Verna ran to the wooden ladder that had been mounted against the cliff wall, leading to handholds and ledges above the alcove mouth. She heard a dripping, rumbling sound, and the glorious buildings inside the grotto wavered. Their foundations liquefied, and the structures themselves toppled over like huge trees felled by a woodcutter. The bricks and stone blocks broke apart and spat out into the air like broken teeth, tumbling into one another. The outer cliff wall began to flow like wax as the hard rock became mud, slumping down in tears of stone. The vaulted alcove opening began to droop down like a swollen eyelid.
Verna scrambled up the ladder, climbing above the overhang. The wooden rungs were still solid, unaffected by the spreading spell, but the end of the ladder sank into the buttery stone, making the steps slanted and unstable. The change was happening faster than she expected. The already-ruined prophecy building vanished entirely, buried as the roof of the alcove flowed over the top of it.
She pulled herself higher, above the mouth of the alcove, and paused to watch the canyon wall slump down below her. A stone wave flowed onto the first enemy soldiers, and the triumphant roar of the invading army turned into howls of dismay. They tried to flee, but could not escape the liquid rock that washed over them.
Reaching the top rung of the ladder, Verna stretched her arm and pulled herself up with the stone handholds dug into the cliff. She found a stable place for her foot. As she climbed toward the top of the plateau and safety, the spell continued building, cascading throughout the cliff. Inside the mesa, the numerous vaults of magical lore had filled in, and all the tunnels inside were erased. The countless shelves of books were now like ancient fossil bones embedded in stone.
Verna laughed with relief as the sloughing sound rose to a deafening roar. She had succeeded! It was enough. The swelling magic rang throughout her body and she pulled on the gift to find the connected webs, ready to pull the Weeping Stone spell to a halt. The sorcerer’s sand anchored the key angles of the spell-form, but as the cliff collapsed, their positions shifted and swallowed the powerful grains, muffled by layers of stone. The precise pattern was disrupted.
The spell was like a monster that had broken loose.
Alarmed, Verna clenched her teeth and used her gift to strain against the unraveling webs like a rider trying to rein in a wild horse. In an odd displaced moment, she remembered how Richard Rahl had taught her to use a much kinder bit on her horse, which made the animal easier to control. Richard had cared about the horses as much as he cared about other people. She had learned so much from Richard. . . . But he wasn’t here to help her now.
The Weeping Stone spell expanded rather than diminishing, as it was supposed to. Verna had acted as a catalyst and released the power pent up inside the ancient archive, and now the destructive magic grew like a conflagration.
As she held on and wrestled with the uncontrollable spell, a shimmering image swooped up in the air next to her, the sickly green form of the sorceress Ava. “I see your spell!” her hollow voice cried, rising to a shriek. “You will not stop the general.”
Verna held on to the cliff handholds, knowing that the intangible spirit could do little to harm her directly. Ava hovered closer, intimidating, trying to terrify the prelate. “I cannot let you do this!”
But Verna was not easily terrified. As the spell continued to roar, bringing down the cliffside, she thrashed the air with her free hand, trying to drive the spirit away, but Ava filled her vision, disoriented her.
The Weeping Stone spell thrashed and writhed, and Verna’s attention slipped. Ava drew away her focus at a critical point.
Having climbed above the alcove to the stable rock, Verna thought she was safely away from the destruction, but to her dismay the cliffs above her began to collapse as well, far beyond what should have been the boundary of the spell. “No, this isn’t possible!”
The cliff poured down to bury the ranks of the enemy army. A flood of stone paved over thousands of soldiers who rode through the canyon below.
Ava made one last brash attack in the prelate’s face, a mirage with only a breath of tangible form. But as the walls collapsed in a wholesale disaster, the spirit cried out in dismay and vanished, swooping down toward General Utros.
Verna strained upward to reach a point where she could hold on and fight back, where she could stop the melting stone. She climbed several body lengths higher, but her foothold slipped away like a slurry of mud. The rocky knob in her hand became as soft as butter.
And she fell.
She dropped down the cliff face, clawing for a handhold in a mudslide. Her fingers caught in the soft stone, and she dug in up to her knuckles, but her weight dragged her down, and she gouged long furrows in the stone.
Verna attempted to use her gift to arrest her fall, still trying to dampen the overall spell. Despite all her reassurances to Nathan about being able to handle the power she unleashed, the connected webs and interlinked fields escaped her control. She sank and rolled in the liquefied rock.
With a last burst of magic, she deflected the fields and paused the spell so that the flowing rock hardened around her lower legs. But that did no good. She was trapped in a fist of stone, hanging upside down just above the canyon floor, where she watched more of the armored soldiers die.
She couldn’t break free, but the cliff kept melting. Stone sloshed around her until finally Verna was buried in a wave that petrified around her.
Her last thoughts were filled with hope that her spirit would at last be reunited with Warren’s beyond the veil, and they would have all eternity together.
CHAPTER 50
After the selka attack, the three battered serpent ships limped across the calm ocean toward the scattered Norukai islands. More than forty raiders had been killed by the selka before the serpent god arrived. Now the survivors licked their wounds, sewed up deep gashes, and admired their scars. Now they wanted to go home.
By now, only ten slaves remained alive on the main vessel. As a result, there were not enough captives to man the oars, and the Norukai were forced to work alongside the slaves, grumbling at having to row like the walking meat.
Devastated by the death of Chalk, though, King Grieve refused to tolerate complaints. He spoke little except to snarl orders, clearly in the mood to kill something. He slammed his iron-plated fist against the head of a man who objected too strenuously to the menial work, cracking his skull, and the other crew members quickly muted their complaints.
“Remember your king,” Grieve roared, then lowered his voice. “Remember Chalk. We all grieve.”
Bannon and Lila pulled to the sullen beat of oar master Bosko. Bannon muttered to Lila as they pulled the wooden oars, “We both could have died fighting that night. I hope the Norukai islands aren’t worse than death.”
Lila’s expression darkened. “I chose to keep you alive, boy. Now we have to decide how best to spend the rest of our days.” Her chains rattled as she strained against the oar. “I plan to make the Norukai pay a great debt of blood. We will have our chance.”
Bannon agreed with her.
The serpent ships sailed for two more days until the lookout sighted the first of the islands. Stark and ominous, the hummocks of rock looked like rotten teeth rising from the water. After the mourning king’s harsh discipline, the Norukai uttered a subdued cheer upon seeing their home again.
King Grieve stood at the prow, his large hand resting on the serpent god figurehead. He stared at the main island, a rough-edged black monstrosity with a narrow protected harbor. A looming fortress occupied the pinnacle of the main island, its sheer walls made of perfectly fitted black stone blocks, high above the crashing waves.
“The Bastion,” Grieve said in a hollow voice.
Water foamed along hazardous reefs, but the Norukai expertly guided their three vessels toward the narrow harbor. Dozens of serpent ships were anchored in the water of the archipelago, while others were under construction in dry docks. Lila responded to the sight with a grim frown. �
��Nearly a hundred ships were destroyed at Ildakar, but he has at least as many more here.”
Some of the anchored serpent ships were old and weathered, but many had new wood and fresh blue sails. Bannon’s throat went dry. “They continued building their navy even after King Grieve and his fleet sailed off to conquer Ildakar.” He knew that General Utros was already leading his army overland, and now this huge Norukai fleet looked ready to ransack the cities of the coast. He wished Nicci and Nathan were there to help them. “How will the Old World survive this, Lila? What can we do to stop them?”
“We’ll find a way to break free,” Lila said, keeping her hard voice low. “We can defeat them all.”
On deck, Grieve stood in silence like a figure carved out of anger. He gripped his war axe and looked ready to cleave any person who gave him a reason to do so. The king’s dark mood could not diminish the excitement of the other Norukai, though, and they rallied when they saw the large gathering of ships.
The three returning vessels pulled into the sheltered harbor of the main island. Some of the gruff raiders chattered, eager to see their wives and husbands. One Norukai woman pointed to other distinctive serpent ships in the main harbor. “Look, Lars is back!” When she gnashed her teeth, her scarred jaw rippled.
With disgust, Bannon remembered Lars, one of the three Norukai captains that came to Ildakar to sell their slaves. Egged on by his supposed friends Amos, Jed, and Brock, Bannon had brawled with Lars and his companions. “Sweet Sea Mother, I’d like a chance to kill him. He’s the reason I was sentenced to the combat pits.”
Lila laughed. “I understand why you hate that man, boy, but think of the unexpected reward you received. If not for your foolish street fight, you would never have become my trainee. Now you are skilled enough to kill many Norukai.”
“I will put your training to good use, I promise,” Bannon said. “As soon as we get the chance.”
Looking up at the steep hills around the Bastion, he saw garden terraces from which hanging clumps of succulent weeds draped down the sheer rock. The Norukai picked out an existence on the windswept island, growing what they could while raiding for anything else they required.
When the three ships tied up to the pier, the raiders detached the slaves’ ankle chains, but kept their hands bound as they herded them off the ship. Grieve snarled, “Take them to the Bastion and add them to the workforce until they are broken.” He grimaced with his scarred lips. “Or killed.”
A woman with the physique of a bear marched toward them along the dock. Her treelike legs were bare except for boots that rose to her knees. She wore a leather skirt studded with brass knobs. A tight sharkskin wrap around her torso was strained to near the breaking point by her large breasts. Her square face was as lovely as a blacksmith’s anvil, and ropy red hair was tied in five long braids that hung like tentacles. When she opened her mouth to yell a greeting, she looked even more like a serpent. “King Grieve, I was tired of waiting for you.” Her voice was so loud that the chatter from the disembarking crew fell into a lull. “I am ready to be your lover again. Don’t miss your chance!”
The woman stepped up to Grieve as if she intended to collide with him. Some Norukai chuckled, but the king’s face was stormy. “Atta. I’ve given no thought to you since we departed.”
“I haven’t wasted time on you either,” Atta barked. “I have taken other lovers, but they were inadequate. When I saw your ships return, I decided to give you another chance.” She punched him hard on the shoulder as if it were a flirtation. When he punched her back and knocked her reeling, Atta just laughed.
Bannon recalled the name. In his many unwanted soliloquies, Chalk had rambled about someone named Atta. Now, Bannon whispered to Lila, “Once, Grieve was injured so badly that he had to miss a Norukai raid, and Atta mocked him for it. Grieve broke her jaw so that she had to remain behind too.”
“Ah, and that is how they became lovers,” Lila concluded. She seemed to think there was nothing unusual about that form of courtship.
Hearing Lila speak, Atta turned to sneer at her, regarding the lean morazeth as if she were a gutted fish in the market. “And who are you?” She scowled at the scant black leather garments Lila wore. “You think you can seduce my Grieve? He would break you.”
“If he tried, I would break something of his,” Lila said.
When the other Norukai snickered at the retort, the beefy woman smashed Lila on her already bruised face. Lila reeled, but managed to keep her feet. King Grieve used the distraction to stalk away down the pier, ignoring the woman. Atta huffed and strode after him.
Bannon and the slaves were marched away from the docks, dragged up steep paths until they reached the imposing stone foundation of the Bastion on the steep slopes. Their way was blocked by a low barred gate that led into the massive fortress. The iron bars swung open on creaking hinges to reveal a Norukai guard glowering at the slaves. “All of you will be taken to stations to help prepare the homecoming feast.”
With their hands bound in front of them, the rest of the slaves staggered behind Bannon and Lila into the dank, cold passageway. Chill winds and the damp of the sea rendered the corridor miserable. Water dripped from salt encrustations on the ceiling, and slimy algae made the floor slippery. Though her black leather covered little of her skin, Lila showed no sign of being uncomfortable, just razor sharp in her determination.
The guard led them along, ducking under the low ceiling. Other guards followed the line, shoving the slaves when they moved too slowly. They climbed twisting stairs and through passageways lit only by smoky torches.
Without any windows or sunlight, Bannon lost all sense of direction, but Lila silently marked and memorized every step. Finally they entered a cavernous, noisy chamber with fiery ovens, barrels of flour, large stone countertops, and gaunt workers preparing a huge meal. Fish roasted on grates over fires that roared into multiple chimneys. Fish stew simmered in large cauldrons.
The smells were as powerful as the clamor of the pots and pans. Bannon’s hunger increased like a sudden wildfire. For many days he’d had nothing to eat but fish guts and slop, and now the aroma of baking bread and charred fish made him weak-kneed.
“Food!” cried one of the captives behind him, extending his bound wrists in an attempt to grab a knot of bread left on a counter.
A veteran kitchen slave lashed out, “Stop! Don’t touch.” He lifted his left arm to show the stump of his wrist. “Or they’ll cut off your hand, then cook it and eat it as part of the feast.” The newcomers quailed even as they drooled at the bounty around them.
An old man limped up to greet the Norukai guard. “New slaves? How many?” His face was so wrinkled he looked like a raisin dried in the sun. His eyes roamed over the new group. “Ten. That’ll be helpful. King Grieve hasn’t replaced the Bastion staff in a long time.”
The guard merely grunted and tugged Bannon in front of the wrinkled old slave, glad to be rid of his charges. This seemed to be a demeaning activity to him.
The old man took a kitchen knife and sawed the ropes that bound Bannon’s wrists, then methodically lurched down the line, freeing the rest of the captives. He muttered to himself, “Twenty loaves of bread, three barrels of salted fish, five platters of pickled cliffweed, one for each table.” As he cut the bonds of one female slave, she collapsed, but the old man grabbed her bloody raw wrists and hauled her to her feet again. “No time for that! All of us have work to do. If King Grieve is disappointed in the feast, he’ll eat you instead.”
Bannon did not think it was an idle threat. The old man continued his muttering. “Salted fish, smoked fish, and fresh fish for the king.” He heaved a sigh. “Although the king hates fish. Doesn’t like goat either.” He addressed the new arrivals. “I am Emmett, and I’m here to help you—help you serve King Grieve. Most Bastion slaves do not last long, but I have been here for ten years, longer than any other captive. If you follow my instructions, I will see to it that you survive.”
“Why would
you do that?” Lila demanded.
“Because I need the help.” Emmett lowered his voice, though there was only one Norukai near the far entrance to the kitchen, a husky woman who looked bored and disappointed. He pulled the new arrivals together and whispered in a conspiratorial, urgent voice. “I will help you stay alive, but you must listen to me. If you cause trouble, the king will break your bones and set them wrong, just so you remember.” He looked down at his badly healed leg.
Lila flexed her fingers and frowned at her scabbed wrists. “My intent is to kill as many Norukai as possible. That’s why I let myself be captured. I’m going to free Bannon, then I will escape.” She looked at the other frightened slaves, thinking they were weak. “If you are useful, we may allow you all to join us when we leave here.”
Emmett quailed. “That isn’t how you stay alive! The Norukai will kill you. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen many times.”
“You have not seen me,” Lila said.
“Or me,” Bannon added. “She’s a morazeth, and I was trained in the combat pits of Ildakar. We may have a better chance than our predecessors.”
Emmett groaned, deeply saddened. “Then I can’t help you to stay alive.” Back to business, he snapped his head up so abruptly that his gray ponytail bounced. “Right now, there’s work to do here. Throw your lives away later, after the feast is over. No time to clean any of you up. No fresh clothes, but you—” He looked at Lila and her scant black leather outfit. “Yes, you in particular, I will give you an old, drab robe to cover yourself.”
She was insulted. “I am proud of my body. This garment marks me as a morazeth.”
“That garment marks you as an object of desire.” Emmett looked frantic. “Do you want to be passed from table to table in a banquet hall full of lusty Norukai men? And women?”
“They can try,” Lila said. “They will regret it.”
Bannon remembered the mangled would-be rapist aboard the serpent ships after Lila had been captured, but he didn’t want to test that again. He urged her, “Lila, it would be best not to call attention to yourself. Let’s choose our own time to fight. Not now.” Emmett brought forth a gray, tattered wool garment she could drape over herself, and Bannon pleaded with her. “Just wear it.”
Heart of Black Ice (Sister of Darkness: The Nicci Chronicles Book 4) Page 30
