Heart of Black Ice

CHAPTER 39

After their reunion at Cliffwall, Nathan and his companions prepared to defend the world. They didn’t have much time.

Even the staunchest fighters could not hope to drive off the gigantic army, should Utros find the isolated archive, so their best defense lay in remaining hidden in the maze of canyons. On a forced march to the coast, General Utros would have no reason to explore these side canyons, so the scholars should be safe while they planned.

As he stood outside in the open alcove in front of the main building, Nathan regarded the prophecy building that now lay slumped and melted against the far wall, its windows scarred over like wet clay. It had been destroyed by a foolish student who accidentally released a “Weeping Stone” spell without understanding how to control it. Nathan sighed at yet another reminder of the dangerous knowledge in the archive.

A knot of dread formed in his stomach as he considered so many naive and untrained scholars ransacking the archive for equally powerful magic. What if another eager but foolish scholar unleashed a dangerous spell that got out of hand? He, Prelate Verna, and the Sisters of the Light would have to serve as a check before anyone used such destructive magic.

He stroked his chin as he gazed out to the green canyon, the orchards, the flocks of sheep. These isolated people had vanished from the world thousands of years ago, during the great war. When Sulachan declared that all magical lore be rounded up and destroyed, many valiant wizards had secretly stockpiled old books and scrolls, preserving the information here in the wilderness. Now, perhaps that knowledge could be used to defend against General Utros.

Nathan sighed. Every time one terrible enemy was vanquished, another appeared—a discouraging thought. But maybe he should look at it the other way around. For every enemy that threatened the world, there would always be defenders like himself, Nicci, Richard, and Kahlan to stand against tyranny, proving to be stronger than evil, again and again.

This time would be no different.

Inhaling another breath of fresh air and solitude, Nathan turned back to the main archive building, which contained far too many books to read. Somewhere, there would be at least one good solution.

Inside the vaulted library chamber, glowing lights hovered above study tables, illuminated by simple spells that the young novices used for practice. Scholars sat at individual desks or at long tables piled with books. They all searched for new ideas, some unorthodox spell that could help stop the ancient army. Gloria distributed volumes for her avid memmers to peruse. Traditional scholars searched volume after volume, categorizing the books so that the Sisters of the Light could locate relevant subjects for more careful study.

Nathan was impressed by how engrossed they were in their search. The men and women bent over faded words, compared notes, and deciphered near-forgotten languages. The air in the chamber seemed to throb with the intensity of their thoughts.

Verna looked up from a long scroll spread out on the main table. Novice Amber and Sisters Mab, Sharon, and Arabella sat close to the prelate, sharing books and indicating passages they found of interest. Seeing him in the doorway, Verna raised her voice. “Can you read the documents by standing all the way over there, Nathan? Your eyesight must be extraordinary.”

“I was pondering, my dear prelate.” He came in and seated himself on the bench beside Amber, and the prelate handed him a stack of books as if she were a schoolmistress. “We haven’t reviewed these yet. Of the five hundred tomes we studied today, we set aside fifteen that are worth a second look. It is hard work.”

“Well, well, fifteen are better than none.” He opened the cover of the first book, which was filled with nautical charts. He wondered how such a book had ever found its way so far inland, but he doubted it would contain anything they could use against the marching army. He set the tome aside.

For the next several hours, Nathan fell into a routine, studying spines and titles, occasionally recognizing an author. Some books were written in the alphabet of Ildakar, which he had learned from Elsa during their stay in the city. Some languages were incomprehensible to him, so he returned those books to the stack in hopes that someone else might recognize the writing. Several books were written in High D’Haran, and one volume sent a tingle through his skin. He leaned closer. “This is in the language of Creation.”

“That bodes well. It must be extraordinarily powerful,” Verna said. “If you can read it?”

Nathan took that as a challenge. “I am somewhat versed in the language of Creation, but it requires a great deal of interpretation.”

He spent an hour on that book alone, while the scholars and the Sisters cataloged, studied, and discarded dozens of volumes. Finally, he admitted defeat. “Too much of a challenge, even for me.” He clucked his tongue against his teeth. “I was adept at constructed spells, but these words have an unknown foundation. If only Richard were here! That boy was quite skilled in working constructed spells, far beyond my talents.”

“Yes, Richard was the best student ever, the only war wizard born in thousands of years.” Verna closed a green leather-bound book, which sported a prominent dried bloodstain. “But we don’t have him now. We have only ourselves. And we have all this.” She gestured to the crowded shelves that lined the walls of the library, as well as the countless tunnels and archive vaults, the satellite buildings, even the innumerable sealed chests preserved by spells long ago. “That should be enough.”

“We just need to find out how, my dear,” he said.

Alone in the small austere chamber they had assigned him, Nathan fell into a deep sleep, still exhausted from the long and arduous trek. His mind and heart felt bruised from the loss of dear Elsa. Ildakar was gone, and he didn’t know whether Bannon and Nicci were alive or dead.

He tossed and turned on his narrow pallet. In his dreams he went back to Ildakar, but he felt a darkness around his memories. His heart pounded like a drum inside his chest, and he sank deeper into the dream. Subconsciously, he realized that he wasn’t looking through his own eyes.

Nathan saw himself in the combat arena, but his body felt different, solid and muscular. He brushed the front of his vest, finding not his usual ruffled white shirt, but the pelt of a sand panther … a sand panther he himself had skinned after killing it. After Ivan had killed it!

The chief handler’s heart thundered in his chest. Ivan had been a cruel man who enjoyed torturing the beasts he created. He would beat them into submission, but he valued them, if only because they served as his killing machines.

Still sleeping, captured by the unwelcome dream, Nathan felt a rush of exhilaration as he remembered harassing a huge, caged combat bear. Fleshmancers had created the beasts for the arena, and Ivan’s gift could control the creatures’ rudimentary brains. He remembered jabbing the bear with a sharp stick, making the monster crash into the iron bars of his cage. It had claws that could rip a horse apart.

Deeply asleep, Nathan stirred, tried to fight off the nightmare. Ivan was dead, mauled to death by his own animals. The man’s heart had restored Nathan as a wizard, but it was Nathan’s gift, and Nathan’s heart now! Not Ivan’s.

Some lingering part of the chief handler’s spirit brought back memories of tormenting monstrous bulls with branched horns, spiny boars with razor tusks. Ivan had wrestled each beast himself before turning them loose in the arena against their victims.

As Nathan dreamed, his hands flexed, and he smelled blood and dust in the air. He poked and prodded three sand panthers until they lashed out at him with fangs and claws, but Ivan just laughed and drove them away. In the dream, Nathan saw the sand panthers turn on him, snarling. They bounded closer, ready to tear him apart—

He woke up, sweating. He clenched his hands, appalled at what his heart remembered, and he realized that a part of him had enjoyed the torture. It was not a real part of him, though, just some leftover contamination from the chief handler’s heart.

“Stay away from me. Get out of my head!” With an effort, he drove Ivan’s presence away, and the dead man faded to whispers in his mind and in his heart.

Shaking, knowing he would never go back to sleep, Nathan went to the small desk and took out his life book. He opened it to the last few blank pages, where he would write down his real thoughts, his real adventures. That was what he wanted to remember.