“Now we’ll have to drain and clean the fountain,” Maxim said. “I liked the dancing fish, one of our best sculptures.”
“Mirrormask did it,” Renn grumbled from the lower bench, running a finger between his second and third chins. “He and his wretched followers grow more bold every day.”
“Agreed,” said Sovrena Thora. Her face had gone pale with fury. “We must crush them.”
Nicci knew that Ildakar’s oppressive rulers only inspired such unrest. In Altur’Rang and in other cities in the south, the people had had enough of the unfair Imperial Order, and they had eventually torn it down, violently. She spoke up, “If the duma members offered equality and freedom, then the people would have no need for a Mirrormask.” She knew these wizards would be deaf to such reasoning. They were as fossilized in their ways as if one of Maxim’s petrification spells had backfired into their open minds.
Thora shot her an annoyed glare. “The wizards of Ildakar must stand firm. The city has many gifted, but we are the strongest. We have to marshal our resources.” She swung her sea-green gaze toward Nicci. “Since you are so eager to help, Sorceress, we need to understand what we have to work with. Until Andre manages to restore Nathan Rahl’s gift, we should find out how you can help us.”
“I’m not afraid to fight for a just cause,” Nicci said. “But it depends who the true enemy is.”
Quentin made a rude noise through his plump lips. “The enemy is obvious. Those butchers murdered an innocent guard. They thrust glass shards in his eyes.”
“People express their displeasure in different ways,” Nicci said.
She thought of the horrific tortures Emperor Jagang had inflicted on his captives, his servants, or his lovers if they displeased him. She remembered one balding servant with a fringe of dark hair. The poor man had stumbled while carrying a decanter of Jagang’s favorite wine. He slipped in a pool of blood seeping from the body of a scrawny young woman Jagang had just murdered by bashing her head against the stone corner of a table. Nicci—Death’s Mistress—had watched it all, immune to Jagang’s violent tendencies. He had often taken out his anger on her.
The young girl had had such a beautiful face, but when he tore her gown open to rape her, he discovered large dark moles on her breasts, and in disgust, he had killed her. The girl’s death had been swift, a response to his rage and displeasure.
But moments later, when the unfortunate servant slipped in her blood and spilled the wine, Jagang took more time meting out his punishment. He staked the man on the trampled grass outside his command tent. He had one of his surgeons slit open the man’s belly, careful not to kill him; then he had poured a basket of ravenous rats into his abdominal cavity and sewed it shut again. He left enough gaps to provide air so the rats wouldn’t suffocate, giving them time to devour all of the hapless servant’s entrails before burrowing their way up to his heart and lungs.
No, she couldn’t be overly horrified by glass shards in a dead man’s eyes.
“Mirrormask points out flaws in your society,” Nicci said. “The murder of the guard, and the glass shards in his eyes, were to make a point. Maybe if you bothered to hear why your people are dissatisfied, you could prevent further murders.”
“We’ll prevent the murders once we catch Mirrormask,” Maxim said, then lowered his voice. “If that’s even possible.”
Thora rose from her chair and left the dais. “Come with me to my sunroom, Nicci. We will discuss your abilities.”
“On the condition that I learn about your abilities as well,” Nicci said, seeing the opportunity. “The wizards of Ildakar use the gift differently from how I was trained.”
Maxim bounced up from his high seat and hurried to tag along. “I’ll join you.”
Thora’s face puckered. “And what do you add to the conversation?”
“I can offer my charming company.” He waved his hands. “High Captain Avery, go clean up the mess down by the pretty fountain. Send your men to see if you can capture those murderers, though I doubt you’ll have more luck than with the past three murders.”
“There have been three murders?” Nicci asked.
The wizard commander shrugged. “It’s a large city.”
* * *
The sovrena’s airy sunroom had walls decorated with frescoes of flowers, trees, waterfalls, and peaceful meadows in which cavorted numerous naked and well-endowed men and women.
Thora took a moment to tend her cages of larks, nearly two dozen birds crowded behind the fine gold wire. “Their music is perfect and precious. I draw peace just from watching them. My pets please me, but most of all, they know their place.” She turned a quick sidelong glance at Nicci. “They live their lives in these cages. They perform well, and they have no further aspirations.”
“How do you know what a songbird thinks?” Nicci asked.
“I can tell from their music. If they were not happy, they wouldn’t keep singing.”
Jagang had enjoyed the screams of his torture victims. “Perhaps they merely cry out in misery,” she suggested. “And you hear it as music.”
The sovrena scowled. “You are our guest, yet you persist in criticizing our ways.”
“I am here out of duty to my friend Nathan. We will leave as soon as the fleshmancer restores his gift.”
Maxim came into the room a moment later, followed by servants carrying lunch: a fresh baked fish stuffed with herbs and covered with a buttery sauce, accompanied by baskets of warm pastries and a bottle of bloodwine. The wizard commander served himself first, scooping out the flaky meat from the fish, careful to pick away the bones. He sat by himself eating. “Before long, we will raise the shroud again. You don’t wish to stay with us?”
“We will be gone by then,” Nicci said. The wizard commander made a tsking sound of disappointment.
Thora said, “When our city is safely hidden again, our customs won’t bother your sensibilities anymore.” She took a delicate bite of fish. “For now, we have to fight against heinous rebels. You said you are able to use wizard’s fire? That is not common for a sorceress. What other spells can you unleash?”
“I can unleash whatever magic is warranted in a situation,” Nicci said. “I acquired many abilities from a wizard I killed, and I also studied among the Sisters of the Light and the Sisters of the Dark.”
“Ah, so Subtractive Magic then,” Maxim said. “Most unusual.”
“You served the Keeper, and you complain of our ways?” Thora scoffed.
“I was in error. I now serve Lord Rahl and his new golden age, a world in which all people can choose their own fate and live their own lives.”
“Quaint, and impractical.” Carrying her plate, Thora tapped the gold wire cages, and the startled larks sang with great intensity. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe they sing because they are frightened, but it still sounds like beautiful music to me.”
Nicci served herself fish and fresh bread, and Maxim poured them each a goblet of the deep red bloodwine. He took a long drink of his. “Where else did you learn your magic? Other teachers? Other archives?”
“I learned from my life experience—and I have had much experience. With each new challenge, I strengthened my abilities and found new techniques. When I fight a dangerous opponent, I choose my weapons carefully.” Her voice became quiet and husky as she thought of poor Thistle and the deadly arrow poisoned with her heart’s blood. “Sometimes those weapons are terrible.”
Maxim interjected, “Your companion Bannon mentioned something about a great library. An archive of magical lore. Is that true?”
“He called it Cliffwall,” Thora said, “an immense archive that was hidden at the time of the great wars.”
Nicci was instantly wary. “Bannon spoke of this?”
“He told our son,” Maxim said. “It sounds wonderful! We shall have to investigate.” He raised his voice for any servant within earshot. “Someone, send Renn! I need him here now. Tell him the wizard commander requests it.”
Nicci he
ard a bustle of footsteps in the hall as a servant ran down the corridor. “Why do you need Renn?” she asked.
“Of all the duma members, he is our most diligent scholar. And the least useful. I’m certain he will be fascinated to hear about Cliffwall. You must tell him how to find it.”
Nicci hesitated. “It was hidden for a reason.”
“Yes, in the winding canyons on the other side of Kol Adair. We know that much,” Maxim said. “Surely it can’t be too hard to find.”
Thora searched among the rolls, but did not find one she liked. “Our histories remember when the ancient wizards secretly tried to preserve the world’s knowledge before Emperor Sulachan could destroy it all. Cliffwall was thought to be lost.”
Maxim said, “We’d better find it again and discover what other interesting lore they preserved.”
Nicci stiffened. “The information in Cliffwall is dangerous. Because the untrained scholars there didn’t know what they were doing, they almost destroyed the world. Twice, in fact.”
“All the more reason for us to send our expertise.” Maxim smiled just as the wizard Renn bustled in, swirling his maroon robes. He walked with a waddling gait, not because he was overly fat, but because his legs were so short.
Thora looked at Maxim, kept her expression cool. “It is a rare occurrence, but I agree with my husband.” She looked at the befuddled wizard. “Renn, we have a mission for you. There is a great archive called Cliffwall, a reservoir of preserved magical knowledge. Put together a party and go find it for us. Nicci will give you the information you need.”
Nicci placed her hands at her side. “You’ll never find it. It remained hidden for millennia.”
“You said yourself that its camouflage shroud is down. I’m sure Renn can discover Cliffwall.” Maxim pointed to Renn. “It’s on the other side of Kol Adair. Cross over the mountains, find the desert canyons. It can’t be difficult.”
Renn’s mouth opened and closed in astonishment as the wizard was caught between fascination and fear. “I would like nothing more than to find a new archive of information. Over the past fifteen centuries, I’ve read every book in the city of Ildakar. But if the archive is outside and … far away…” He smacked his lips together. “Well, the journey may be dangerous.”
“Then take an escort. A dozen armed guards.” Maxim sniffed. “In fact, why don’t you take that guard we met earlier, Captain … what was his name? Ahh, yes—Trevor.”
“He seemed useless here,” Thora added. “Too sickened by the sight of blood. Have him lead the group.”
“I do not think this is wise,” Nicci warned in a louder voice.
Thora scowled at her again. “You disapprove of much that we do, and yet Ildakar endures. I am the sovrena, and I make the decisions.” She gestured to dismiss Renn. “That is my command, and that is your duty as a member of the duma. Go find Cliffwall and see what we can use. It belongs to us anyway.” She squared her narrow shoulders, then nodded. “Much of that lore was taken from Ildakar three thousand years ago. It is time we had it back.”
“But … Sovrena,” Renn said, fluttering his fingers in the air. He brushed sweat from his forehead, then wiped it on his robes. “You are about to raise the shroud again. What if you restore it permanently while I am away?”
Maxim finished his bloodwine. “Then we will be very disappointed that you haven’t brought the Cliffwall records back in time.” He poured another goblet of bloodwine for himself, topped off Thora’s, then frowned when he saw that Nicci hadn’t taken so much as a sip. He waved his hand. “Go, Renn—you had better hurry!”
The wizard scurried off.
CHAPTER 25
Sickened by what had happened to Ian, Bannon no longer noticed any of the wonders of Ildakar. He spent the day alone, trying to figure out what he could do to help his friend.
His mind churned in a slow whirlpool of regrets and fond memories. He and Ian used to pluck wriggling green caterpillars from the cabbage plants and place them in a jar. They would feed them torn cabbage leaves until the worms shed their skin and hung in a chrysalis on the side of the jar before emerging as the common white butterflies that fluttered through the fields. Now Bannon’s lips curved in a wan smile as he thought of how he and Ian would chase the newborn butterflies down the rows of green cabbage plants.
Some days, he and Ian used to toss cabbage heads back and forth as makeshift balls. Bored boys could always find things to amuse them, such as going down to their special isolated cove to play in the tide pools.…
Then, like a pane of glass shattering, Bannon could only think of the despairing look on Ian’s face as Norukai slavers clubbed him and dragged him to the longboat while Bannon fled. He could not imagine the pain and suffering Ian had endured in the years since. The poor boy must have been beaten, abused. Bannon remembered seeing the patterns of scars all over his friend’s skin down in the training pits. How many cuts and bruises had he suffered? Broken bones, concussions, injuries that weren’t readily visible?
A subconscious groan came from deep in his throat. Bannon had begged forgiveness from his friend, but he knew he didn’t deserve it. That one second of hesitation, that one betrayal, had cost him so much in his heart.
And it had cost Ian everything.
But what circumstances had brought the young man here? What sort of winding obstacle course of events could have taken a Norukai captive from Chiriya Island to here in the fabled ancient city, where he fought in their combat arena? How? Sweet Sea Mother, how … and why?
I should have been there. I should never have left him. They captured me first.
Now, so long after the fact and feeling the sharp pain inside, Bannon wished the circumstances had been reversed, that he’d been the one captured after all, that Ian had gotten away to live with his loving family, his mother and father, his little sister Irene.
After Bannon ran back to the island village, sounding the alarm and wailing for help, it had been far too late. Ian’s family had been destroyed by the loss of their son, and Bannon’s father had cuffed him for being such a coward. Bannon endured the abuse, because that time he knew he deserved it.
Since his own life had already been filled with so much pain from his drunken father, maybe he should have made the sacrifice, let his friend escape instead. That way, Ian could have grown up in a happy home, married a beautiful island girl, maybe even occasionally raised a toast to his lost friend, Bannon.
But instead, Bannon had stayed behind and suffered more years of being beaten by his father, before trying to save those poor kittens from drowning … and in doing so, leaving his dear mother vulnerable to that abusive man. Bannon had failed on both fronts.
And he had failed Ian, too.…
On top of the plateau, the day was warm and the sun bright. Bannon wandered the streets, deep in thought and already perspiring, and when he finally made his way back to the grand villa, he found Amos, Jed, and Brock lounging about, distracted.
“Our friend Bannon looks glum,” Amos said, “and we don’t have anything to do. Let’s cheer him up.”
“How are we going to do that?” Jed asked.
Brock chuckled. “Take him back to the silk yaxen, even if he doesn’t want to partake.”
“He could watch me and Melody,” Amos said. “I promise I won’t make her sing this time.”
Flushing, Bannon shook his head. “I’m fine. I’ll just go back to my room.”
“No, you won’t,” Amos said. “Stick with us, and we’ll take care of you.”
Bannon steeled himself, forced an optimistic expression onto his face. “There is something you can do.…” He drew a breath, and nervously stroked his long reddish hair. “I have a favor to request.”
“A favor?” Amos asked. “Have you earned it?”
Bannon furrowed his brow. “I was always taught a favor is something you ask, not earn.”
“Maybe we’re taught differently in Ildakar,” Brock said.
He began, “Yesterday, I went
down to the training pits near the combat arena.”
The three young men laughed. “Adessa might tumble with you, but that’s another thing you’d need to earn, Bannon. You’d have to demonstrate your prowess as a fighter before any of the morazeth take you seriously.”
“No, i-it’s not that,” he stammered, looking for words. “Sweet Sea Mother…” He shook his head. “I need you to help me free my friend Ian. The champion. You have money and connections. The arena masters would listen to you.”
“The champion?” Brock asked. “I doubt that.”
Amos appeared to consider the idea. “We might be able to do it. Just give us time. We’ll talk about it later.”
Bannon couldn’t tell if the other young man took the request seriously, or if it was a joke. Maybe they were stringing him along, but what other choice did he have? “Later? How much time? If you could just come with me to see him…”
“Tomorrow,” Amos said. “Too much to do today.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have anything to do.”
“Keeper’s crotch, we haven’t shown you the river and the bluffs, one of the most amazing parts of Ildakar. You deserve to see it, and there’s no better way than if we show you. We can tell you the history.”
Jed leaned against a marble column while Amos swung himself to his feet, stomping his boots on the fine white gravel. Brock straightened his spotted cape, threw back his shoulders, and rotated his arms, as if to limber up for a fight.
Amos said, “From the top of the cliffs, you can watch the boats and the cargo come up the river.” He cocked an eyebrow at Bannon. “From there, even you can feel like a lord.”
“Never wanted to be a lord,” Bannon said. “I’m just a cabbage farmer at heart, but an adventurer too. I wanted to see the world.” He patted the pommel of Sturdy. “And Ian was taken away—”
Amos and his companions clearly didn’t want to hear about it. The young men moved off with long bouncing strides, and Bannon followed them down from the top of the plateau and along a curving thoroughfare that took them around the uplift toward the river-facing side.
Shroud of Eternity Page 18
