Shroud of Eternity

CHAPTER 21

As Bannon walked the streets of Ildakar, alone with his thoughts, he carried guilt as heavy as a sledge piled with cut stone. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth to hold in his anger and disgust.

Ever since seeing that the bloody arena champion was Ian—innocent, carefree, laughing Ian from Chiriya Island—Bannon had been so consumed with dark memories that he could barely live with himself.

In the morning, after waking from a sleep full of nightmares, he looked at his face in the reflecting basin, then splashed water in his reddened eyes. He saw his drawn expression. After the arena spectacle, he had avoided Nicci and Nathan, even though they knew the painful story of how he had run away from the attack, leaving his best friend to be captured by the raiders.…

As he emerged from the grand villa, not knowing what to do, he found Amos, Jed, and Brock. Dressed in bright colors, laughing, jostling one another, the three companions had offered a perfunctory invitation for Bannon to join them in whatever they decided to do that day. Bannon had not felt like their company, though. “No thank you … I have other plans this morning.” They didn’t seem to care whether or not he would join them.

Shoring up his courage, knowing he had to face one of the most bitter moments of his past, Bannon descended the streets in search of the warrior training pits. Eyes fixed on the path ahead, he spoke to no one, made no overtures to street vendors or craftsmen.

He carried Sturdy at his side, letting his fingers rest on the worn leather-wrapped hilt. He didn’t expect to fight, but having the familiar blade at hand gave him the strength for what he would have to do. He was haunted by that day back on Chiriya when he and Ian had gone down to their private cove where there were tide pools full of shells and crabs and interesting fish. It was a fine place for two curious and bright-eyed boys to play, and Bannon considered it a refuge from his father. When he was there with Ian, his best friend, he felt safe, able to imagine a brighter world.

But the cove was not safe after all. Norukai slaver ships had cruised around the point, longboats coming to shore, and the vicious, scarred men grabbed Bannon and tried to drag him away to become a slave. But Ian fought back, gave his friend the chance to run … and in doing so, Ian got himself captured. Instead of running back to help him, instead of fighting to save him, Bannon simply ran away. The last thing he remembered after scrambling to the top of the cliffs was looking back at his friend’s despairing face as the slavers tumbled him into their longboat and rowed away with him forever.…

Bannon had never thought to see him again, assumed the boy had died in some sweaty hellhole. Now he knew that Ian had been brought here, sold as a slave, taught to fight. Bannon recalled his own blood fury when he battled the Norukai at Renda Bay. He had killed many of the hideous men when the surge of anger drove him into a frenzy he had never before experienced.

Ian must have fought like that every day, sentenced to live and die in the combat arena. Just yesterday he had stood in the sand before the cheering audience, facing the monstrous two-headed warrior. This was not a rare battle: It was Ian’s life.

Bannon felt so sickened that he wrapped an arm over his stomach to contain the roiling acid of emotions there. He had to see his friend, had to speak with him. No matter what it took, how much he needed to beg Amos or the sovrena and wizard commander, Bannon would free his friend, although he was many years too late.

As he approached the high-walled arena, he passed a menagerie of strange and deadly creatures. A rock wall, an exposed part of the sandstone outcropping on which the city was built, had several tunnel openings leading into dark chambers. From inside, he could hear yowls and snarls, growling noises, and the gruff voice of Chief Handler Ivan as he bellowed at the animals. Wafting out from the opening, the stench was thick and musky, rich with excrement and pain. Bannon peered inside, swallowing hard. He had been told that one of these large tunnels led to the underground combat pits where the arena warriors were held and trained.

Large, barred pens held predatory animals pacing back and forth, lashing out at any enemy. Bannon gaped at another huge combat bear that smashed itself again and again into the iron bars, which held firm. Gray-green lizards the size of small dragons hissed and belched, splashing into a scum-covered pool in the floor of their pen.

Inside the wide, torch-lit tunnel, Ivan stood next to a cart piled with bloody chunks of meat, thick bones sawed into pieces, loose wet entrails. On top of the mound of meat rested two severed yaxen heads, their slack dead faces showing oddly humanlike expressions of despair. Ivan picked up one of the heads by the matted black hair and tossed it into a barred lair that held three sand panthers.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Bannon watched the felines fight over the piece of meat. He thought of Mrra, who had remained outside the city, and his heart sank, realizing now that the cat had known how grim the glorious city was. No wonder she had run off as Amos and his companions approached.

Their tan hides were branded with spell symbols just like the ones on Mrra … just like the leather tunic the chief handler wore. Ivan growled at them, sounding much like his own captive beasts. He slammed a broad hand against the bars, making a loud rattling noise. “Tear it apart! Think of that as a victim—you’ll have more to eat if you kill anything in the combat arena.”

The troka of panthers looked at the chief handler, their golden feline eyes glaring with hatred. Ivan curled the fingers of his left hand and concentrated, obviously releasing part of his gift. The panthers cringed as if receiving instructions, and then they attacked one another, fighting over the already shredded head. Ivan laughed.

Feeling even more sickened, Bannon ducked out of the menagerie and went instead to the adjacent tunnel in the sandstone outcropping, hoping that this passage must lead to where the captive fighters were held.

Two steps inside the tunnel, just beyond where the slash of sunlight penetrated, one of the morazeth leaned against the wall, watching him. She didn’t seem overly alert, but her very presence was threatening. Bannon supposed that no other guard was necessary. Her close-cropped hair was light brown, her eyes an intense hazel. All the exposed skin on her arms, her midriff, and her thighs sported designs and spell-forms scarred into her flesh.

As Bannon hesitated, she looked up at him, unimpressed and uninterested. She crossed her arms over the black leather band that covered her breasts. She didn’t speak, forcing him to state his business. “I … I need to see the champion.”

“You wish to fight him?” she said. “I don’t think you could handle the champion. We aren’t taking volunteer combat today.”

“No … he’s an old friend. His name is Ian. I knew him back when he was young, on Chiriya Island. He will remember me.”

“He’s the champion,” said the morazeth. “He needs no other name, and when he is finally defeated and killed, there will be a new champion. Ildakar always has a champion.”

“But he’s my friend,” Bannon said. “I just want to talk with him. I was there when—” He swallowed hard. “—when the Norukai slavers captured him.”

The morazeth snorted. “None of our fighters has a past. Nothing they did before being trained here matters in the least.” She looked at him, searching the beseeching expression on his face. He did not retreat, as she seemed to expect him to do. At last, she straightened. “But this is a matter for Adessa. I’ll let you talk with her.”

With a haughty turn, the morazeth walked into the dark tunnel, expecting him to follow. Bannon hurried after her, seeing that the woman’s bare back was also marked with spell designs. She was lean and well muscled, and the wrap around her waist covered and yet conformed to her tight buttocks. She had an angry sexuality about her as she walked, taunting, tempting. Bannon swallowed hard and forced himself to think about Ian trapped inside these cages, tortured for all those years, forced to fight. What a nightmare it must have been.

Bannon’s life had been torn apart after he lost his friend, and he had suffered many other deep scars as well. He fled Chiriya to seek a new and perfect life out in the world. He could do nothing to save his murdered mother or the drowned kittens, which were a symbol to him of his many losses.

But maybe he could do something to help Ian.

The morazeth led him through the cool sandstone tunnels, finally emerging into a broad, well-lit grotto. Several circular pits in the stone floor were training rings, no doubt. Honeycombed passages in the rock walls led to individual barred cells, separate chambers that served as both homes and prisons for the warriors.

“Adessa!” the morazeth called. “This little whip of flesh wants to see the champion. Claims to be a friend.”

The stern female trainer emerged from one of the large chambers hollowed out of the stone wall. “The champion has no friends—except for me. I am his trainer. I am his reason for existence.”

Adessa was older and more seasoned than the young morazeth guard. The curves in her body were coiled springs rather than feminine softness. Her face was seamed with lines, her dark hair speckled with gray. Her brown eyes fixed on him like the points of crossbow bolts aimed by an expert archer.

Though he nearly quailed, Bannon found strength within himself. He let his fingers touch Sturdy’s hilt and he faced her. “The champion’s name is Ian. He is my friend. He’ll remember me.” Then he lowered his voice and muttered to himself, “Sweet Sea Mother, I hope he remembers me.”

Adessa looked at him, curious. “I vaguely remember that he said his name was Ian, a long time ago. By the time he came to me, the Norukai had mostly burned that identity out of him. But this might be interesting.” Her thin lips pressed together in an implacable line. “Lila, get back to your post. I’ll take care of this.”

The young morazeth flashed a quick glance back at Bannon, then sauntered back up the tunnel to resume her duty.

Adessa led him past the main training grotto to a side tunnel filled with barred chambers. “I’ve given him the largest cell. It is his due as champion, merely one of his rewards for being a fighter.” Adessa looked at Bannon, then glanced at his sword. “You fancy yourself a fighter?”

He squared his shoulders. “I have killed many with my sword, but only when necessary.”

“Killing is always necessary when fighting is warranted,” Adessa said. “I doubt you’ve been trained properly.”

“The wizard Nathan Rahl trained me. He is an expert swordsman himself.”

“I hear he is not even a wizard,” Adessa said. “The champion is our best. I am a harsh trainer, but I am proud of him. I have rewarded him in many ways.”

“Then you can reward him by freeing him,” Bannon said, sounding much braver than he felt. “He was captured as a boy on Chiriya. He’s not a slave.”

The morazeth trainer’s eyes widened with bitter amusement. “You don’t understand the meaning of ‘slave.’ His life is not his own. Ildakar possesses him, and he serves his purpose. I possess him. I train him. I reward him—until he fails me. And then we will have another champion.”

“His name is Ian,” he insisted, then added, “and my name is Bannon.”

“Names are overrated.” Adessa stopped in front of a wall of iron bars that blocked a well-lit chamber with a woven mat on the stone floor, a sleeping pallet, a basin of water, a chamber pot.

“Champion,” Adessa called, “you have a visitor.”

Bannon’s heart nearly broke to see the young man lying on the pallet. He had recognized Ian during the arena combat, but now he saw his friend up close. When the champion sat up on the pallet and looked at him, Bannon saw that Ian was no longer Ian. He was a stranger.

“It’s me—Bannon,” he said in a raspy voice. “Do you remember me from Chiriya? From home? We were friends as boys.”

The champion swung himself off the pallet and walked toward the barred doorway. He wore only a loincloth. His body was a landscape of hard muscles and white scars. He didn’t speak.

“I’m Bannon,” he said again. He gripped the bars of the cage, pleading, looking into the face of his friend. “We used to play together. We explored the island. We worked in the cabbage fields. Don’t you remember? We would splash in the surf or explore the tide pools. And then that day…” Bannon’s throat went dry. He drew a breath. “That day when the slavers came.”

“Bannon?” the other man said, as if testing the sound of the word in his mouth. His teeth ground together, and his voice became harder, darker. “Bannon.”

“Yes, the slavers tried to capture both of us, but you helped me get away. And I…” He wasn’t sure he could go on. The memory of that day was almost more than he could bear, but he kept talking. “I ran, and they took you. I didn’t help you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Tears streamed down his face. His chest hitched, and he began to sob. “Sweet Sea Mother, I am so sorry!”

Ian’s face remained an implacable stone mask. He showed no reaction, no recognition. Bannon stared at him through the rippling sheen of tears, sickened to see Ian’s transformation. His friend’s eyes looked both dead and full of killing. He had been changed from a carefree island boy into a ruthless fighter.

“I found you again,” Bannon said. “I came back—and I have friends here in Ildakar.” He clenched the iron bars. “I’ll do whatever I can to free you. I’ll get you out of this place.” He reached into the cell, imploring.

“Bannon…?” Ian said. Now a fire kindled behind his eyes, an angry glow. “I remember.”

“Yes, we were friends, and that day—”

“You let me be captured.” Quick as a snake, Ian seized Bannon’s wrist.

Crying out, he tried to pull away, but kept staring into the face of his friend. “I’ll free you. I promise, I’ll try—”

“I do not want to be freed. I’m the champion. I am a fighter … and I’m here.” He glared at Bannon, but when he looked at Adessa, his features softened into a worshipful expression. “I don’t want to be freed.” His other hand darted between the bars and wrapped around Bannon’s neck, like the jaws of a pit-fighting dog.

Bannon gurgled and fought, trying to pull away. “Please…”

Adessa watched for a moment, amused, then whipped out a black-handled cylindrical tool from her hip. It had a thin, needle tip, like a shoemaker’s awl. She jabbed the tiny point into Ian’s forearm, and somehow it set off a burst of pain like a lightning bolt. Ian released his grip and staggered back, dropping to the floor.

Bannon collapsed in front of the bars of the cell. “Ian…”

“He won’t bother you again, Champion,” Adessa said.

Recovering from the surge of pain, Ian climbed back to his feet and stood in his cell, just staring at Bannon. His expression roiled with anger and disgust.

Adessa grabbed Bannon by the back of his loose brown shirt, as if she were seizing an animal by the scruff of its neck. “I can’t let my champion be unsettled. You must go away.” She hauled him from the cell.

Bannon kept shouting, “But Ian! I’m sorry.”

“He wants nothing to do with you,” said the morazeth trainer. “Now leave him alone.”