. Pulling his maroon robes close so he wouldn’t trip on them, Renn set his gaze forward and trudged up the steep path, showing no nervousness about the sheer drop-off. After climbing high above the canyon floor, they reached the immense alcove filled with buildings. Trevor and his weary men gawked at the stone façades, the tall windows of colored glass, the perfect arch over the main entryway.

  Gathering his courage, Renn pushed his way to the tall arch. Thick, dark-stained wooden doors stood open on massive hinges, welcoming visitors inside. Wrapping his grandeur around him like a cloak, reminding himself that he was a respected member of the wizards’ duma of Ildakar, Renn strode into the huge echoing foyer of the outermost archive building. Captain Trevor and his nine men followed close at his heels.

  Inside, Renn looked at the polished marble pillars veined with brown and gold, which held up the arched ceiling. Bright magical lights glowed from sconces and alcoves in the walls. People in scholars’ robes moved about, often reading books as they walked. They looked up at the unexpected visit
ors.

  Standing in the open hall, Renn summoned a bright flame in his hand to demonstrate his gift and announced himself in a loud voice. “I am the wizard Renn, a member of the ruling council of Ildakar. I have come here on a mission, escorted by these brave men, to reclaim what is ours.”

  “And what is yours?” asked an older, distinguished woman. Her dark curly hair was shot through with strands of gray. She glided out of a side passage. “I am Prelate Verna of the Sisters of the Light.”

  She was accompanied by a man wearing military armor and an insignia of a stylized “R” that Renn did not recognize—probably some pompous minor dictator, like Emperor Kurgan had been. The military man looked at them with his dark eyes, his expression shadowed with suspicion.

  Renn stated his business. “We demand that you turn over all the knowledge in this archive to its rightful owners—the city of Ildakar.”

  Prelate Verna looked more surprised than terrified. She placed her hands on her hips. Flushing a deep bronze, the military man beside her raised his voice and called for his own soldiers.

  Verna faced Renn and said, “Then I am afraid we have a problem.”

  CHAPTER 78

  Carried along by rage as well as adrenaline, Thora fled the destruction of the pyramid and took refuge in the ruling tower, her last bastion of strength. Not only had the bloodworking been disrupted, but the shroud that protected and preserved Ildakar was gone.

  The sovrena’s heart was as broken as the great structure had been. Her perfect society was crumbling. Her power was shattered, her grip on the city failing.

  It was already too late—she knew—but she refused to accept defeat. Marching across the broken blue tiles, she climbed the dais and flung herself into her throne. She squeezed the wooden armrests so tightly, unconsciously releasing a trickle of her gift, that the chair itself cracked. “I am the sovrena!” she shouted to the empty room.

  Her words echoed back at her, mocking.