Shroud of Eternity

by Terry Goodkind

  “Fresh kraken meat is a delicacy for many in Tanimura,” Jared said. “When salted or pickled, it can be sold all the way up into the Midlands. There’s a specialty shop in Aydindril that buys barrels of the stuff.”

  Oliver swallowed hard. “It must be an acquired taste.”

  After they had killed the first of the tentacled behemoths, the sailors had feasted on fresh kraken meat, boiling it in a huge iron pot on the mid decks. Oliver thought the meat tasted foul—rubbery, stringy, fishy, and oily all at once. They had dumped blobs of offal from the discarded head sack in the wake of their ship, and moments later sharks swarmed in to feast on the remains. Oliver realized that what he had believed to be a fine, shiny varnish on the deck boards was actually layers and layers of hardened slime from previous hunts.

  Though the passage had been free, thanks to Harborlord Otto, the kraken-hunter ship had not sailed a direct course, but wandered the oceans for two weeks in search of prey. Captain Jared stood next to his two passengers. He was a tall man with thick muscles and disproportionately wide-set legs that gave him better balance in stormy seas.

  Now as the ship headed toward the docks and all the men worked together like a well-oiled machine—or perhaps well-greased, thanks to the residue from the slaughtered krakens—the captain watched the approach. “So, which will it be for you, then?” he said to Oliver, humor in the back of his voice. “A brothel, a meal, or too much to drink?”

  “A bath sounds best to me,” Oliver said shyly. He didn’t know that he could ever get the fishy stink off of him. He knew he would need to find fresh clothes. “I might suggest most of your crew do the same.”

  “For me, it’ll be a soft bed,” Peretta said.

  Oliver remembered the nauseating sway and lurch as he had tried to doze off on a rope hammock belowdecks. “And me as well.”

  “Ah, a soft bed, a warm bed, a large bed.” Captain Jared nudged Oliver and Peretta. “If you two are together, there’s no need for a brothel, is there? Ha, ha!”

  Peretta sniffed, while Oliver blushed bright. “We are fellow scholars and travelers on an important mission.”

  “Of course you are, but one doesn’t preclude the other, does it?” Then the captain strolled off before they could reply, shouting orders to his men as the low-riding ship drifted to the pier. Harbor workers rushed out to catch the thrown ropes and tie up the creaking, patched vessel.

  Merchants were already gathering by the time the sailors threw down the rickety gangplank. Oliver and Peretta could not get off the ship quickly enough. It wasn’t until they were on solid ground again, and searching for representatives of the D’Haran Empire, that Oliver realized they had instinctively taken each other’s hands while disembarking.

  * * *

  “No records have survived in the Palace of the Prophets,” Verna said, looking at the concerned expressions on her fellow Sisters who had gathered around her and Amber. “Nothing whatsoever, not so much as a spell to cure a persistent cough, or an accounting ledger of the palace’s last order of cheese.” She shook her head, but removed the glazed clay toad figurine. “We found only this dear little thing, and it was just an accident.”

  Sister Rhoda grinned. “I think that belonged to Sister Armina, a keepsake from her hometown.”

  The other Sisters stirred. “Is it tainted? Armina was one of the Sisters of the Dark.”

  Verna held it in her palm, looked at the comical eyes of the toad staring back up at her. “I sense no magic here, nothing special.”

  “I believe she just found it humorous,” said Sister Rhoda. “A little trinket.”

  Verna could not imagine the grim and businesslike Armina finding anything humorous. She returned the figurine to a pocket of her dress.

  “We could go back and excavate the ruins for years, if we wish, but there will be little purpose in it. Even the catacombs below were vaporized.”

  “The protection web must have been woven all the way down to bedrock,” said young novice Amber. “Lord Rahl’s anger must have been quite thorough when he destroyed it.” Her voice sounded so musical, so bright. She seemed just a little girl.

  Verna nodded. “Yes, Richard’s anger is often quite thorough … and it has saved the world.”

  “So we should celebrate,” said Sister Eldine, a woman centuries old, but who looked no more than forty because of the preservation spell that had permeated the Palace of the Prophets.

  “Yes, we should rejoice,” Verna said, but the tone of her words said the opposite. She still felt adrift because of all the changes in the world.

  The Imperial Order had been defeated, as had the bloodthirsty armies of the resurrected Sulachan, but Prelate Verna didn’t know what to do. She had hoped to discover a treasure trove of documents locked in secret chambers deep beneath the wreckage of the palace, but that hope had been dashed. She and these Sisters were here in Tanimura, housed in a large new garrison built by General Zimmer and his soldiers. All the women agreed that they should move out of the barracks so that the soldiers who arrived every day need not be so crowded. Zimmer had not encouraged them to leave, but Verna could feel the need. Other Sisters of the Light were scattered around the D’Haran Empire, many in Aydindril, and some had even ventured to Westland, the original home of Richard Rahl, where he had worked as a skilled woods guide.

  These ten women were the core of the remaining Sisters, the ones who clung to their teachings and looked to the prelate for guidance. They were busy with morning chores when a sharp knock came on the front door of their barracks. Young Captain Norcross stood on the plank porch, grinning. “Travelers just arrived, Prelate! They come from far south in the Old World, bringing interesting news. You will definitely want to hear what they have to say.”

  “Travelers?” Verna asked. “From one of the coastal cities?”

  “Much farther than that,” Norcross said with a shy smile for his sister Amber. “They have word of the wizard Nathan and the sorceress Nicci.”

  Verna hurried to the door, as the other Sisters joined her. “Has General Zimmer been informed?”

  Norcross nodded with enough vigor to rattle his brain loose. “I can take you to his offices right away.”

  “Wait here,” she told the other Sisters. “Let me talk with him first.” She could never be sure of anything where Nicci and Nathan were concerned.

  In the general’s office, the fresh wood of the new construction smelled sweet and resinous, in stark contrast to the strong fishy odor that clung to the two young visitors.

  When she entered the room, Zimmer rose to his feet behind his desk. “Prelate, I’m glad you’re here. These two have much to report.”

  The visitors were both thin and dressed in frayed clothes as if they had been on a very long journey. Neither of the travelers looked older than Novice Amber.

  “We’ve come a long way,” said the young man, squinting and blinking. His hair looked tousled, and he needed a shave, although the fine corn silk did little to cover his cheeks. “Nicci and Nathan charged us with a mission to deliver a full report to Lord Rahl … is he here in Tanimura?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Zimmer said. “He is at least a two-week ride far to the north in the People’s Palace, but he leads a vast empire, so he could well be in the Midlands, or Westland, or down in Anderith.” The general shrugged. “It might take a very long time to find him.”

  The two young messengers slumped in their chairs, overwhelmed by the task before them. “We have been traveling so long, and we just want to go home,” said the girl, whose hair was a mop of dark ringlets.

  Zimmer brushed a fleck of sawdust from his sleeve. He looked to Verna. “Oliver and Peretta brought many documents describing the work that Nicci and Nathan have done since leaving Tanimura. They’ve created quite an epic story.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Verna said. “I expect that Nicci intends to single-handedly bring freedom and peace to the Old World.”

  “Yes!” Oliver said, blinking quickly. “I believe s
he does. She’s made great strides already.”

  “And Nathan … one never knows what trouble he might cause, even though he means well.”

  In a rush, taking turns, the two summarized what Nicci and Nathan had done out in the Scar, destroying first the Lifedrinker and then the wild and uncontrolled life force of Victoria.

  “She saved Cliffwall,” said Peretta, “the whole archive of knowledge there and all the people.”

  “She saved the entire world,” Oliver said. “Life’s Mistress would have overwhelmed the land from the sea to the mountains.”

  Verna’s interest was piqued. “Great archive? What is Cliffwall?”

  Fascinated, she listened as the two travelers explained about the ancient library hidden in the narrow canyons, preserved since the great wizard wars.

  “Nicci warned us not to attempt any spells or dabble with magic. It is obviously dangerous,” Oliver said, sounding cowed. “So, our scholars are simply cataloging. They have a lot to do.”

  “They are the caretakers of knowledge, but they dare not attempt to use it.” Peretta scratched her dark ringlets. “It is risky.”

  “Indeed it is. I’m glad you realize that.” Verna’s brow furrowed. “For thousands of years the Sisters of the Light have been the teachers of the most powerful magic.”

  “I wish we had you in Cliffwall,” Oliver said with a sigh. “We really needed someone knowledgeable to guide us.”

  Verna’s pulse raced, and she turned to Zimmer. “General, if that archive is as extensive as they say, not only would it be a powerful resource, but it would be a dangerous weapon should it fall into enemy hands.” She pressed her lips together. “Perhaps we need to protect it? Help the scholars study the lore?”

  General Zimmer sat back down behind his desk, narrowing his eyes as he considered the possibilities. “You have a good point, Prelate. I was sent here to build a garrison, but Tanimura is at peace and everyone serves Lord Rahl. Thousands more soldiers will be sent here as peacekeepers, and from here we will dispatch them south to other cities. Part of my mission is to establish beachheads throughout the unexplored Old World.”

  “It is not unexplored,” Peretta said. “Oliver and I know the way.”

  “I made careful notes,” the young man agreed. “And she remembers everything.”

  “No one would be better suited to studying all that ancient lore than the Sisters of the Light,” Verna pointed out. “And you and your army are particularly suited to protect it, so that the archive doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

  General Zimmer gave a slow nod. “It may be wise to take a few hundred soldiers. We could leave the garrison in good hands here, so I’ve got nothing to worry about. Reinforcements will soon come from the north, and according to plan they will be dispatched to Larrikan Shores, Kherimus, Serrimundi, and other cities that no one from D’Hara has yet visited.” He flexed his large hands, then laced his fingers together as he leaned forward across the desk. “For now we could mount an expeditionary force to Cliffwall, maybe establish other outposts along the way. It would be well within my mission to take these two back home.”

  Peretta placed her hands on her knees, adjusting the folds of her worn skirt. “But we have to find Lord Rahl. Nicci said we need to deliver this report to him. She said it was very important.”

  “Leave that to me, young lady,” said Zimmer. “I’ll send my best riders north to the People’s Palace at full speed to deliver these documents directly to Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor.” He glanced to the two young travelers. “We would be much obliged if you’d let us escort you back to Cliffwall—provided you can lead the way.”

  “The messages will be delivered?” Oliver asked, wanting to be sure. “You promise? On your honor?”

  “Of course. I am a man of my word.”

  “And we get to go home!” Peretta said.

  Verna rubbed her cheek and realized she was smiling. “We will make sure your archive is in good hands.”

  CHAPTER 33

  The morning after the unpleasant banquet with the Norukai, Amos and his companions donned traveling clothes similar to those they had worn when Bannon first met them out in the foothills. They carried their iron-tipped clubs and looked ready to cause some damage. Amos held an extra club in his left hand, which he tossed to Bannon. “Come with us. We’d better stretch our legs, walk in the open air before it’s too late.”

  Bannon caught the heavy club. “What do you mean, before it’s too late?”

  “Now that the Norukai have delivered fresh slaves, my parents will work the blood magic in a few days,” Amos said. “They’ll bring up the shroud, at least a temporary one.”

  “Then we’ll be trapped inside again.” Jed fidgeted, tossing the rod from one hand to the other.

  Brock raised his club. “Last chance to smash statue soldiers for a while.”

  Bannon was surprised they wanted him to join them. Amos strode out into the streets, expecting the young man to follow. “You might not be gifted, but you can swing a club, right?”

  Bannon held the rod uncertainly. “Yes, I can wield one of these, and I can use my sword too.” The three young men laughed at his lackluster blade. “But I would rather go to the training pits—you promised to help me get Ian released. Won’t you come with me? A word from the son of the sovrena and the wizard commander might be all we need.”

  Amos puffed up his chest. “You’re probably right, but it’s really up to my parents. I already mentioned it to them, and I’ll talk with them later, don’t worry.”

  Feeling a spark of hope, perhaps a foolish hope, Bannon hurried after the three young men, holding on to the club, but more reassured by the sword at his side. Amos and his friends talked among themselves, making rude comments about slaves they passed.

  Their mocking comments embarrassed Bannon as they compared breast sizes of slave women and debated whether or not it was possible for a lowly servant to have perfect breasts. Amos pressed the issue, stopping a mousy young woman who carried a jug of water from one of the fountains. They forced her to put the jug down, and Amos commanded her to open her shift so they could all look at her chest. Horrified, she refused, fumbling her words.

  Bannon touched the hilt of Sturdy. “You shouldn’t treat people like that.”

  “It’s a slave,” Amos retorted. Impatient, he grabbed the tan fabric of her shift and pulled hard, ripping the garment apart so that she stood exposed and ashamed, but too terrified to run.

  “See? I told you,” Amos said, jabbing at a rash on her left breast. “Not perfect.”

  “Keeper’s crotch, you’re right,” Jed said, and Brock chortled, though he let his gaze linger on the curve of her breasts and the otherwise-perfect shape of her nipples. Without another word, Amos flounced off toward the city’s lower levels and the outer wall.

  Bannon gave the slave girl an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.” But she wouldn’t meet his gaze as she gathered the tatters of her clothing and tried to hold her shift together. She picked up the water jug and hurried away.

  They met High Captain Avery patrolling the streets, and Amos raised his iron-tipped staff in a mock salute. “We’ll be out with the stone soldiers, continuing the fight for Ildakar.” With a smirk, he added, “Be sure to guard my mother carefully while we’re gone.”

  Bannon saw Avery’s expression tighten as the young men sauntered away.

  Reaching the wall, Bannon followed them through the gate and out onto the remnants of the road that had once led trading caravans to Ildakar. Grasses and tall weeds grew between the paving stones. The ruins of old buildings dotted the plain: stone foundations, collapsed walls, the last shadows of outlying villages, nearly vanished to history.

  “Once the shroud goes up again, it might be ten or fifteen years in normal time before we can come outside again,” Amos said.

  “Ten or fifteen years?” Bannon cried.

  “Because of the shroud’s powerful magic, time moves differently around Ildakar. Even w
ith the shroud down, there are some distortions. It’s not clear how many weeks or months or centuries have passed beyond our city, but we don’t care,” Amos said. “This is our world.”

  He couldn’t believe what he had heard. “But … so many years? That’s half of my life! Or more.”

  Amos strolled along, swinging his iron club to smash a large thistle that stood in his way. “You may only have seen twenty years, Bannon Farmer, but we’ve had centuries of youth. And we are not done with it yet.”

  Bannon was baffled. “Centuries? But I thought you were my age.”

  They all laughed at him. “You have very little in common with us,” said Brock.

  Soon enough they reached the front ranks of General Utros’s statue soldiers, the petrified warriors in their intricately tooled armor, thick breastplates, short swords, battle-axes, and shields. Jed called attention to a young man who had removed his helmet and held it in one gauntleted hand. His hair was short and bristly, except for a short ponytail at the base of his neck. His frozen expression was twisted in anger, his lips curled back to expose teeth, his eyes narrowed as he delivered a snarl in the direction of Ildakar.

  “My, doesn’t this one look defiant?” Jed swung his iron-tipped club so hard he chipped off the statue’s ear. Laughing, Amos and Brock took turns hammering the defiant soldier’s waist, smashing away his plated skirt until they had turned the man’s crotch into a pulp of gray powder.

  “Get yourself some exercise, Bannon,” Amos said. “What are you waiting for? We’re out here to have fun.”

  Bannon looked at the thousands of stone warriors across the plain and up into the foothills. This must have been a fearsome army, intent on destruction, but now they were merely statues, long dead, and his companions insisted on his participation. So Bannon let his anger loose. Imagining the Norukai raiders who had seized Ian, he battered the head of one stone soldier, picturing a scarred mouth and tattooed scales. After seven blows, he had destroyed the statue warrior’s head.