Shroud of Eternity

CHAPTER 17

The next day, Nicci returned to the ruling tower, where the wizards’ duma was holding session. Sovrena Thora and Wizard Commander Maxim took their ornate seats on the raised platform above the floor of blue marble tiles. Thora wore a shimmering orange and scarlet dress that clung to her shapely body and highlighted her startling sea-green eyes. Her long hair had been done up in a different, intricate pattern of loops and braids, held in place by jeweled clasps. She seemed to radiate power, amplified by her own confidence.

Because there was no pressing business, only a few duma members bothered to attend the meeting—Elsa, Renn, and Quentin. Entering late, the muscular Ivan came from the arena pits. The chief handler was swarthy, sweating, and in a foul mood. He stalked in, grumbling, but the other members paid him no mind; apparently, Ivan often attended in such a state.

“Had to kill two more unruly animals today, a sand panther and a speckled boar. With my gift, I can usually knuckle them under, force them to submit even if I have to break a few bones or burst some blood vessels. But these two beasts kept turning on me. I needed one of my apprentices, Dorbo, to club them into submission.” He twisted his thick lips as if he wanted to spit. “A waste of time and energy, all of them.” He looked around the room as he approached his seat at the marble table. “Where’s Andre? He creates the things.”

“Perhaps he’s just giving you a challenge, Chief Handler,” said Maxim, lounging back in his chair, amused.

“I have enough damned challenges already.” He slumped heavily in his seat.

Nicci had been invited to watch, but not interfere. From where she stood in the observers’ alcove near the tall windows overlooking the city, Nicci maintained her silence. She narrowed her intense blue eyes and watched closely, absorbing the interaction among the duma members. As far as she could tell, the ruling council of Ildakar lacked any compassion for the rest of the city. She couldn’t imagine how they had kept Ildakar functioning when it was bottled up under a protective shroud for fifteen centuries. If the mirrors mounted defiantly on alley walls were any indication, she suspected a low undercurrent of unrest beneath this supposed utopia.

Though Nicci felt skepticism and distaste roiling inside, she reminded herself that she and her companions were only guests here, and she still had her underlying mission to spread the word of the D’Haran Empire. She would be quiet for now, but she was strong. These people paid little attention to her, but they didn’t know who she really was yet.

Nathan had also joined her for the council session, but he remained uncharacteristically quiet. He had looked unsettled since meeting with Fleshmancer Andre the previous day. For the loquacious former prophet to withhold conversation, Nicci could sense that something was wrong. Though she wouldn’t overtly offer, she would be ready to assist him if she saw the opportunity. Nathan was convinced he needed the help of these wizards, but maybe he was seeing the cracks under this society as well.

Bannon arrived. Instead of the loose finery from the banquet, he wore his durable canvas pants, which had been cleaned and mended, as well as his scuffed traveling boots, but he did don a slick brown Ildakaran shirt. The sleeves were wide and billowing, but tapered to a cuff at his wrists. As always, he kept Sturdy strapped to his side, and Nathan carried his more ornate sword. No one seemed the least bit uncomfortable that guests would bring deadly blades in their presence, and that told Nicci how confident the council members were in their own magic.

When the young redhead entered in the ruling hall, the wizards looked askance at him. Thora frowned, making it plain that she didn’t wish the ungifted young man to be there. “Have you no activities with our son and his friends?”

Bannon—intentionally, Nicci was sure—missed her mood and shrugged. “I enjoy the company of Amos and the others, but I also like to spend time with my friends Nicci and Nathan. We’ve traveled a long way together to find your city.”

“And you’re welcome to sit with us, my boy.” Nathan indicated the bench beside him; then he emerged from the observation alcove and cleared his throat, as if Thora’s comment had invited open discussion from the floor. “Fleshmancer Andre is hard at work on some massive new project, which consumes his attentions. I’m sure he sends his apologies that he can’t attend the duma meeting today.”

“He rarely attends duma meetings,” Maxim said with a lilt of sarcasm. “We’ll be forced to muddle along without the delight of his company.”

“Such a pity.” Sovrena Thora matched her husband’s sarcasm.

“He’s creating something special for the arena,” Ivan said, brushing at a stain on his panther-pelt jerkin. His wide mouth broke into a grin. “I’ll let him take the time he needs, but he said it would be done soon.”

When Nicci shot her companion a questioning glance, Nathan looked away. He raised his voice and kept speaking to the duma. “Before he became preoccupied, though, Andre identified the root cause of my problem. Apparently, through the fundamental changes after the star shift, I somehow lost … the heart of a wizard. The fleshmancer is working on a way to rectify that condition. He has some ideas, but no clear answers as of yet.”

“At least that means your weakness is not contagious,” Renn said with a sigh. “When will he be able to cure you?”

“He’s finishing my project first,” Ivan said, rubbing at a red welt on his exposed biceps, as if trying to remember how he had gotten injured.

With some embarrassment, Nathan agreed. “Considering his obvious interest in the challenge, I believe his attention is focused entirely on that.”

“I hope he doesn’t take too long,” said the wizard commander. “How it must pain you to be utterly impotent, Nathan … unable to use even the most trivial magic.”

Nathan flushed. “I wouldn’t exactly use the word ‘impotent.’”

“Until you can demonstrate the use of magic, your position among us remains in limbo,” Thora said with a sour expression. “For the moment, we extend our courtesy to you as a guest, but if you mean to stay here in Ildakar forever, that will have to change.”

A fire of surprise pulsed through Nicci’s veins. This was the second time they had mentioned the possibility. “We have no intention of remaining here forever.”

“You may not have a choice if you are inside the walls when the shroud goes back up permanently,” Thora said.

“Then we can’t let you restore the shroud yet.” Nicci’s voice was hard, and the sovrena looked startled at the defiance. She continued, “We still have work to do here.”

Richard had explicitly charged her with seeking out tyranny and oppression. She might have to reshape the city’s entire ruling structure, if she took that mission entirely to heart here. Was Ildakar worth the effort? Though the sovrena and the wizard commander did not seek to conquer the world, like Jagang, they still posed a threat to freedom. “I don’t think you’d want to leave me trapped here.”

Before Thora could argue, loud footsteps and harsh shouts drifted up from the entry at the base of the tower below. Footsteps came up the waterfall of stairs in a brisk percussive beat, landing after landing, until a group reached the expansive ruling chamber.

Nicci, Nathan, and Bannon turned to see three ominous women leading a scruffy young man in the rough-spun tunic and trousers of a slave. He was barefoot and smudged with dirt, possibly excrement. His unruly mop of hair looked as if it had been cut with a sharpened spoon. His brown eyes darted in defiance from side to side. Fresh bruises were apparent through the dirt smeared on his cheeks. Nicci was surprised to recognize the young yaxen herder who had caused High Captain Avery such consternation on the day of their arrival.

But her main focus was drawn like a lodestone to the three whip-thin women who escorted the prisoner. The compact female warriors were composed entirely of muscle, as if some fleshmancer had created them out of coiled wires and metal rods, then covered the framework with feminine flesh. Each of the three wore a scant black leather wrap around her waist and another leather band cinched across her breasts, leaving legs, arms, and midriff bare. They wore metal-shod sandals with black leather wrappings bound high up their calves.

Their exposed skin was an overworked canvas, marked not with tattoos, but actual brands, arcane Ildakaran symbols that turned their bodies into walking spell books—just like those Nicci had seen on Mrra’s hide, or the horrific combat bear they had killed. Despite their marred skin, these thinly clad warrior women were hauntingly beautiful. They exuded power and dangerous sexuality. Their hair was cropped short, perhaps as a defense against some enemy grabbing a fistful of locks.

Thora leaned forward in her tall chair. “What have you brought us, Adessa? He looks like a dirty slave, not one of your warriors in training.”

“Too scrawny for a warrior,” Chief Handler Ivan muttered, “though he might provide some food for my hungry beasts.”

The oldest and best-muscled of the three women came forward. Her short black hair was peppered with highlights of silver, and her dark eyes were bright as a raven’s. She might have been beautiful, under other circumstances. Adessa delivered her report with military precision. “He is not one of my fighters, nor a trainee from the cells. Just a dirty yaxen herder, but my morazeth caught him. He supports the rebels.”

The other two black-clad women each took an arm of the struggling captive boy and pushed him across the polished blue marble tiles toward the dais. His hands were tied in front of him at the wrists.

Nathan stroked his thumb and forefinger down his chin as he turned to Nicci. “‘Morazeth’? The word sounds similar to ‘Mord-Sith.’ They are obviously powerful and dangerous women, and they even have a penchant for wearing leather, though there would not seem to be enough of it to serve as body armor.”

Nicci studied the women. “It may have come from the same root word in ancient times.” These morazeth warrior trainers did indeed remind her of the Mord-Sith, women impervious to magic, who wore leather and swore their lives to protect the Lord Rahl. “I do not know the origins of the Mord-Sith back in D’Hara. These may have been an offshoot thousands of years ago, separated back in the days of the great war. Ildakar has been sealed away for many centuries. These women could have developed independently, followed their own path. Some things may be similar to the Mord-Sith, but I expect much will be greatly different.”

Bannon couldn’t stop staring at them.

From his seat at the marble table, Ivan called out, “If he is an unruly slave, why don’t we put him in the fighting pits? Get rid of him.”

“A slave that can’t be controlled is a slave that is of no use to Ildakar,” Thora agreed.

“I’m not unruly,” the defiant young man shouted. “I fight for freedom!”

Adessa looked sidelong at the chief handler, but focused her attention on the sovrena. “We caught him down by the animal cages near the arena pens. He obviously meant to release some of the beasts to create havoc among the good people of the city—as the rebels have done before.”

“The animals should be trained to taste the blood of nobles!” The slave struggled unsuccessfully to break free of the hands gripping his arms.

“Alas, the beasts will have to be satisfied with bitter-tasting slave meat,” Thora said. “Fangs and claws will set you free.”

“I am already free,” the yaxen herder insisted. “Mirrormask made me free, and he will make us all free.”

There was grumbling among the duma members. Elsa looked deeply concerned. Renn, Damon, and Quentin muttered to one another.

“Why do they call him Mirrormask?” Nathan asked. “It’s a curious name.”

“Because he wears a mask made of a mirror,” Quentin responded. “Obviously.”

“That doesn’t answer the question why,” Nicci said.

Maxim explained, “It is said his face was horribly disfigured by a fleshmancer. His visage is so appallingly hideous that people prefer to look at the reflection of their own faces, rather than his.”

“Perhaps he wishes to reflect the ugliness around him,” Nicci suggested, which earned her an annoyed glare from Thora.

Maxim chuckled. “Or maybe he just likes to have people tell stories about him. That way he will seem more mysterious and powerful than he really is.” He crossed his legs, one slick black pantaloon over the other. “Whatever the reason, I wouldn’t take his trivial movement seriously. That would give Mirrormask too much respect.”

“Have you heard his grievances?” Nathan asked. “Rebels need to rebel against something.”

“Discontent feeds itself. Better just to starve it,” Thora said.

Nicci stepped forward, focused on the captive. “I would like to speak with this boy. A mere yaxen herder? Not much of a hero or a martyr. It would be best to understand why such a person would show such defiance, knowing it would surely result in his death.”

“That’s not necessary at all, my dear sorceress,” Maxim said. He rose from his chair and spread both hands out at his sides. “We have handled such nonsense before, and I can take care of this quickly.”

Nicci looked at the defiant, but also terrified, captive slave. “And yet it happened again.”

“You will not interfere,” Thora said in a cold voice.

“Don’t you want to see what you can learn from him?” Nicci couldn’t believe they would waste such an opportunity.

“Not necessary. Not interested.” Maxim curled his fingers as he concentrated, and power circled around him, drawn out of the air like a latent thunderstorm. The wizard commander’s short hair lifted slightly, drifting about in a corona of growing energy. “Those who would disrupt the perfect order of Ildakar must be dealt with appropriately. I am not only the wizard commander; I am also the city’s master sculptor.”

Adessa and the other two morazeth stepped away from the prisoner, giving Maxim space to work. The young yaxen herder struggled with the bindings on his wrists. He straightened his knees, sneered at the duma members, then at Thora, and finally at Maxim himself. He curled his lips, preparing to spit.

Just then the wizard commander released his gift.

Shimmers curled through the air like invisible reflections. Twists of wind tightened into even more secure bindings. The slave’s filth-stained shirt turned white, as if covered with gypsum powder. His skin hardened, turned gray. His wild and unruly hair crystallized. With a crackling, breathy sound, the slave petrified in his defiant position, and a new statue stood on the floor in the chamber.

The petrification spell seemed fundamentally the same as what the insane Adjudicator had used against the people of Lockridge, against Nicci. The Adjudicator, though, had been corrupted by the magic. Maxim wielded the time-stopping magic with ease and clear intent.

Ivan stood up from his stone bench, clenching his fists at his sides. “That was a wasted effort, Maxim. We should have taken the boy to the combat pits, where he would have made fine sport. Now what are we supposed to do with him?”

Thora frowned at her husband, then nodded slowly. “Killing him in the arena would have turned the boy into a martyr and incited more foolishness from Mirrormask and his rabble. Better that we took care of it like this.”

“And I so rarely get to practice my gift,” Maxim said. He looked at Nicci, and the tone of his voice held a clear undertone of braggadocio. She assumed he was trying to impress her, maybe to get her to change her mind the next time he invited her to one of the Ildakaran pleasure parties. “I am the master of the petrification magic. I created and controlled the spell that petrified General Utros’s entire army, all those centuries ago.”

“Yes, you were the key,” Thora said. “But the rest of us helped turn the lock. You aren’t the only one who can use the magic. I myself took care of Lani, when she expressed her insufferable defiance.” She looked over at the stone sorceress standing at the side of the ruling chamber.

“Of course you did, my dear. I would never wish to belittle your abilities.” Maxim folded his arms together. He looked satisfied and content after turning the rebellious slave to stone. “I suggest we place this new statue in a prominent location … down in the slave market, perhaps, where it will serve as a fine decoration—and a clear warning.”

After workers had removed the statue of the young yaxen herder, Thora sat back, regarding the others in the ruling chamber. “Chief Handler Ivan is right. It’s been too long since we watched a spectacle in the combat arena. Let us arrange one at the earliest opportunity. Ivan, when can you be ready?”

Fleshmancer Andre entered the tower, hours late for the meeting. His loose white robe carried hints of stains from past work in his “studio.” He wiped sweat off his brow and spread his arms wide. “It appears I arrived just in time, hmmm? My experiment is finished—the fleshmancy was a complete success. Our new warrior could make his debut in the combat arena as soon as tomorrow.”

Wizard Commander Maxim looked delighted. “Tomorrow it is then! We shall schedule an exhibition.”