Siege of Stone

by Terry Goodkind

  Bannon raised a hand, realizing that now he was protecting her. “It’ll take time. You’ve already made your point. Your grievances are still valid.”

  Lila seemed oblivious to her danger. A couple of people took flaming brands from the cook fires, and another man found a makeshift wooden club. She didn’t flinch as they approached.

  Bannon’s voice grew more urgent. “Look at how much has changed in such a short time. The wizard commander is gone, the sovrena is in a dungeon. You’ve made progress. Don’t destroy it by some foolish action. We all have to fight against General Utros.”

  “The morazeth bitches should be in dungeons, too,” said a young man with a crippled arm. “Think of what they did to those arena fighters, what they did to you, Bannon! I was at your side when we freed the victims up at the pyramid.”

  “How can you stand with her?” sneered the woman washing clothes, shooting a glare at Lila. “Didn’t she beat you? Break you?”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” Bannon said, his voice uncertain.

  Lila turned her glare on the people who had made their makeshift settlement in the slave market. “You live in Ildakar and you’ve seen the thousands of enemy soldiers outside the walls. Our true battle is against General Utros, our common enemy. Once he is defeated and the city is safe, then we can discuss the niceties of equality and representative rule. But right now we’re at war, and we need all fighters.”

  Her tone of voice did not appease them. One man was braiding long leather thongs into what would become a bullwhip. He spoke up. “Over the last few years, lots of escaped slaves slipped out the city and made new lives for themselves in Stravera and other mountain towns. I stayed, but what if that was a mistake? The sooner Ildakar falls, maybe the better it is for us.”

  Someone else said, “We should just leave the city and join General Utros.”

  Now Lila was incensed. “Then you are truly the enemies of Ildakar and should be killed here and now.”

  “Lila!” Bannon cried out, afraid the mob would swarm forward. “Sweet Sea Mother, don’t you see where you are?”

  “Yes, I am among potential traitors.”

  Then a young man’s voice broke in, surprising them. “I don’t care what’s been done to us by some arrogant nobles. Ildakar is still our city. Do we want to earn our new place in it, or not? What would Mirrormask say?”

  “Mirrormask betrayed us, too,” grunted the man with the bullwhip.

  Bannon turned to see a ragamuffin figure with unruly hair, a boy no older than fourteen in a rough-spun tunic and flimsy sandals. Oddly, the boy’s skin, his face, his hair all had a pale powdery appearance, a hint of gray on his flesh. Bannon suddenly recognized him. “I know you—you’re the yaxen herder, the boy caught working for Mirrormask.”

  “I planted mirror shards, as a symbol, and then I was caught by the morazeth.” The boy snorted at Lila. “I think she was one of them, but they all look alike to me.”

  “As you look alike to us,” Lila said.

  Bannon remembered the day Adessa and other morazeth had dragged this captive young man into the ruling tower. The boy had confessed his involvement with the rebels, and Wizard Commander Maxim had worked the stone spell on him before the boy could confess any details. Since Maxim himself was Mirrormask, Bannon understood now why the wizard commander had needed to silence the captive boy.

  He said, “You do know that Mirrormask was lying to you? Using the unrest of the lower classes for his own purposes, not for your good.”

  The boy looked downcast. “That doesn’t mean his words weren’t true. We staged the revolt for our own reasons, not for his.”

  Clearly angry, Lila placed her hands on the black wrap around her waist, touching the agile knife that could inflict incredible pain on others. “Ildakar is your city, no matter what. Will you fight for it, or will you shirk your duties and complain?”

  Bannon stepped closer to the half-stone yaxen herder. “They placed you as a statue in the slave market to warn others against resisting the nobles.”

  “And how did that work?” the young boy snorted. “I’m Timothy. Everyone here knows me.” He gave a stiff grin. “In some ways, becoming a statue was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.” He turned around, and Bannon realized that the freed slaves camped in the broad market did indeed defer to him.

  Timothy raised his voice to all of them. “I agree with the morazeth in this. Ildakar is our city. We fought too hard to be free, and now that we have much of what we wanted, would you just give it up?”

  Bannon stood closer to the boy. “We’re all fighting for the same thing, really, and judging by the size of the army out there, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

  Timothy stared uncertainly at Bannon for a long time. “I’ve heard of you. I know what you did breaking the warriors free, fighting alongside Nicci.” But he shook his head at Lila. “Since I worked for Mirrormask, I accepted that I’d probably be caught someday, but that didn’t stop me from spreading messages, helping recruit others to fight for the cause.”

  “And we found you,” Lila said, “and so many others.”

  “Still, we won,” Timothy said with a shrug. He seemed young, happy-go-lucky, and determined, as if he had iron inside of him as well as stone. “I’ll agree to fight for Ildakar, and so will all these people—but only if we have part of the city once we win.”

  Remembering the vast army outside, the pounding stone fists that made the thick walls echo and tremble, Bannon wasn’t sure anything would remain unless they won, and soon.

  “We need an army,” Lila said in a haughty voice, “not muttering slaves who hide under tents in the city square.”

  Timothy crossed his arms over his hardened chest. “I’ll fight, but only if I can be part of a real army. It’s better than herding yaxen.”

  Lila stepped very close to him, intimidating, but the boy didn’t back down. “You’re just a scrawny wisp of a child. What would you do for our army? Trip some of Utros’s soldiers?”

  He gazed right back at her, mirroring her defiance. “I’ll fight.”

  “You could never be a real fighter. How could you inflict any damage?” In a lightning strike, Lila backhanded him hard across his chest.

  Surprisingly, her knuckles cracked against his tough skin. The blow would have knocked anyone else backward, but Timothy remained sturdy, as if anchored to the flagstones.

  Shocked, the morazeth looked at her stinging hand. Her knuckles were bloody.

  Timothy chuckled and offhandedly struck her in return. Lila wasn’t expecting the blow, and she staggered from the impact. She blinked in amazement, then turned to the street scamp with greater respect. “Maybe we can make fighters out of you after all.”

  “Teach me how to fight, and I’ll show you what I can do,” said Timothy.

  The freed slaves in their camp looked up from cook fires, while others emerged from silken tents.

  Lila gave a small smile, glancing at Bannon. “I could train him into an adequate fighter. Let me teach you, Timothy. I’ll take you under my wing.”

  “Teach all of us how to fight,” the young man said, “or it’s no bargain at all.”

  The morazeth considered, while the freed slaves muttered. They respected Timothy for the ordeal he had gone through, and now he was forcing them to put their unrest, their dissatisfaction, and their complaints into real action.

  Bannon felt strangely relieved. “We’ll be happy to have you as part of Ildakar’s defenses. We need every fighter right now.”

  CHAPTER 22

  The high windows in the ruling chamber were open to let the breezes and city noises waft in, along with the renewed drumbeat of fists pounding against the wall. Nicci sat by herself, her blond hair ragged and uneven, roughly shorn after the spell attack.

  Quentin looked down at a long strip of paper spread out on his table, where he had written lists. He raised his voice to get the attention of the duma members. “What is our next order of business?�
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  Damon sat beside Quentin, peering down at ledgers as if searching for some number in a long-forgotten accounting. Oron sat in another seat wearing a fur-lined cape and a fur-collared shirt. He used a stubby knife to scrape beneath his fingernails, removing the residue of blood. Beside him on the stone bench perched a short-statured woman, Olgya, who ran the silk spinners’ guild, another new duma member. Her round eyes were highlighted with crow’s-feet. Her long, straight brown hair was shot with lines of pale gray, as if infused with strands of raw silk and gathered in clumps tied with bright silk ribbons. She was also Jed’s mother.

  The meeting had droned on with very little progress, and Nicci was growing impatient. High Captain Stuart presented a long list of new defenders who had been recruited from the arena fighters, along with hundreds of volunteer militia members, citizens of Ildakar willing to fight. “With such a large population, we will have a formidable army if we choose to attack the general’s forces,” he said. “Given the right circumstances, our numbers might even match theirs.”

  “A full-fledged military offensive on our part could certainly cause a great deal of damage,” Damon said. “And think of Ildakar’s gifted! Utros has only two sorceresses, while we have many powerful wizards.”

  “Who would lead such a strike?” Oron asked.

  Glancing at the unoccupied thrones of the wizard commander and sovrena, Oron spoke up. “Sooner or later we have to choose new leaders. We dare not let these duma meetings become tedious arguments, as they were for centuries. We are under siege—we need more than a committee!”

  Nicci rose to her feet and self-consciously ran her hand through her ragged hair. “Before choosing leaders, we must finish—no, you must finish—filling the vacancies in the duma, and your ruling council cannot be composed only of Ildakaran nobles, as it was before.” She nodded a signal to High Captain Stuart, who ran into the hall to fetch the person waiting outside the ruling chamber.

  “We already invited you and the wizard Nathan to formally join us,” said the stony sorceress Lani. “You two are the best candidates, and we need your gift to help us fight. Why not agree to become members of the council?”

  “We will not join your duma,” Nicci insisted. “We are not part of your city. You have to make your own decisions—fair decisions, for all the people.” She softened her voice, showing a small amount of conciliation. “But we will help.”

  Damon sighed. “Then whom do you suggest? We have other gifted people in Ildakar, but nobody who has our standing.”

  “Did you learn nothing from the recent uprising?” Nicci snapped. “Freedom and a stable society must be built from all sides. You require a duma representing the citizens of Ildakar—all people. Your city is home to more than just wizards, more than nobles, and you can’t restrict the duma to nobles. You need representatives from the merchants, the lower classes, even the slaves.”

  They all turned as Rendell entered, a reliable and determined older man who had helped nurse Nicci back to health after her battle with Thora. All the former followers of Mirrormask respected him. “Welcome, Rendell. I would like everyone here to consider you as the next member of the duma. Every group in the city must have a voice.”

  Elsa looked puzzled, while the expression on Lani’s stony face was unreadable, but Quentin, Damon, and Olgya frowned. Oron snorted. “He’s a slave! We’re trying to save Ildakar.”

  “There are other ways to save the city,” Nicci said, “and Ildakar will be better able to save itself if you give all your people the same goal. If Rendell has a seat on the council, he can speak on behalf of the lower classes. As you saw on the night of the revolt, they can be ruthless fighters. Imagine what they could do against enemy soldiers.”

  Quentin blew a loud breath out through his nostrils. “A slave does not belong in the duma. Haven’t those animals already killed enough nobles? I heard another one was beheaded yesterday. How can you think of rewarding them?”

  Rendell stepped forward, indignant and speaking loudly for himself. “I’m not a slave. I am free now, and I am a citizen. I represent many thousands of people who could just as easily become your worst nightmare.”

  “He threatens another revolt!” Olgya cried. “While the city is under siege!”

  “Several nobles have been murdered by the rabble in recent days,” Oron said. “How can we trust someone like him?”

  Rendell looked deeply saddened. “I’ll speak with them, demand that they stop their unrest for now. I can redirect their anger, if you will listen to our grievances and let us be a part of this city in a meaningful way.”

  Quentin scowled. “Why would we need them?”

  Nicci spun to face the dark-skinned wizard. “Are you all deaf? He offered you a large fighting force, and all you have to do is treat them fairly. Did you not just suggest launching an attack on the siege army?”

  “We can’t turn down their help,” Elsa said. “For many centuries we’ve asked the slaves to maintain Ildakar. This city is their home, too. Give those people a voice, and they may fight passionately to protect Ildakar. We should let Rendell be a provisional member of the new duma, just to control the unrest.”

  “If General Utros breaks down the walls and tears apart the city, we’ll all be dead,” Oron said with a continued scowl. “I’d rather Rendell’s people died fighting enemy soldiers instead of murdering us in our beds.” He shrugged. “Throw the slaves this little bone so we no longer need to worry about them.”

  An insulted expression crossed Rendell’s face, but before he could speak, Nicci stepped out onto the blue marble floor. “That is a start, but not good enough. The duma must also include merchants, tradesmen. All of Ildakar needs to feel they are heard. If you do this, then after the siege is broken you will have a solid foundation for your city. You may even make Ildakar into the perfect society that Sovrena Thora imagined she was creating.”

  “I still think it’s risky,” Quentin grumbled.

  “And foolish,” Damon added.

  “It’s not foolish.” Lani rose from the stone bench near Nathan and Elsa. “Many things will have to change now that Sovrena Thora has been overthrown.” She turned to face the former slave. “I, too, welcome Rendell to the duma.”

  “I cast my vote in favor,” Nathan added, “if my vote counts.”

  “Good enough,” said Oron.

  Olgya fiddled with one of her braids, then tossed it over her shoulder. “I suppose it doesn’t make much difference. Now can we move on to more important business?”

  Outvoted, Damon and Quentin sat down and shrugged. “It’s done for now,” Quentin said, “and I hope we haven’t made a mistake.”

  “The duma has made mistakes before,” Lani pointed out. “That’s why we’re in trouble now. If Thora hadn’t sent my dear Renn away on a fool’s mission, we’d have another strong wizard in the fight against Utros.” Her long sigh sounded hollow through her partially petrified lips. “I hope he’s all right out there.…”

  Nicci spoke again, addressing the duma. “This isn’t just an administrative meeting, but a war council. We have to make decisions. What are we going to do, now that the general’s sorceresses have attacked here?” She swept her blue gaze across the members, touched her ragged hair. “How will you respond?”

  “What options do we have?” Damon asked.

  Elsa leaned forward, placed her elbows on the stone table. “All options? Well, we can annihilate Utros and his army … which doesn’t seem likely. Or we can drive them away, scatter them to other lands.”

  “Even if we could break the siege and drive them away, it would only turn them loose on the rest of the Old World,” Nicci said. “And my responsibility is greater than just this one city.”

  Elsa raised a third finger. “I’m just listing all options, however unpalatable they may be. Another possibility is that Ildakar can simply surrender, open its gates and let the city be overrun.”

  Amid the shocked whispers around the tables, Lani said, “I’d rath
er not make that choice.”

  Elsa smiled. “So, I think our best option is the fourth one.” She glanced at Nathan. “We find some way to negotiate a peace. That is the general’s best option, too. What is he still fighting for? What purpose does this siege serve? He no longer even has an emperor.”

  Nicci said, “He does not seem to be in a mind-set for negotiating. His sorceresses attacked me.”

  “If we prove our strength, then he’ll listen,” said Oron. “I say we make a focused attack, target one section of his army, and give him a black eye. Show him what we can do and threaten much worse if he isn’t reasonable.” He sniffed. “We are not to be trifled with.”

  “Those are all the choices I can think of,” Elsa said.

  The duma members talked among themselves, considering, but Quentin interjected, “You are forgetting one other option.” He glanced at Damon, who nodded. Obviously they had discussed this before.

  The dark-haired wizard stroked his drooping mustaches and said, “We know how to work the blood magic. It’s been done before. We could rebuild the apparatus, make the spell-forms, and find enough volunteers for sacrifice.” He paused to let everyone realize what he was saying. “If we raised the shroud of eternity again and took Ildakar out of time, we would all be safe and protected forever.” He smiled. “We’d never need to worry about General Utros again.”

  * * *

  When the duma meeting broke for an uncomfortable recess, Nicci went to the top of the high ruling tower, where she had a view of the huge army on the expansive plain. She watched the enemy ranks drilling, like game pieces on a vast board.

  When Emperor Jagang had practiced his strategy, the big tyrant found ways to amuse himself and to hone his skills. As the Imperial Order consolidated the Old World and moved north to conquer D’Hara, he would play his game of har’kur, forcing Nicci to serve as his opponent, as Death’s Mistress. Back then, though he abused her, she had tried to please him, believing in the cause of the Order.

  In a large clearing in camp, Jagang’s soldiers would scribe lines in the turf with their spears, and then assemble the playing pieces—slaves who represented the parts of various armies. As Nicci and Emperor Jagang sat together on a wooden observation tower, they would command the game pieces to move across the field. The slaves had no choice but to go where they were told. If Nicci lost a move, Jagang’s soldiers would stride forward with their halberds and hack off the head of the losing piece.