Shroud of Eternity

by Terry Goodkind

  CHAPTER 48

  The alarms, shouts, and roars woke Bannon from his aching slumber in the tunnels. He’d been restless, trying to find a glimmer of hope in his despair. The walls of his cell were hard, the candles burned down to guttering stubs and shedding only dim light. He curled on the pallet, but his bruises prevented him from finding a comfortable position.

  He had just dozed off, escaping into a blank darkness that was tinged with capering nightmares. The growls and screams woke him up.

  His self-pity washed away, and he rolled off the pallet, instantly awake, searching in the dimness. He saw shadowy figures, animated silhouettes on the tunnel walls … movement out in the open areas where the fighters trained.

  An earsplitting bellow rattled the bars of his cage, and he saw a furred monstrosity lurch into the common area, sweeping rakelike claws to bat away pit slaves who were trampled underfoot.

  Bannon gripped the iron bars of his cell and felt cold fear wash through him. It was an enormous combat bear, like the one they had killed in the foothills.

  “They’re loose! The animals are loose!” someone shouted. More figures darted through the tunnels. Two determined morazeth dashed in, carrying clubs and short swords, and threw themselves on the combat bear, but the beast smacked them sideways, smashing both women against the rough sandstone walls. The maddened bear lumbered onward, as more animals bounded through the wide passageways that connected to Chief Handler Ivan’s pens.

  Bannon rattled the door of his cell, but the lock held. He was as trapped as any of those beasts had been. But these creatures had gotten free.

  He was even more surprised to see brown-robed figures darting through the passageway, shouting and banging on metal pots to provoke the animals. The escaped beasts charged through the tunnel, glad to be free and attacking anything in front of them. The robed figures wore a mesh cloth over their faces and amulets dangling on their chests marked with a strange Ildakaran rune.

  “For Mirrormask!” they yelled. “For Mirrormask!”

  Another shouted, “We bring chaos and freedom to the city.”

  Bannon felt a chill. Mirrormask, the rebel leader? If they were creating havoc by turning loose all of the chief handler’s combat creatures, maybe they would free the slave fighters, too. He rattled the bars of his cage again, called out, hoping one of them would hear him, “Help me. Free us all!”

  One of the masked figures ran to where other trained fighters stood in their cells. Ian had come to the front of his large chamber, arms crossed over his muscular chest, just watching. He made no move to get out, though Bannon knew his door was unlocked.

  One of the masked figures darted up to Bannon’s cell, peered inside. The young man offered a pleading look. “I have to get out of here! I need to find my friends.”

  The figure hesitated. Behind the hood and the face covering, Bannon couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. Hands reached toward the cell lock.

  Another form darted up behind the robed figure and stabbed it brutally in the back. The rebel jerked, thrashed at the attacker, at the knife protruding from its back, then spasmed in death.

  Lila stood there, her face twisted in anger as she cast the rebel aside, holding a long knife in each hand. “The animals are dangerous enough, boy,” she snarled at him, “but these scum are worse.” She kicked at the fallen body, which twitched and writhed on the floor. She bent down to unmask the dying figure, but something strange happened with the last death rattle. The rune on the amulet glowed and smoked; then in a flash the entire body burst into flame. The searing heat drove Lila back. She held up her arms, crossing the bloody knife against the clean one to ward off the fire as she stepped back.

  Bannon retreated into his cell, away from the bars, as greasy flames rolled upward, stinking of charred flesh. In seconds, the dead rebel was nothing more than blackened bones and a dark stain on the floor.

  Lila glared in disgust at the dissipating smoke. “Coward. They’re all cowards.”

  More unleashed animals thundered through the training pits. A scaly swamp dragon the size of a small horse darted forward, snapping its jaws at anyone who stood against it. Howling in unison, a pack of spiny wolves bounded free, throwing themselves at three warriors who tried to defend their tunnels.

  One of the two morazeth stunned by the monstrous bear picked herself up, reeling. She turned to face the oncoming spiny wolves. Three of them fell upon her, but she fought with her bare hands, pounding them in the snouts with hard knuckles. Their fangs tore at her arms, her chest, her neck. One bit her hand clean off, and she fell under the attack. More spiny wolves killed the second injured morazeth, who hadn’t even managed to climb to her feet.

  With a clatter of hooves like sledgehammers on stone, a bull with branched horns thundered in from the pens, thrashing its head from side to side. It gored one of the slaves and stormed through the open chamber. Steam flecked with blood blasted from its nostrils. Finding the passage outside, the bull charged forward into the night.

  Lila growled at him from the other side of the bars, “You are safer here in your cage, boy. Don’t let them get you. Step back.”

  Three more spiny wolves prowled after their pack, slower but more cunning than the others. Black lips curled back from their muzzles to expose long fangs. Their eyes were like green fire fixing on their target.

  “Watch out!” Bannon cried as the spiny wolves turned to attack Lila. She braced herself and faced them with her arms outstretched, each hand holding a long blade. The masked rebel had been an easy kill for her, but these predators would be much more difficult.

  Bannon stepped away from the bars. He hated those who had imprisoned him, resented what Lila had done to him, but these animals slaughtered anyone in sight, including the slave workers and captive fighters. He wasn’t certain that Mirrormask was much better than the other oppressors in Ildakar. Bannon didn’t know what the rebels expected to buy with all this blood, but they certainly were willing to spend it generously.

  The spiny wolves lunged at Lila. With a quick jerk of her right hand, she slashed the throat of the first one that bore down on her. She shoved it aside and whirled to face the next. Two more spiny wolves charged after her, and she retreated down the tunnel, slashing with both knives.

  Bannon ran to the bars, pressed his face against them, but Lila was out of view. He couldn’t see whether or not she was alive. He had not heard her scream, but he knew Lila would never scream.

  One of the wolves charged his cage, slamming its muscular, furred body against the door. With a yelp, Bannon staggered backward. The beast snapped its jaws, spraying hot saliva as it tried to get through the bars. The growl in its throat was a manifestation of pure anger and hatred directed at any human, because humans had tortured it. The spiny wolf ran its paws along the bars of the cage, trying to pull them apart. The iron rattled, but held. When the creature couldn’t break in, it cast a final green-eyed glare at Bannon, then loped after the rest of the pack, which had advanced up the tunnel to the outside.

  Adessa stormed into the open area, outraged at this disruption. She held a short sword, not bothering with a shield. The morazeth leader meant to inflict damage.

  Masked rebels bounded through the passageways, banging metal pots, shouting to rile up the animals and urge them out of the pits and into the city streets. Another swamp dragon scuttled forward, hissing, and a warrior trainee stood to face it. With a vicious thrash of its jagged tail, it cut the legs off the man just below the knee. He screamed and fell as the reptile thing snatched up one of the severed legs in its powerful jaws, crunching down on the bone. The hooded rebels appeared right behind it, banging and shouting, and the big lizard stormed off, still clenching the man’s leg in its mouth.

  Ignoring the animals, Adessa attacked her real enemy. The rebels could not defend themselves against her focused anger. Most of them scattered and tried to flee, but one was too slow. Adessa thrust her sword through the robed man’s back. The rebel collapsed and burst i
nto flames triggered by the mysterious amulet. She turned, dodged a spotted leopard that seemed more skittish than ferocious. The lean cat streaked off through the tunnels and into the night, but Adessa remained to hunt down the rebels. She killed three more, paying no attention as they burst into their own funeral pyres.

  She was so focused on punishing Mirrormask’s fighters that she failed to protect herself against the rampaging creatures. Another monstrous reptile scuttled toward Adessa from behind. She didn’t see it coming.

  “Beware!” Ian screamed from inside his cell. In a flash, he flicked the lock, threw open the barred door, and sprinted out toward the swamp dragon. Adessa finished killing her victim and spun just in time to see the reptile lunge for her. Even without weapons, Ian leaped on its back and wrapped his arms around the scaly creature’s throat, tugging backward. He just managed to pull its snapping jaws away from her.

  Adessa flashed him an appreciative glance, then drove her short sword directly through the swamp dragon’s left eye, shoving the blade into its brain. The armored thing twitched and shuddered, then collapsed with a gurgle.

  “Always my champion,” Adessa said, and Ian looked at her adoringly.

  Bannon stared, sickened.

  With a bellow as loud and fearsome as any of the combat beasts, a human voice echoed off the sandstone walls of the pits. “By the Keeper! Back to your cages.”

  Chief Handler Ivan emerged from a side entry and glared at the wild animals racing loose from their pens. He wore his panther jerkin with a wide black belt cinched at his waist; his mane of dark hair stuck out around his head as if he himself were a raging beast. His arms were bare, his muscles bunched. His face was drawn back in a grimace of vengeful disappointment that made Bannon shudder. That expression reminded him of how his father had looked, just before beating him or his mother. Bannon felt a surge of fury, imagining what these animals must have endured under the chief handler’s torment.

  “Oh, what you must have done to them,” he whispered to himself.

  Many beasts had already escaped to run loose in the city, but others snarled and cringed in the tunnels. Some whimpered as Ivan held up his hands, unleashing his gift with a crackle of energy. He lashed out with the magic that ground these animals under his mental boot heel.

  “You will all return to your places!” Ivan gestured with a boulder-sized fist. Two leopards snarled, then slunk back into the dim tunnels toward his cage. A speckled boar snorted, stuttered forward, but retreated. The chief handler released more magic, trying to wrangle the unruly creatures.

  But three tawny shapes moved in the opposite direction, as if attracted by Ivan’s voice—the troka of spell-bonded panthers that had been pitted against the half-stone warrior Ulrich. They glided forward, their golden eyes bright, their ropelike tails flashing. The panthers moved in unison, each step perfectly matched, their predatory gaze fixed on Ivan.

  He faced them, defiant, holding up both fists. His face twisted with the strain of releasing his gift. The sand panthers bared their saberlike fangs, and the ominous sound from their feline throats seemed more threatening than an actual snarl.

  “Back to your cages, damn you!” Ivan roared. He flexed his biceps, gritted his teeth. A surge of his gift rippled through the air. Other combat animals in the chamber whimpered and scattered, running back to their familiar pens.

  But the troka of panthers merely twitched, each one able to deflect the chief handler’s control. They crouched back, enduring the pain and refusing to move.

  Ivan’s face grew ruddy with the effort; then he reached to his waist and pulled out a long gutting knife. “All right, then. It looks like I’ll have new pelts for my wardrobe.” He raised the blade.

  Then the panthers were upon him.

  They sprang in unison, driving at him from the front and from each side. An astonished Ivan flung up his muscular arms to defend himself, but the snarling cats raked their claws down his chest. Fangs bit into his biceps, crunching and tearing. One panther bit the base of his neck, severing his spinal cord; another bit his shoulder and tore out a huge hunk of red meat that dripped with blood. Crimson spray gouted from the severed blood vessels. The third panther ripped open Ivan’s belly and dug out his intestines, shaking her head like a kitten with a long strand of yarn.

  Ivan screamed and fought, but the sand panthers mauled him until their tan fur was matted with rich red liquid. Flicking their tails in satisfaction, the three panthers left their bloody mess and bounded off into the night and freedom.

  Bannon pressed his back against the rear wall of his cell, waiting for the nightmare to be over.

  CHAPTER 49

  Alarms summoned the ruling council in the dead of night. At the upper level of the plateau, Nicci and Nathan rushed out of the grand villa. Below them, the streets of Ildakar filled with frenetic activity, as if the city had been called to war.

  Nicci had both of her daggers, expecting violence, wondering if Mirrormask had finally staged his all-out revolt, since he had not acted during the bloodworking that raised the shroud. Nathan retrieved his ornate sword from his room, ready to fight, though he didn’t know what enemies they might face.

  “The combat beasts are loose!” called a humorless but reliable guard named Stuart, who had taken the place of High Captain Avery. Now wearing the red shoulder pauldron, he led a squad of armored guards, raising swords as they all ran down the streets. “We need every fighter. Call the archers and crossbowmen. The arena animals are on the rampage—the rebels set them free.”

  Nicci said to Nathan, “Let’s join them, Wizard. This is something we can support—for the sake of those who cannot fight for themselves … the innocents.”

  “You called me ‘Wizard,’” Nathan said, with a surprised smile.

  “I have always considered you a wizard, even if you’re an ineffective one,” she said. “I know you can use your sword, even if you can’t use your magic.”

  The city guards and the duma members were converging near the arena and the tunnels where the animals and fighter trainees were kept. Fleshmancer Andre, whose studio was near the area, had arrived first, perplexed. Sovrena Thora and Wizard Commander Maxim were also already there.

  Nicci hurried forward, summoning her magic, while Nathan drew his sword and kept pace with her. They heard the shouts of frightened people in the streets, the growls and roars of rampaging animals. Arriving on their heels, the wizard Quentin looked only partially dressed, and Elsa bustled up from a side street, tugging to adjust her purple robe. Damon was the last to arrive.

  “Where’s Ivan?” Thora bellowed. “He must get his creatures under control!”

  Spotted leopards, spiny wolves, and scaled swamp dragons milled about, attacking anything that moved. A combat bear and a monstrous bull crashed forward, attracted by the screams of fleeing people. A woman chose the wrong direction to run, and the bull gored her with its split horns.

  Spiny wolves bounded out, leaping at anyone they encountered, while Stuart’s city guards fought them with swords, clubs, and gauntleted fists. But the wild beasts were trained to kill, and more guards died than animals.

  Among the city guard and the wizards who fought the unleashed animals, Nicci saw young Amos and his ever-present companions, all three young men carrying their iron-tipped wooden staffs, which they used to smash the rampaging animals. But Bannon wasn’t with them.

  The three young men looked eager to assist in the fight—not to help the city but for the opportunity to shed blood. Amos darted in and swung his wooden staff to bash the skull of a writhing leopard that rolled bleeding on the street after its side had been slashed open by a sword. “Got one!”

  Jed and Brock sought their own targets.

  Nicci seized Amos’s half cape as he flitted by, dragging him to a halt. “Where is Bannon? I thought he would be with you.”

  The young man shook off her grip. “Not now! We have important work to do.” He flicked his gaze away, not wanting to meet hers. “He’s fine. Don
’t worry about him.” Amos dashed off with great exuberance, and Nicci was too busy to demand more of an answer.

  The combat bear lumbered forward, a titanic mass of claws and fur. Maxim, Thora, and Damon stood together, releasing magic and hurling attacks, all of which slid harmlessly off the protective runes on the monster’s hide.

  Elsa did not use her gift to attack the bear directly, but made the ground in front of it crackling cold, transferring temperature from the street; at the same time, a gush of heat flared up next to the charging bull, making the beast rampage in a different direction.

  The combat bear stumbled across the bitterly frozen ground and came at Elsa. She attempted to work another spell, but Nathan tackled her to the side. The bear charged past, then turned back to come at them again.

  Nathan held up his sword and braced himself. “I already fought your brother, monster! Now I’ll fight you!” He swung the blade, tracing a complex taunting pattern in the air. The bear swatted at him, but Nathan used the razor edge to split the bear’s paw to the middle of its forearm. The creature roared and yanked back its bloody arm.

  Nicci dove in, jabbing hard with both daggers, stabbing opposite sides of the creature’s neck. She succeeded in cutting the bear’s throat. Pushing in close, Nathan plunged his blade into the beast’s side, working through the layers of muscle and fat, driving the steel all the way to the hilt. The titanic bear crashed to the ground.

  Maxim and Thora continued their fight with magic, using secondary effects to divert or hamper the rampaging animals.

  Emerging from the tunnels, two hooded figures shouted at the crowd, “For Mirrormask! Bring down the oppressors.”

  Maxim’s face twisted in a disappointed scowl, and he flung his hand sideways, invoking his petrification spell. The two cheering rebels crackled, froze, and turned into white stone.

  Quentin released magic that sent a tremor through the street, cracking the flagstones as the enhanced bull charged forward. Its left hoof fell into the widening crack, and the foreleg snapped as the bull was carried forward by its momentum. Trapped, the beast shook its head from side to side, trying to plunge its branched horns into soft flesh. The bull lurched ahead again, its broken foreleg upraised. People scattered out of its way.