Shroud of Eternity

CHAPTER 30

That night while Nicci slept, restless and alone, she also prowled the dark streets in her mind. Unsettled from the banquet and the Norukai slavers, her mind subconsciously sought out the spell bond with Mrra. The big cat moved like a tan shadow in the night, invisible in the winding maze of the great city.

Nicci’s consciousness drifted, then reunited with her sister panther, but her mind simply observed as she felt the cat’s strength. Mrra was a mass of enhanced senses, sights and smells exploding into a symphony of afterimages. Glowing light from cracks in the windows and distant streetlights provided more than enough illumination for her to see. Each faint odor told some story: the foul splashes of brown water from emptied chamber pots in the tiled gutters, the fresher scent of pure water running through narrow aqueducts beneath the streets, rat dung and the sharper smell of domestic cats that hunted the back alleys. Decorative flowers exuded a sickly sweet perfume in window boxes above.

She leaped onto a decorative stone fence, then with barely an effort, sprang to the sloping tiles of a high roof and padded along the apex before bounding down to another roof, moving along, exploring.

Mrra had found a temporary den where she could sleep during the daylight hours, a large grain warehouse filled with comforting shadows. Few people entered there, and she found plenty of rats to eat, although the dust made Mrra’s whiskers twitch and caused her to sneeze.

At night, she was free to explore the great city. She had prowled past where the chief handler tormented the arena animals. Her lips curled back and a low growl bubbled in her throat.

In bed, Nicci flexed her claws, wanting to rip something apart because of dark memories from that long-before time, before her troka had escaped. Mrra remembered the pain, the blood, and the fighting.

Even now she sensed another troka of sand panthers deep in that nightmarish tunnel. Mrra could tell that these cats were abused just as as she had been, their thoughts twisted by the cruel gift of the chief handler … whom they also hated. Trained predators, they tore apart victims on the killing sands of the arena, but they wanted to use their claws to rend Ivan instead.

Mrra felt the same way, and Nicci tasted it in the back of her own throat.

The big cat bounded off into the darkness, letting shadows enfold and embrace her. She wanted to come up to the top of the plateau and see her sister panther, but Nicci silently warned the big cat to keep her distance, to stay far from the grand villa.

Wait, sister panther, Nicci thought in her blurred sleeping state. Wait.

* * *

Hours after midnight, she awoke with feline dreams still in her mind. As she stretched her arms and legs, Nicci felt the memory of panther muscles. She was wide awake, alert, and impatient, though the sun would not rise for a long time yet.

She donned her black dress and slipped out into the night. Walking in the streets, she thought about the panther prowling out there, but decided it would be too risky for them to meet. Instead, Nicci would glide through the city by herself—not quite a sand panther, but a sorceress. That would be sufficient.

She walked down the cobblestoned streets, passing under decorative willows whose drooping fronds shushed with secretive whispers. Glowing spheres emanated blue light from the tops of iron pedestals, illuminating intersections while providing ample shadows elsewhere.

Nicci descended past the ornate homes of minor nobles who were desperately trying to show their importance. She saw the bright green eyes of an orange house cat searching for dinner in the streets. The cat darted off without making a sound.

Working her way downhill, following a main thoroughfare, Nicci passed the swinging wooden signs of inns and the homes of tradesmen, where people were bedded down for the night.

She came upon a silent square with a fountain leaking a mournful trickle of water over a scalloped upper bowl and down into a holding pool. Pennants with the sun-and-lightning-bolt symbol of Ildakar hung limp with the night dampness and still air.

She caught a sparkle of light on the wall of a nearby building—a jagged fragment of mirror thrust in the crack between bricks. Another mirror fragment glinted on the opposite wall.

With heightened senses, Nicci cautiously walked across the square, finding more broken mirrors scattered around the fountain’s edge like defiant declarations made during the dark safety of the night. Then her eyes caught furtive movement, hooded figures in the alleys. They did not run away, but waited, blending into the inky shadows. Nicci faced them, confident in her own powers to defend herself. She waited for them to make the first move.

The strangers hiding in the darkness made no noise, did not call out or challenge her. On impulse, Nicci bent down and picked up one of the mirror fragments from the edge of the fountain. She held it between her fingers and lifted it up.

Several hooded figures came forward, their faces covered by gauzy black scarves. Each wore a wooden amulet bearing an Ildakaran rune. Looking at their obscured features, Nicci shook her head so that her long blond hair fell loose. “I do not need to hide who I am.”

“But we do,” said one of the strangers. “We still have much to accomplish to save our city.”

“I am not from Ildakar,” she said.

“We know,” said another stranger. The hooded figures turned to the deepest black shadows of a side street and raised their hands in a signal. Another person emerged wearing a flowing robe of thunderstorm gray. When he stepped into the faint light, Nicci saw a confusing jumble of images inside his hood, rather than a face.

A mirror.

A mirror mask covered his face.

“I know you,” she said. “Or at least I know of you.”

“All of Ildakar knows of me,” said the man, his voice muffled behind the smooth mirror. There were mere slits for his eyes, another for his mouth. “Every slave and every downtrodden citizen of Ildakar knows who I am. We fight for freedom. Some stand openly for our cause, while others support us with their hearts and minds.”

“The wizards know of you, too,” Nicci said. “They want to kill you.”

“Many have tried, but as you can see, they’ve not yet succeeded. Meanwhile, my followers free slaves treated badly by the worst masters. We have secret hiding places in the city, and we can slip them out of Ildakar, where they go off into the hills, find other villages and cities, make new lives for themselves. We have to do as much as we can whenever the shroud is down. If we get rid of enough slaves, then the wizards will never have enough for the full bloodworking.”

“Then why don’t they all leave?” Nicci asked. “Why do you stay?”

“Because the battle is here. I intend to remain until we have swept away the repression, overthrown the duma. That is my goal.”

“An admirable goal.” Recalling the grim spectacle of the slave market, she felt her resentment flare to a brighter intensity. “I also support you, as do my companions. We can be a great help—if you have a plan. But the oppression in Ildakar is powerful.”

The masked man nodded slowly. “Powerful, yes, but not invincible. We have been watching you.”

Nicci was surprised. “You have followers in the grand villa? In the wizards’ duma?”

“We have followers everywhere,” said Mirrormask. “We can read your heart. You are indeed one of us, Sorceress Nicci.”

She held on to a thread of healthy skepticism. “Loyal allies are hard to find. Who are you? Is it true you wear that mask because your features were deformed by a fleshmancer?”

A strange muffled chuckle came from behind the mirror covering. “Is that what they say? Perhaps it’s true. Or perhaps I keep my mask so that people who look at me can reflect on what they might do for the rebellion. This once-great city has grown stagnant during the centuries we were trapped under the shroud.” Again, the muffled laugh. “And ‘shroud’ is an appropriate term, because shrouds are used to wrap the dead.”

His hooded followers muttered and nodded.

“We do what we can, but you also have great power, Nicci. You can disrupt the equilibrium of this city. We have been watching you.”

The disguised followers muttered in agreement. “We’ve been watching you.”

With a pale, thin hand, Mirrormask picked up a shard of broken mirror and pressed it into Nicci’s palm. “Be ready.” He closed her fingers around the sharp edges—not enough to cut, but enough for her to feel the razor edge. “Reflect on this.”

He backed away with a swirl of his shadowy gray robes. His followers darted into the darkness, and Mirrormask disappeared, leaving Nicci holding the mirror fragment. She kept it, glad that she had come out here late at night. Now she felt more hopeful about the future of Ildakar than she had in many days.

Nicci knew she had found allies.