Nicci once again wore her black travel dress, which had been cleaned and mended. The people of Cliffwall provided packs, water, and food for their scouting expedition.
Before she and Bannon set off into the broad desolation, Simon joined them at the outer wall of the plateau, from which they would climb down into the foothills. “Most of those who go to seek the Lifedrinker never come back,” he said.
“We don’t intend to fight him now,” Nicci said. “We are just investigating, checking to see his defenses. And when I return, armed with the intelligence we’ve gathered, I can help Nathan look for what we need among all those volumes.”
She and Bannon left Cliffwall in the early morning, emerging from the opposite side of the plateau onto a steep, winding path. They picked their way down the sheer slope to the foothills, where the vegetation had begun to wither as the Lifedrinker’s desolation expanded. The low mesquite trees and piñon pines had bent over, as if in the agony of a long poisonous death. Thorny weeds tore at their clothes as they walked along, descending through the hills. Black beetles scuttled along the ground, while spiders hung forlorn in empty webs.
Much farther out into the valley, the terrain was cracked, lifeless desert. Nicci tried to imagine that broad expanse filled with croplands, thriving villages, and well-traveled roads, all of which had now been swallowed in the dust over the past twenty years. From the vantage of the foothills, the waves of oncoming desolation were as apparent as ripples in a pond.
She narrowed her eyes as she gazed toward the heart of the crater. “The Lifedrinker will be there. We’ll get as close as we can for now, gather information, but I will save the real fight for when I know how to kill him.”
Bannon squinted toward their destination, then gave a quick nod.
Before they left the last hills, Nicci heard a rustling of shrubs behind her, a loose stone kicked aside, the crack of a dry mesquite branch. Bannon spun, raising his sword, and Nicci prepared to fight.
When the dry boughs of a dead piñon moved aside, Thistle pushed herself through, looking around. Spotting Nicci, the girl smiled. “I knew I would catch up with you sooner or later. I came to help.”
“I told you to stay behind,” Nicci said.
“Lots of people tell me things. I make up my own mind.”
Nicci placed her hands on her hips. “You should not be out here. Go back to Cliffwall.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you are not.”
Thistle clearly wasn’t going to listen. “I know these lands. I’ve lived here all my life. I led you to Cliffwall, didn’t I? You would never have been able to find it without me. I can take care of myself—and I can take care of you.” She put her hands on her rag skirt, imitating Nicci’s stance. Her lips quirked in a defiant smile. “And if I wanted to keep following you, how would you stop me?”
Nicci gave a quick answer. “With sorcery.”
The girl huffed. “You would never use sorcery against me.”
Thistle’s bold confidence brought a wry smile to Nicci’s lips. “No, I probably wouldn’t. And I’m fully aware of how useful you can be out in the wild, perhaps even more so than Bannon.”
The young man flushed. “But I’ve proved my usefulness in battle. Think of how many dust people I killed back in Verdun Springs, and all the selka before that.”
“And you may need to fight and kill more enemies.” Nicci didn’t want to waste any more time. “Very well. We will go together, scout the Scar, and return quickly. But stay alert. We don’t know what other defenses the Lifedrinker might have.”
Descending from the last foothills, they headed along cracked canyons that led into the Scar. The breezes swept up white, salty dust from the dry ground, and Bannon coughed as he wiped bitter white powder from his face. Nicci’s eyes stung. Her black dress was also smeared with tan and white from all the blowing alkaline powder. She rationed her water, knowing they would find none in the desolation.
The ruined landscape seemed to grow angrier as they continued. The sun pounded down as they emerged from the widening washes of dry rivers that were now just barren, rocky beds. Salt-encrusted boulders protruded from the ground, and all that remained of round lakes were cracked mosaics of dry mud. Dust devils swirled ghostly curls of powder.
Weary in the oppressive environment, the three engaged in little conversation, and paused to rest infrequently. When they sipped a drink, their water tasted bad from the caustic dust on their lips.
Farther along, the cracks in the ground exhaled fumes where steam rose up from underground vents. Nicci smelled the burnt tang of brimstone. Bubbling mud pots looked like raw wounds; bursting and splattering, they emitted the foul stench of rotten eggs. Thistle sprang from rock to rock, picking out a safe path for them.
The stirred debris in the air made the sun appear swollen in the late afternoon, and Nicci felt uneasy about the prospect of camping in the Scar. “It’s been hours since we last saw even a dead tree,” Bannon said.
“We can find shelter in the rocks,” Nicci said. “Or maybe we should just walk through the night. I can make a hand light to guide us.”
The girl looked uneasy. “Dangerous things come out at night.”
Bannon looked around warily, but the sulfurous steam from fumaroles and bubbling mud pits made the air thick with haze. The sounds would have masked any stealthy movement.
Nicci said, “We can be attacked just as readily during the day.”
As they considered their choices, the dry, caked dirt stirred beneath them. Reacting quickly, Nicci pushed Thistle to safety and she herself sprang back as dark, desiccated hands reached out of the dust. Cracks spread apart in the ground, and dust people crawled up from below. Bannon yelled and raised his sword, running toward the attackers.
Nicci let magic boil into her hand. She had battled these things before. She released a surge of fire, igniting the nearest attacker before it could crawl entirely out of the cracked soil.
Jumping onto a flat rock for stability, Bannon swung his sword with a vicious sweep that decapitated three mummified men clad in dirt-encrusted rags. But even headless, the creatures still lunged forward, blindly grasping for victims. Dodging from rock to rock, Thistle ducked under the outstretched claws, and Bannon cleaved a cadaver’s torso in two, then hacked off its brittle legs at the knees.
Nicci released a focused hammer blow of wind that shattered the bones and dried sinews of another emerging creature, leaving it in a pile of broken debris half out of the ground. Another push of air knocked the unsteady dust people backward into the bubbling mud pits. The creatures fell into the roiling, churning cauldrons, where they thrashed and sank.
Thistle sprang onto the back of a desiccated creature that advanced toward Nicci from behind. The girl tugged at its shoulders and battered her fists onto its sticklike ribs, stabbed the dry body repeatedly with her knife. The mummified creature broke and fell to the dust.
As Nicci turned to thank her, another pair of dust people crawled up out of the ground, lunging toward Thistle with a clearly focused intent. One was a shriveled woman with a faded red head scarf wrapped around the tufts of wiry hair on her skull. The other, a man, wore the tattered remnants of a leather vest.
Thistle lifted her knife to swing at the new attack, but then she froze in horrified recognition. The dust people stumbled toward her, much too close, hooked hands grasping for the girl. “Aunt Luna? Uncle Marcus!”
Nicci recognized them as well, and she swept in, placing herself in front of the stunned girl. The creatures that had been her aunt and uncle wanted to drag Thistle back with them, but Nicci stood before them. “You can’t have her!” Leathery, cadaverous hands touched her arms, her black dress—and Nicci released a furious surge of magic, sparking fire within the inhuman remnants of Marcus and Luna.
The sudden fire burned a hot, purifying white, consuming the remains of the two in an instant. As they reeled away from Nicci, the pair fell into fine gray ash, dropping with a rushin
g sound that was almost a sigh. Thistle let out a despairing cry.
Panting heavily, the three stood together, poised for more attackers, but the Lifedrinker sent no more dust people after them. The battle was over as swiftly as it had begun. In the distance, they heard scuttling movement, a clatter of pebbles … not reanimated corpses this time, but other creatures—armored things with many legs that kept to the shadows.
Thistle clung to Nicci’s waist. “The Lifedrinker knows where we are. He is spying on us.”
“Are you sure we should keep going out there in the darkness?” Bannon asked. He could barely keep the quaver from his voice.
“It would be a waste to sacrifice ourselves now,” Nicci said. “Until we discover a way to cut off the Lifedrinker’s magic, we have seen enough. For now.”
They made good time retracing their steps toward the rising land at the north end of the vast dead valley, but it was long after dark when they reached the dying forests and remnants of trees in the foothills. The dry grass, dead weeds, and gnarled, leafless trees seemed welcoming by comparison. They were exhausted by the time they found a place to camp.
“At least we have enough wood to build a fire now,” Bannon said. “A very large fire.”
Still shaken from seeing the remnants of her aunt and uncle, Thistle brought several armloads of dry mesquite and made a pile at their chosen campsite. “It’ll be very bright and warm, but won’t the Lifedrinker be able to see such a big fire?”
Nicci used her magic to ignite the pile, and the bright fire crackled with intense flames and ribbons of aromatic smoke. “He knows full well where we are. Now at least we will be able to see any attack that comes.”
Bannon and Thistle hunkered close to the comforting flames. “Both of you sleep,” Nicci said. “I will keep watch.”
They bedded down, though they remained restless for many hours. As she sat alone, Nicci listened for sounds beyond the pop and crackle of the burning wood.
The Scar remained silent, an emptiness in the dark that seemed to swallow up sound as well as life. Nicci sensed some other presence out there, however, something prowling in the dying hills around them. Alert, she peered into the blackness beyond the firelight, but could see nothing, hear nothing. Yet she felt it … something strong and deadly.
Something hunting them.
CHAPTER 45
Surrounded by gifted scholars, Nathan found their dedication refreshing and inspirational. “If I had a thousand years with this grand library, I’d become the greatest wizard who ever lived,” he said with a good-natured but weary smile, as Simon brought him another stack of volumes.
“A thousand years…” said the scholar-archivist with a shake of his head. He arranged the selected volumes in careful stacks on Nathan’s cluttered study table. “I would like nothing more than to spend centuries reading, studying, and learning … but alas, I have only a normal life span.”
“That was one of the few advantages of being trapped inside the Palace of the Prophets, the webs and spell-forms that prevented us from aging,” Nathan said. He looked at the mountains of books brought to him for his review, stacked by subject, some of the passages marked with colorful strings or feathers to separate the pages. “But if the Scar continues to grow and grow, there may not be more than a normal life span left for any of us.”
Intent on searching for any useful information about the Lifedrinker, the Cliffwall students pored through book after book, scroll after scroll, highlighting any writings that might bear relevance. Nathan wanted to find the original spell Roland had used to fight his wasting disease, the spell that had transformed him into the Lifedrinker.
During his years in the palace, Nathan had become an extremely fast reader. Even though he’d had all the time in the world, he also had access to thousands and thousands of books, and even forever hadn’t seemed like enough time. He could skim a document as fast as he could turn the pages, and he could absorb several thick volumes in an hour.
In only two days here in Cliffwall, he had already finished reading shelves of books, but it would take so much time to learn it all. So much time … He had learned very little about the Lifedrinker’s draining spell.
Nathan drew his fingers down his chin. “Remind me, did you say that Roland used a spell that was preserved by the memmers?”
“One of the memmers remembered part of it and made certain suggestions. They gave Roland an idea where to look.” Simon frowned at an embossed leather volume and set it aside. “We have not yet been able to recover the original text of the spell to study it ourselves. Therefore, we must rely on Victoria’s word.” When he frowned, the lines in his face made him look much older. “Memories can be faulty. I would prefer independent text verification.”
As if summoned, the memmer leader came up with her three lovely acolytes. As she heard him speak, her face darkened with annoyance. Audrey, Laurel, and Sage crowded close behind her, looking indignant on her behalf.
“The memmers are beyond reproach.” Victoria stood before the study table piled high with tomes. “You wouldn’t have any of these books to study at all, were it not for me. If I had not discovered how to dissipate the camouflage shroud, no one would have access to the archive.”
“Nor would Roland,” Nathan pointed out, “and we wouldn’t be in quite so much trouble.”
Simon gathered his dignity and drew himself taller in an attempt to belittle Victoria. “All of us in Cliffwall appreciate your past service. The memmers were important in their day, but you are obsolete now. Gifted and intelligent people have access to the entire library now, not just selected volumes memorized generations ago.”
Victoria huffed. “Words written on paper are different from words held in the mind.” She tapped her temple and leaned close. “It matters not what is written down, but what we know.”
Simon plainly disagreed. “Knowledge that is not written down cannot be properly shared. How can I study what is inside your mind? How can our scholars draw insights and conclusions if we can’t see your thoughts? How can you share properly with Wizard Nathan right now?”
“We will tell him whatever he needs to know,” Victoria said.
Nathan raised his hands I exasperation. “Dear spirits, do not quarrel! Cliffwall is a banquet of special lore, and we have a feast before us. Why quibble over a few tidbits?”
Struggling not to let the argument flare, Simon turned to depart. “I will keep gathering suitable volumes for you and let these women tell you the stories they hold in their heads.”
Victoria gave the scholar-archivist a condescending frown as he left. “Don’t worry about young Simon, Wizard Nathan. He has reached a level of responsibility beyond his capabilities.” She sounded sweet and maternal. “Archiving all the volumes in the library is an immense and overwhelming task, and it will take many generations to do properly. Memmers have dealt with the problem of retaining our information for thousands of years, so it is understandable why Simon feels such urgency.”
“But there is genuine urgency, madam,” Nathan said. “If the Lifedrinker continues to drain the world, none of us has much time left.” He ran his fingers through his shoulder-length white hair. “I do need to know what you have memorized, but, as Simon pointed out, I cannot access what is stored inside your head.”
Victoria smiled with a patient warmth. “Then we will lead you through it. We shall recite the books you need to read, because we know them by heart.”
Nathan could skim words on paper faster than any memmer could speak, but if Victoria and her acolytes sorted through their memorized knowledge and recited only the relevant portions, perhaps it would be worthwhile.
He regarded Audrey, Laurel, and Sage, saw the three different types of beauty. “They are not your actual daughters, though I see how you care for them. You must be very close.”
“These dear girls have spent their lives with me. I consider all of my acolytes to be my surrogate sons and daughters.” Sadness washed over Victoria’s face like a fog
closing in. “I never had children of my own, although my husband and I tried very hard. When we wed, Bertram and I dreamed of having a large family, but…” Her expression fell further, and she turned away. “But I was barren. We never had children. Three times I found myself pregnant, and we had such hope. I even started making infant clothes … but I lost the baby each time. And then Bertram died.”
She closed her eyes and heaved a great breath. She gave the three young acolytes a loving look. “So I poured all my maternal instincts into guiding my acolytes, and over the years I have trained a family larger than Bertram and I ever dreamed we could have.
“I have done my duty to preserve the memmers, so that knowledge is passed on from parent to child, independent from what is written down in the archive.” She sounded defensive. “I refuse to let go of our heritage. It is we who kept the lore preserved for the centuries when Cliffwall remained hidden.” Audrey, Laurel, and Sage, with tears in their eyes, nodded. Victoria swept the three of them into a hug. “Sometimes I wish I had never remembered the spell that dissolved the camouflage shroud.” She shook her head.
“You had to,” Laurel said.
“It was time,” Sage said.
Intrigued, Nathan pushed the stacked books aside. “And how exactly did you reveal the hidden barrier after thousands of years? I thought no one knew how to counter the camouflage spell.”
“It was a rare mistake—for the memmers, and for me.”
Nathan folded his hands together, raised his eyebrows. “I am listening.”
“As we told you, the camouflage shroud was more than just a disguise. It was a barrier, a preservation spell. Cliffwall was sealed behind a barricade of time. Not just hidden—it was gone.
“But the first memmers were given the knowledge of how to take down that secret barricade when it was time. If no one remembered how to drop the shroud, then the knowledge might as well have been destroyed. So, the key was passed along in our collective memory, generation to generation.” She nodded to herself. “After three thousand years had passed, and the wizard wars were long over, the canyon dwellers considered it safe enough to try. But, alas, the release spell we had memorized millennia ago no longer worked.”
Death's Mistress--Sister of Darkness Page 32
