Even with their shouts of victory, some of the Norukai heard Chalk’s shrill outcry and turned to see what had excited him.
Lila yanked at Bannon’s chain, tugging as she tried to rip the anchor bolt loose. Giving up all attempt to remain quiet, she hacked at the deck board. Trying to help, Bannon strained against the manacle, gritting his teeth.
Chalk capered up to them, shouting for the Norukai to come. “Here! Here! Another fish! Come quick!”
Lunging up, Lila punched the shaman hard in the face, doing anything to silence him. Her blow knocked him backward as if he’d been thrown from a catapult. Chalk crashed to the deck, squealing in pain and disbelief, pressing a palm to his split lip. He curled up into a ball and wailed. Bannon felt an unexpected guilt at seeing the albino hurt, but he pushed it away. They had no time!
At the front of the ship, under the lantern light, the rotting head of Wizard Commander Maxim began to shine with a sickly greenish glow. Its jaws moved and the gelatinous eyes gleamed, as if rejoicing in the death of Adessa. The dead man let out a chilling nauseating laugh, mocking them all and horrifying them.
Even Bannon heard it, and the sound made his skin crawl. The Norukai backed away, breathless and uncertain. They stared at the head. When Maxim finished laughing, his remaining skin liquefied and slid down the skull, oozing into a puddle on the barrelhead. Then even the bones crumbled into fragments.
But while Chalk kept screaming, the Norukai ran down the deck, saw Lila, and roared in alarm. Many scarred raiders thundered toward them, their weapons raised.
Lila drew Sturdy from its lashings on her back and held the blade in front of her. She crouched as if facing arena monsters, ready to defend him with her life. Bannon kept straining on the chain, planting his feet, but he couldn’t rip the bolt free.
Erik and the other slaves also pulled against their bonds, shouting, desperate to get away. Bannon thought that if they all fought back at once, some of them might even break free. But his hope dwindled as the howling Norukai closed in.
King Grieve stormed forward, his boots crashing on the deck, his skin and sharkskin vest splashed with Adessa’s blood. When he saw Chalk sprawled on the deck, nursing his bruised face and whimpering, he let out a roar of rage.
For an instant Lila was ready to face all the Norukai, refusing to admit failure, but Bannon groaned. “You’ll die, Lila. You can’t save me.” He knew it was the right thing to do.
Lila struggled with the impossibility, but when her expression changed, Bannon realized that she knew he was right. She growled, “Not this time.” As the Norukai charged in to kill her, she vowed, “I will be back for you, boy.” She flipped herself over the side of the ship, and Bannon heard the splash as she plunged into the river.
Ignoring the bound slaves, the Norukai snatched up spears and raced to the rail, looking for the ripples as she swam away. Some hurled their weapons into the water as if Lila were a channel catfish. They missed.
Seething, Bannon knew they wouldn’t kill her. Lila would get away, and she would return for him.
Miserable and shaken, King Grieve bent next to a whimpering Chalk, rocking his gangly friend back and forth. The shaman poked at where blood dripped from his split lip and swollen cheek. Though covered with gore, the king tenderly touched the albino’s smashed face. “So sorry, Chalk. I should have protected you. I should have known Adessa was part of a plan. They tried to trick us.”
Grieve rose ominously to his feet and glared at Bannon, whose hands were free though the chain still pinned him to the deck. The king stalked forward. “That woman hurt my Chalk. Now I repay the favor.”
Grieve swung his iron-plated fist like a boulder into Bannon’s face, nearly dislocating his jaw. Stars erupted through his mind as he crashed against the side of the ship and slumped to the deck, stunned.
“You deserve to die,” the king growled. “But I will give you pain instead.”
CHAPTER 35
The general’s army clashed with the Hidden People in the streets of Orogang. The regimental commanders rallied their troops to face the ragtag inhabitants, who put up a surprising resistance, but Utros’s well-trained soldiers needed no further orders to slaughter the enemy.
More and more pale, gray-clad fighters rushed out of the dark buildings. While the disciplined army used well-practiced battle maneuvers, the Hidden People fought with a frenzy that disrupted the rigid plans. It was like two thunderheads colliding with a sound of thunder.
Nicci struggled to recover after Ruva and General Utros vanished along with the body of the dead sorceress. The clamor was deafening, and she heaved hard breaths, looking at the shattered marble face of the toppled Utros statue. She had expended so much of her gift that she could barely stand. Nicci brushed stone dust from her black dress as she dredged up energy within herself. She had to help the Hidden People in their fight before they were slaughtered. Though her gift was weak, she touched the daggers at her waist, knowing she could always fight with knives.
As the battle raged in the main plaza, the ancient soldiers did not at first realize that their commander had disappeared. They simply kept massacring the poorly trained refugees who threw themselves recklessly upon them. Bodies lay strewn across the plaza, but Nicci realized the Hidden People were inflicting numerous casualties themselves. They were hardened to sacrifices, and they were determined to win this fight.
But they stood against a thousand well-trained warriors in full armor.
Sword fights swirled through the streets, between buildings, under the imposing archways. In hand-to-hand combat, the fighters dodged the rubble of toppled monoliths and shattered statues.
An ancient soldier lurched in front of Nicci, raising his bloody sword and leering at her, as if he assumed she would be an easy kill. He slashed, intending to gut her, but she deftly avoided the strike, slipped in under his backstroke, and jammed one dagger between the man’s legs. She drove upward into the soft but crippling target, and the soldier collapsed with a squeaking wail. She could have taken the time to kill him, but decided to let him lie there screaming as she ran onward. She had to turn this battle and save the Hidden People.
Mrra let out a roar that shattered even the din around them. Thanks to their spell bond, Nicci felt the big cat’s joy, the hot iron taste of fresh blood in her mouth. The sand panther drove a soldier to the ground and tore open his leather armor. With blood dripping down her muzzle, Mrra let out an even louder roar, a summoning.
Sleek, powerful feline forms bounded in, more than a dozen sand panthers in a new bestial army that struck primal fear into the enemy. The ancient warriors screamed as the huge cats bore them to the ground and ripped them open. The panthers somehow knew to avoid the gray-cloaked Hidden People and attacked only the soldiers of General Utros.
Nicci strode in among the enemy, wielding a bloody dagger in each hand. Desperate men cried out for the general, and subcommanders demanded orders, but their leader could not respond. The mood changed like a shifting storm wind as rumors started to spread that Utros had left them. The mounted army started to fight with an increased intensity that bordered on violent desperation.
The poor Hidden People had just been released from their heavy burden with the zhiss, and now it looked as if they would all die before they could reap the benefits of their well-deserved freedom. Nicci felt a flare of anger and sadness as she fought her way back toward the towering palace. Somehow, she would rally the poor people and help them fight such an overwhelming enemy. Nicci did not accept an impossible situation.
She paused to assess what remained of her gift. When she felt the magic resonating within her, she knew that even diminished she was still a powerful sorceress. She could help the Hidden People and save as many as possible.
As she passed the empty sliph well, Nicci called on a few threads of her gift and created a small sphere of wizard’s fire in her palm. She paused there and faced the fighting, ready to make a difference, to help the Hidden People win. Pulling on her magic
, she tossed the ravenous fire. The looping, twisting flames flared, then swelled into a greater flash as the fireball engulfed three enemy soldiers before fading. She had hoped for more.
She struggled to find enough of her gift to create more fire. From behind her, she heard an unexpected rushing sound of gurgling liquid that pushed upward.
She whirled to face the low sliph well in the plaza, where a roiling pool of quicksilver rose above the mouth, shaping itself into an icily beautiful human figure. Nicci was taken aback. “Sliph!”
Looming above the well, oblivious to the clamor of battle, the silver woman glowered at Nicci.
Why had the sliph come now? “I called you many times,” Nicci said.
“I heard, but I am not required to heed you.” The sliph’s face pinched into an angry expression. “I accept your terms. I will know about my Emperor Sulachan. Tell me everything.”
“Not now, sliph! I will summon you later.”
“Now,” the sliph said. “I will take you back to Serrimundi as you demand, and you must tell me about Sulachan. That is the bargain.”
Nicci raised a shield, trying to repel the sliph, but it wasn’t enough. “No, sliph! Not now.”
“Breathe!” The quicksilver wave plunged down to engulf Nicci and dragged her down into the well.
CHAPTER 36
Once the group descended out of the rugged mountains beyond Kol Adair, Nathan felt heartened. General Zimmer led the horses at a faster pace across the now-fertile valley. “On this terrain, we can get even farther ahead of the enemy army.”
Nathan rocked in his saddle as the horse moved alongside the prelate. “The sooner we get to Cliffwall, the more defenses we will be able to create.”
Verna mused, “The scholars have been cataloging the materials for years, and the memmers are sorting the vital missing pieces. By now they must have found many books containing deadly spells.”
Nathan looked across the bowl-shaped valley, remembering what it had been not long ago. Those lakes and streams, the green expanses, the lush trees, had been devastation for as far as he could see: cracked dry terrain, volcanic glass, broken fissures, all caused by the Lifedrinker, a hapless gifted student who had triggered more magic than he could handle. “It’s not finding the deadly spells I’m worried about, my dear prelate. It is controlling the awful magic that can be released.”
Verna looked doubtfully at the verdant landscape in front of her. “I know the stories about the Lifedrinker, but Victoria restored all the vegetation with a rejuvenation spell she found in the archives. Wasn’t the world saved because of her?”
Nathan clucked his tongue. “Dear spirits, who told you such nonsense? Victoria was as dangerous as the Lifedrinker, but in a different way! She also triggered a spell she didn’t understand, and her explosive vegetation would have engulfed the world. We stopped her only at a terrible, terrible cost.” His heart suddenly beat harder, as if Ivan’s dark remnants relished the painful memory. “The poor girl Thistle sacrificed her heart’s blood to give Nicci the weapon she needed.”
His long white hair blew about his shoulders as he stared toward the desert highlands where they would find Cliffwall. “Even if we do find powerful spells, will we be strong enough and wise enough to use them properly? That is what worries me the most.”
* * *
The maze of canyons had hidden Cliffwall for millennia. The young scholars Oliver and Peretta now led the way, eager to get back home. The horses clattered along the stony floor of the wide entry canyon. Ahead, the towering tan walls closed together into what looked like a dead end, but it was merely an optical illusion, with a hidden gap wide enough for two horses to travel side by side.
The party worked their way through the gap, turned left then sharply right, and emerged into a wide sheltered canyon that looked like a paradise.
Captain Trevor, the leader of the remaining Ildakaran escort guards, let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t know how we ever found this in the first place. Our party was staggering, weak, starving. We thought that Renn had led us astray.”
Oron looked around him in amazement. “If the knowledge here is as extensive as you suggest, then we will find some way to defeat General Utros.”
“In that case,” Leo said, “the final result justifies all sacrifices.”
Lady Olgya’s face pinched in a bitter expression. “Says a man who has made no sacrifices! You didn’t even have a wife or family in Ildakar. What have you lost? My son was killed by those soldiers!”
Oron grumbled, “As was mine.”
Nathan didn’t comment, since those two young men, Jed and Brock, had been despicable people who had caused Bannon great pain. But grieving parents would remember a child however they wished.
He raised his voice as they rode into the Cliffwall canyon. “The important thing is that General Utros and his army must never find this place. Cliffwall’s greatest defense is its camouflage. Those thousands of enemy soldiers are on a forced march, and no doubt starving. They should walk right past these canyons.”
“Then we could spring a trap,” said Perri, the youngest of the gifted defenders from Ildakar. “If we can figure out how.” She had been a shaper back in the city, manipulating trees and vines into interesting topiary shapes. Her gift, though powerful, was likely too subtle to be useful in any large-scale attack against General Utros.
“The Cliffwall records may suggest dozens of new methods of attack,” Verna said. “We could create a powerful gifted army of our own.”
As they proceeded forward, Nathan drank in the view. A stream ran along the canyon floor, flanked by fruit and nut orchards. Sheep grazed in open meadows, and terraced gardens lined the steep hillsides. People tending their flocks, working in their gardens, and fishing in the stream all looked up to watch the party enter the canyon.
The high, sheer walls were pocked with natural alcoves and overhangs, some of which held a personal dwelling or two. The largest overhang held a veritable city of knowledge. High up the cliff wall, a grotto contained buildings made of adobe and hardened brick, some structures so tall they reached to the curved rock ceiling. Stonemasons had added beautiful ornamentation on the façades and carved archways over the grand doors of the main archive.
Oron shaded his eyes and peered at the vertical cliff with a skeptical expression. “How do we get up there? Is that supposed to be a path?”
“There are stone steps, narrow but safe,” Oliver said. “You can climb them, if you have no fear.”
Peretta added, “And anyone who is afraid should not look in the books and scrolls stored there.”
Oron let out a snort in response to the implied insult.
They dismounted at the base of the cliff beneath the great alcove, and General Zimmer’s soldiers led the horses away to join the soldiers who had remained camped in the canyon to guard the archive.
Nathan set off up the steep zigzagging path chiseled into the sheer stone. He adjusted his sword so that it hung on the opposite hip as he climbed the precarious trail. Not only did he look forward to studying the ancient documents, but he also wanted to patch and clean his clothes, repair a crack in his boots, and replace his frayed laces with new ones.
Verna toiled up the path behind him. When they finally reached the alcove high above the canyon floor, Nathan paused to rest, breathing hard.
Several Cliffwall scholars came running out to greet the returning party. “Nathan! And Prelate Verna!”
He recognized Gloria, the matronly leader of the memmers, who had committed every word of countless written volumes to memory. She was a round-faced woman with short dark hair in an unattractive cut. Beside her walked Scholar-Archivist Franklin, a studious, serious man in charge of all the students inside Cliffwall.
The Sisters of the Light who had stayed behind also emerged from the main building. “You’ve returned,” said Mab, one of the Sisters. “You’ve been to Ildakar, and now you’re back. Tell us what you saw.”
Another Sister, Arabella, asked
, “Was Ildakar as grand as Renn claimed? Where is he? Did he stay behind?”
Nathan drew a deep breath. “We have a tale to tell indeed, but I’m afraid it is not good news. Once more, we must search the knowledge in Cliffwall in order to defend the whole world.”
CHAPTER 37
Light sizzled around General Utros, a crackling web that swallowed him and tore him away from Orogang, the fighting soldiers, the wailing Ruva and her dead sister. His body went numb, completely blinded.
Buffeted, weightless, tumbling in a void. He screamed, his skull twisted like the lid of a jar, and his thoughts howled, detached. His bones elongated, tangled, flailed like limp ribbons. The air, the world—existence itself—folded around him, then refolded, and he could hear a scream outside him and within, wrapping around his thoughts.
Ruva had caused this—he knew it. The sorceress had released some extreme form of magic to save them, but it had plunged him here. The light around Utros flared brighter until it became a wall of molten pain that hung and then shattered.
The world unfolded again, and he spilled out.
Reality crystallized in front of him, a landscape of mountains and sky. He staggered forward two steps, then his legs simply could not support him anymore. Utros crumpled to his knees, sprawled forward, and caught himself with splayed hands. He couldn’t breathe. His chest had been squeezed as if under an impossible weight of rocks.
Nearby, Ruva appeared in a slash of lightning-intense glare. She clung to the corpse of her twin sister. Smoke and the stench of burned flesh wafted up from the blackened crater in the middle of Ava’s chest.
Disoriented, Utros looked up. His gold half mask had slid down his face to cover one of his eyes, and he adjusted it so he could see. The horned helmet tumbled onto the ground beside him, clattering among the stones and patchy alpine tundra. In front of him he saw countless armored figures, an encamped army. Having seen the flash of light from Ruva’s spell, they turned to him and suddenly recognized their commander.
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