She swept her hand sideways, and a wall of air slammed into Nicci with incredible force, ten times stronger than anything she had felt before, driving her backward.
“ever—”
Thora struck an even harder blow. Nicci skidded toward the wall, trying to regain her strength, pulling up a shield.
“challenges me—”
Thora used both of her hands and Nicci was too weak to ward off the final bone-crushing blow.
“—again!”
Nicci deflected only a fraction of the magic before all the solidified air struck her like a battering ram, pushed her up and back. Her body smashed through the windows of the high tower, and Nicci flew out into the gulf of the open bottomless night.
CHAPTER 57
Even after years of studying in the Cliffwall archives, Oliver had learned more in a few months of journeying across the Old World than he had ever acquired from books. He and Peretta had both absorbed the details of the uncharted landscape, working their way over the mountains to the sea, then sailing north to breathtaking cities.
And now the two were going home at last, their minds filled with more than a lifetime of adventures.
Captain Norcross and fifty soldiers had remained behind in Renda Bay to help the villagers build fortifications, manufacture weapons, and prepare to defend themselves against raiders from the sea. Town leader Thaddeus was breathless with gratitude. “The Norukai are sure to come back. They always do. We fought back and maybe stung them a little, but they won in each case, no matter what we did.”
“The next time,” General Zimmer said before heading out with the rest of the expeditionary force, “you will deal them a much more painful wound. Captain Norcross will make sure of that.”
Norcross gave his sister Amber a farewell embrace before the line of troops departed inland, following the river road. Oliver and Peretta led the line, sharing a horse, because there were not enough mounts for all the soldiers in the expeditionary force.
Even with the mild voyage down from Serrimundi, ten horses had perished belowdecks. Such beasts were not meant to be kept for long in the hold. Oliver had felt sorry about the poor animals, but knew that the remaining horses would face even more horrific conditions if they went to an actual war.…
Lost in his thoughts, Oliver shuddered as they rode along the river with the hundred eager soldiers, who were supposedly the best fighters in the D’Haran army. Seated in front of him on the saddle, Peretta turned around to look at him. “What’s wrong? I felt you shiver.”
“I just had a thought about war.” He realized how close he was holding her, both of them crowded in the saddle. She was thin and bony, and he felt her spine press against his chest, but somehow he found it pleasant.
Her dark ringlets of hair stirred in the breeze that whispered up the wide river. “Why would you think of war?”
“Because of these soldiers and the horses.”
“Then you must not have been listening to what the prelate and the general told us. The wars are over and the Imperial Order has been defeated. Lord Rahl opened the whole world to peace and prosperity, and we’re part of it. Nicci said so herself. It’s good news.”
“Then why do we need all these soldiers?” he asked. “Why does D’Hara require such a large army in the first place?”
“Why, to make certain the peace stays that way.” She huffed and looked forward again. “You worry too much.”
The horses walked double-file along the wide river road. The expedition made good time for days, crossed the foothills, and then descended into the next valley, where they found the remnants of imperial roads.
Each night at camp, the two scholars joined Prelate Verna and the general for dinner in his command tent. Zimmer studied each day’s charts, which were updated regularly by his staff cartographers. Verna was interested to hear tales of Cliffwall and the magical knowledge stored there. Peretta could recite many of the tomes verbatim—and often did so, long past the point where even the prelate seemed interested. Oliver was more careful to choose his stories, and to tell them well.
As they sat around the central wooden table in the general’s tent, eating portions of a wild turkey one of the scouts had brought down with an arrow, Oliver told more background of Cliffwall. “Before the great wizard wars, when magic was outlawed and the gifted were hunted down, when magical libraries were seized or torched, some wizards realized that the only way to preserve knowledge for the future was to hide it. For years, as Sulachan’s armies swept across the Old World conquering city after city, the wizards secretly gathered all the important writings they could find and constructed a treasure trove of arcane lore. They found an isolated spot in unknown canyons deep in the high desert. There, they built the Cliffwall library and spent years stockpiling books and scrolls, stashing the knowledge where it would be safe from Sulachan’s grasp.
“Many wizards were slain, but they kept the secret. Cliffwall grew, its shelves and vaults filled with thousands of the most important books ever written.” He took another bite of the juicy turkey meat, drawing out the pause. “Then they created a camouflage shroud to cover the cliff archive, so it looked like nothing more than a canyon wall. That library remained preserved for three thousand years.” Peretta handed him a napkin, and he self-consciously wiped his lips. “But now a new generation of scholars can study the books.”
“One of the memmers discovered a way to break down the camouflage shroud about fifty years ago,” Peretta said, and a troubled look crossed her face as she pressed her lips together. “Victoria. She caused problems of her own, but she did open up Cliffwall again. No one had been able to do that for centuries, although many had tried.”
“You keep speaking of memmers, but you never explained exactly what they are,” General Zimmer said, discarding a turkey bone and peeling a strip of golden-brown skin with his fingers, then slipping it into his mouth.
The young woman was happy to explain. “The memmers were gifted scholars who had a mission to preserve all that knowledge in another way. We memorized it. All of it. We read and preserved scroll after scroll, committing every word to memory, while the camouflage shroud was in place.”
“For three thousand years?” Verna asked. “Dear spirits, was there a preservation web implanted in the cliffs? How did you survive so long?”
“Oh, we live a normal life span,” Peretta said. “The memmers pass their knowledge along from generation to generation. For millennia, we were the only ones who knew all the prophecies, all the spells, and all the history hidden away.”
Oliver interrupted, “But now everyone can read the books for themselves.” Seeing Peretta flinch, he mollified her. “Oh, the memmers are still a valuable resource. They can call upon their own knowledge much more quickly than a scholar like me can read shelves of books to find a specific stanza or turn of phrase. It’s best if the memmers and scholars work together.” He took one of the unclaimed turkey legs and used a table knife to slice off half of the meat, offering it to Peretta, who accepted it as an apparent peace offering.
“I will be glad when my Sisters and I can study some of that library,” Prelate Verna said. “It makes me nervous to know that so many dangerous spells are in the hands of untrained amateurs. We can help.”
Oliver distracted himself with a second hard camp biscuit. The prelate was right. No one would forget the painful debacle of the Lifedrinker, when a scholar accidentally unleashed a terrible magic that destroyed all life for miles around, or the equally ill-considered restoration spell worked by Victoria, who created deadly jungles so rampant they might have swallowed the world. After he swallowed his dry biscuit, Oliver said, “We will be very glad to have you there guiding us.”
The next day, the large contingent of soldiers rode across the valley and up into the mountains, encountering occasional villages. When they reached the town of Lockridge, they found a flurry of rebuilding efforts and freshly planted crops, even though it was late in the season. Intrepid townspeople had
ventured down the old roads and into the hills to reestablish trade with other villages around the mountains.
Mayor Raymond Barre welcomed the line of troops, recognizing Oliver and Peretta from when they had passed through weeks earlier. Nicci, Nathan, and Bannon had liberated Lockridge and all the other local towns from the accursed Adjudicator, who pronounced people guilty and transformed them into statues. Nicci and Nathan had killed the Adjudicator and broken the spell, and Lockridge and other towns were all just getting back on their feet. No one had yet been able to determine how many years, or even centuries, they had remained petrified, but they were getting on with their lives now.
“We have little food to resupply such a large force,” Mayor Barre said apologetically, “but we have some grain and smoked sausages. We can make a large pot of goat stew to feed you and your men.”
“Goat stew! That would be most appreciated,” said General Zimmer. “We are glad for your hospitality. Our soldiers will use the water from your well, and my top officers would sleep in your inn.”
“We could find at least twenty beds among our available homes,” Barre said. “The rest will have to camp. We’ll find good places for them.”
Zimmer smiled. “I’ll have my men draw lots to choose who gets to sleep on a straw tick instead of the hard ground. And we will help with the food where we can.”
He dispatched several of his best hunters into the forest, and they returned with two deer, which they added to the feast. The people of Lockridge celebrated the hope that the D’Haran army brought them, the reassurance of a peace that would last for years to come.
Peretta sat next to Oliver as they ate, enjoying the goat, bean, and barley stew. The young woman’s gaze was distant as she leaned closer to him. “When we came through here before, I had no idea how wide the world was or how far we had traveled. We had come so far by the time we got here!” She laughed. “And now that we’re back in Lockridge, it seems we’re almost home.”
“We are almost home.” He patted her forearm, then withdrew shyly. “We’ll make it, I promise.”
The two of them slept on blankets outside in the town square. They didn’t even draw straws for a chance at a bed. By now, Oliver was accustomed to warm nights under the open starry skies, and he didn’t mind bedding down next to Peretta.
They set off into the mountains, following the road that crossed ridge after ridge, climbing higher until they reached the summit of a large divide. Gazing down into the huge, open valley, Oliver caught his breath and stared. Squinting, he could make out patches of green, the flowing silver of a river, irregularly shaped mirrors of lakes, even geometrical squares of newly planted cropland.
It took him a long moment to recognize what he was seeing. “That used to be the Scar!”
“Does that mean we’re close to Cliffwall?” asked Verna. She sounded weary and eager at the same time.
“Closer than we were yesterday,” Peretta said. “Still many days yet.”
Oliver couldn’t contain his excitement. “That was all barren desolation not long ago, drained dry by the Lifedrinker. Then it became a bastion of impenetrable forest, thanks to Victoria.”
Peretta said, “But now the world is returning to normal again, thanks to Nicci.” She stretched out her hand toward the vast valley. “We have to go down there, around the rim, then up into the high desert. See the plateau there on the horizon? The canyons and Cliffwall are there.”
Oliver sat behind her on the horse, felt her firm body against him. He spoke more for Peretta’s benefit than for anyone else’s. “Yes, we’re almost home.”
CHAPTER 58
After smashing through the high window, Nicci fell through space, plummeting out into darkness. The cold claws of the night air grabbed at her battered body. Blood droplets from her wounds sprayed in the air, flowing upward and drifting away like red stars among the strange constellations.
She plunged, her black dress whipping around her. The stone walls of the ruling tower flashed past, and then the stark cliffs of the plateau’s edge as she hurtled toward the twinkling lights, rooftops, and convoluted streets of the lower city far below.
She felt like a bird, a black raven with broken wings dropping toward her death. But Nicci could not fly, because she was not a bird. She was a sorceress. She was Death’s Mistress. And although Adessa had battered her and Sovrena Thora had delivered the coup de grâce by blasting her through the windows, Nicci was not destroyed, not defeated.
She fell … but she could save herself. She had controlled the wind before, using her gift to manipulate the air, pulling together a solid barrier. Now, despite her pain-scrambled thoughts, she drew in a quick breath, tasting iron blood in her mouth. She summoned the breezes into a lifeline, gathered the winds beneath her to slow her fall.
Rooftops rushed toward her with the speed of an arrow in flight. Nicci had only seconds.
She strengthened the air, pushed it around her, felt her body tumble. The tiled roofs and tangled streets shot closer, and she knew she was still going too fast. She spread out her arms, trying to guide her descent. With a nudge of wind she knocked herself sideways, scraping past the sharp gutter of a three-story building, only twenty feet from impact.
Nicci cried out, drawing upon all the magic she possessed. She refused to fail, refused to die. But even though her anger was strong, she didn’t have the precise control she needed. The backlash of breezes buffeted her in the air and slammed her into the building wall as she dropped into the chasm of a dark alley.
With one last burst she turned onto her back, slowed herself—and crashed onto the slimy, garbage-strewn cobblestones of a dark street behind a tannery and a warehouse.
She cracked her head against the hard ground, and surrendered to merciful half consciousness. Nicci didn’t let herself slip into the blissful blackness, though. She had often escaped into the blessed respite of unconsciousness as a personal defense. Many times, Jagang had beaten her senseless when he raped her, and that brief escape into oblivion was sometimes her only way to defy him. She would surrender completely to the blows just to deny him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out from the pain.
Nicci didn’t need to escape now, though. She couldn’t hide from the pain. This pain was part of her. This pain meant she had survived. She lay for a long moment with her eyes closed, smelling the stink of tannery chemicals, the discarded scraps of yaxen hide, the gobbets of tissue scraped from the leather and dumped in a midden pile for the rats to fight over. She heard the rodents rustling through the dripping liquid in the gutters, stirring the garbage in a back alley where no one would see.
Lying motionless, Nicci took a silent inventory of her body, tasting the blood in her mouth, smelling it caked in her nose. Her head throbbed from a cracked skull, probably a concussion. Her muscles had been smashed from the brutal combat as well as the fall, and she knew her pale skin would become a mottled canvas of bruises. As she inhaled and exhaled, she could tell that several of her ribs were cracked.
A sufficiently gifted wizard could have healed her, but she was all alone here except for the rats. She could use her own gift to heal herself, once she regained enough strength … but that would be a long time coming. She doubted any of the wizards of Ildakar would lift a finger to help her, even if some of them also secretly resented the sovrena’s hard ways. They would not admit it now that Nicci had failed in her challenge.
At least she hadn’t been turned to stone, like the defiant sorceress Lani. That meant she could still fight. For now she had to endure, and survive.
Nicci opened her eyes. Despite the pain, she forced herself to move, getting to her feet slowly and methodically, catching her breath. She looked up between the buildings that rose on either side of her, the tannery and the warehouse. The ominous pinnacle of the ruling tower stood like a sentinel on the edge of the plateau. It seemed impossibly high above her. She couldn’t believe she had fallen that far and lived.
When she looked at the walls of the warehouse,
Nicci noticed unexpected glints of lights, jagged reflections flashing from cracks in the bricks. Mirror shards. Pieces of sharp-edged reflective glass left as a sign.
Mirrormask! The rebels.
Holding on to the wall for balance, Nicci made her way along. The shadows in the alley were easy and comforting. She leaned against the cool stone of the warehouse and rested, catching her breath. She knew she needed to move again—but she was all alone in the city, and had nowhere to go.
This late, the streets were deserted, and that was good. She wanted to be alone, to assess what to do next. Each step drained the last scraps of energy from her. She had expended too much power during her fight against the morazeth, defending herself against the sovrena’s blast, and then stopping her fall. Now she had nothing left. Nothing. Nathan was unconscious and might never recover. She didn’t know where Bannon was. Mrra was held in a cage. Nicci was on her own.
Her vision was so blurred and the thoughts so loud in her head that she didn’t at first notice the furtively moving figures. Nicci flinched, drew back, knowing she could not let any guards see her. But this wasn’t High Captain Stuart or his armed city guards. These were the rebels.
One hurried forward, speaking in a gruff voice. “It’s the sorceress. Mirrormask will want her.”
Her knees trembled, and she tried to draw on her pride and determination. She stepped forward to face the rebels, but she buckled and slid back against the wall. The hooded figures rushed up to catch her.
“The sovrena … did this.” She drew a breath that stabbed like sharp knife blades in her lungs, in her side. “I need to kill her.” Their faces were masked with shadows, and Nicci had only the smallest reason to trust them, yet this was the only hope she had.
She felt hands on her arms, propping her up. “Come with us, Sorceress. We have a place to take you, a place that will be safe.”
Those words were all she needed to hear. She surrendered to the calming black oblivion.
Shroud of Eternity Page 38
