Shroud of Eternity

CHAPTER 33

The morning after the unpleasant banquet with the Norukai, Amos and his companions donned traveling clothes similar to those they had worn when Bannon first met them out in the foothills. They carried their iron-tipped clubs and looked ready to cause some damage. Amos held an extra club in his left hand, which he tossed to Bannon. “Come with us. We’d better stretch our legs, walk in the open air before it’s too late.”

Bannon caught the heavy club. “What do you mean, before it’s too late?”

“Now that the Norukai have delivered fresh slaves, my parents will work the blood magic in a few days,” Amos said. “They’ll bring up the shroud, at least a temporary one.”

“Then we’ll be trapped inside again.” Jed fidgeted, tossing the rod from one hand to the other.

Brock raised his club. “Last chance to smash statue soldiers for a while.”

Bannon was surprised they wanted him to join them. Amos strode out into the streets, expecting the young man to follow. “You might not be gifted, but you can swing a club, right?”

Bannon held the rod uncertainly. “Yes, I can wield one of these, and I can use my sword too.” The three young men laughed at his lackluster blade. “But I would rather go to the training pits—you promised to help me get Ian released. Won’t you come with me? A word from the son of the sovrena and the wizard commander might be all we need.”

Amos puffed up his chest. “You’re probably right, but it’s really up to my parents. I already mentioned it to them, and I’ll talk with them later, don’t worry.”

Feeling a spark of hope, perhaps a foolish hope, Bannon hurried after the three young men, holding on to the club, but more reassured by the sword at his side. Amos and his friends talked among themselves, making rude comments about slaves they passed.

Their mocking comments embarrassed Bannon as they compared breast sizes of slave women and debated whether or not it was possible for a lowly servant to have perfect breasts. Amos pressed the issue, stopping a mousy young woman who carried a jug of water from one of the fountains. They forced her to put the jug down, and Amos commanded her to open her shift so they could all look at her chest. Horrified, she refused, fumbling her words.

Bannon touched the hilt of Sturdy. “You shouldn’t treat people like that.”

“It’s a slave,” Amos retorted. Impatient, he grabbed the tan fabric of her shift and pulled hard, ripping the garment apart so that she stood exposed and ashamed, but too terrified to run.

“See? I told you,” Amos said, jabbing at a rash on her left breast. “Not perfect.”

“Keeper’s crotch, you’re right,” Jed said, and Brock chortled, though he let his gaze linger on the curve of her breasts and the otherwise-perfect shape of her nipples. Without another word, Amos flounced off toward the city’s lower levels and the outer wall.

Bannon gave the slave girl an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.” But she wouldn’t meet his gaze as she gathered the tatters of her clothing and tried to hold her shift together. She picked up the water jug and hurried away.

They met High Captain Avery patrolling the streets, and Amos raised his iron-tipped staff in a mock salute. “We’ll be out with the stone soldiers, continuing the fight for Ildakar.” With a smirk, he added, “Be sure to guard my mother carefully while we’re gone.”

Bannon saw Avery’s expression tighten as the young men sauntered away.

Reaching the wall, Bannon followed them through the gate and out onto the remnants of the road that had once led trading caravans to Ildakar. Grasses and tall weeds grew between the paving stones. The ruins of old buildings dotted the plain: stone foundations, collapsed walls, the last shadows of outlying villages, nearly vanished to history.

“Once the shroud goes up again, it might be ten or fifteen years in normal time before we can come outside again,” Amos said.

“Ten or fifteen years?” Bannon cried.

“Because of the shroud’s powerful magic, time moves differently around Ildakar. Even with the shroud down, there are some distortions. It’s not clear how many weeks or months or centuries have passed beyond our city, but we don’t care,” Amos said. “This is our world.”

He couldn’t believe what he had heard. “But … so many years? That’s half of my life! Or more.”

Amos strolled along, swinging his iron club to smash a large thistle that stood in his way. “You may only have seen twenty years, Bannon Farmer, but we’ve had centuries of youth. And we are not done with it yet.”

Bannon was baffled. “Centuries? But I thought you were my age.”

They all laughed at him. “You have very little in common with us,” said Brock.

Soon enough they reached the front ranks of General Utros’s statue soldiers, the petrified warriors in their intricately tooled armor, thick breastplates, short swords, battle-axes, and shields. Jed called attention to a young man who had removed his helmet and held it in one gauntleted hand. His hair was short and bristly, except for a short ponytail at the base of his neck. His frozen expression was twisted in anger, his lips curled back to expose teeth, his eyes narrowed as he delivered a snarl in the direction of Ildakar.

“My, doesn’t this one look defiant?” Jed swung his iron-tipped club so hard he chipped off the statue’s ear. Laughing, Amos and Brock took turns hammering the defiant soldier’s waist, smashing away his plated skirt until they had turned the man’s crotch into a pulp of gray powder.

“Get yourself some exercise, Bannon,” Amos said. “What are you waiting for? We’re out here to have fun.”

Bannon looked at the thousands of stone warriors across the plain and up into the foothills. This must have been a fearsome army, intent on destruction, but now they were merely statues, long dead, and his companions insisted on his participation. So Bannon let his anger loose. Imagining the Norukai raiders who had seized Ian, he battered the head of one stone soldier, picturing a scarred mouth and tattooed scales. After seven blows, he had destroyed the statue warrior’s head.

Amos, Jed, and Brock cheered him on. Next, he thought of how his father had whipped him, how he had killed the kittens, how he had beaten his mother to death. Bannon swung the club again, finding a surrogate target to pay for that despicable man’s crimes.

Soon all four were whirling their clubs, destroying one petrified soldier after another. The sounds of iron ringing against stone accompanied their shouts and cheers across the otherwise-silent plain. There were so many targets to choose from that Bannon did not need to be selective. The petrified enemy ranks seemed endless.

He was panting hard, his long ginger hair dripping with sweat. His arms ached, and his wrists were numb from so many blows against unyielding stone. He gasped for breath, not happy, but at least purged. He had extinguished some of his anger, though he wished he could be hurting a worthy enemy rather than old statues.

Off to his left, far from where the other three were attacking motionless enemies, Bannon heard an unexpected sound: a groan and then confused words, a male voice that slowly built to a wail.

Bannon looked around, seeing only statue after statue, so many warriors from fifteen centuries ago. Then he spotted movement. One figure from the standing stone ranks shifted. The legs moved. The arms raised up. The moan grew louder.

Bannon gripped his iron-tipped club in his left hand, while his right strayed to the sword at his side. The statue warrior shifted and moved, then collapsed to his knees. “Ohhhh, what has happened? Ohhhh.”

The sound was so plaintive, so desperate that Bannon couldn’t stop himself from venturing forward. The ancient warrior had some color in his face, though the flesh tone remained gray and pasty, as if dusted with flour. His armor had been restored to brass and leather; the flame symbol on his shield was bright red.

“Ohhhh.”

Bannon paused ten strides away and his heart beat faster. The strange warrior looked at him through his helmet. They stared at each other, speechless.

“You’re awake,” Bannon finally said. “The spell must have worn off.” He looked around in alarm at the countless statue warriors, afraid they might all lurch into motion, but everything else remained still on the plain. The rest of General Utros’s warriors were white marble.

The confused ancient soldier pulled off his helmet, and Bannon saw a young man no more than twenty-five, a fighter from the days of Emperor Kurgan. The irises of his eyes were gray, but they faded into the whites, as if he was not yet entirely restored from the stone. His short dark hair seemed stiff. He flexed his arms, slowly. “What happened?” His voice had a strange accent, and he looked around at all the statues of his former comrades. “My army … my liege.”

Bannon came closer as the wakened warrior hunched his shoulders and shook his head, utterly miserable. “What happened?”

“It was a spell from a long, long time ago,” Bannon said. “Your army came here during a war that’s been over for fifteen centuries.”

The warrior removed his gauntlets and bent his fingers, reminding Bannon of a blacksmith bending a strip of iron that wasn’t heated enough to be worked. His forearms were also chalky, partially stone.

“My name is Bannon Farmer. I’m a traveler too, visiting Ildakar.”

The warrior’s expression tightened. “Ildakar … we are here to conquer Ildakar for Iron Fang. General Utros says we must do it because the emperor commands it.” He heaved a deep breath, which whistled through his mouth and nose. His chest crackled, as if his lungs were still full of stone dust. “I am Ulrich, tenth-rank foot soldier, and I give my life for Emperor Kurgan.”

“Emperor Kurgan is just dust, I’m afraid,” Bannon said.

With a groan, Ulrich stood straighter. Bannon didn’t know what to do, but he realized that Nathan would surely want to talk to this man, as would the wizards of Ildakar. “The war is long over. There’s no need for you to fight. We can take you back to the city.”

Amos shouted, “What are you doing over there, Bannon?”

Bannon waved. “One of the soldiers woke up! The spell faded for some reason.”

The three young Ildakarans hurried over. “The spell faded? Keeper’s crotch, how did that happen?”

Ulrich raised his arms as if still struggling to believe he was really awake. “I can barely move. Please help me.”

“We should take him back to the city.” Bannon felt sorry for the ancient soldier. “He may need medical care, and the historians will want to talk with him. Won’t the wizard commander need to understand why the spell wore off?”

“We’ll bring him to the city,” Amos said, gesturing. “Come, join us.”

Bereft and confused, the ancient warrior lumbered after them. “What about my family? My comrades?”

“They’re all gone,” Amos said. “Be thankful that you’re awake.”

“I … don’t understand,” Ulrich said.

Bannon reassured him. “We’ll figure it out once we get inside Ildakar. We’ll find you some food.”

Perplexed, Ulrich touched his abdomen. “Not hungry … still feels like stone.”

They moved at a brisk pace, weaving through the ranks of the statue army back toward the city’s towering defensive walls. Ulrich looked at the petrified figures, muttering in despair. “Help me get home.”

“I doubt your home exists any longer,” Bannon said. “A lot has changed over the centuries.”

Nearing the wall, Amos, Jed, and Brock began to shout, waving their iron-tipped clubs. “Ho, Ildakar! We have an emergency. Ildakar!”

By the time they reached the gate, soldiers had gathered for an attack, but they saw only the four young men and their unexpected companion in the antique armor of the long-defeated troops. Bannon followed Ulrich closely. High Captain Avery arrived at the tall gate, looking at them with a suspicious expression. He adjusted the red pauldron on his shoulder, placed a hand on the hilt of his short sword.

Ulrich staggered forward, overwhelmed to be so close to the immense city he had tried to conquer long ago.

Bannon said, “High Captain Avery, this is an awakened warrior from the army of Emperor Kurgan.”

Amos pushed forward. “He is an enemy of Ildakar. Seize him and throw him into the dungeons before he can cause any harm.”

Ulrich whirled, confused and betrayed. Bannon was taken aback. “Wait, we were going to get him help!”

Amos sneered. “Don’t be a fool. This man wanted to conquer Ildakar.” He smiled. “Finally, we can bring one of them to justice. Every person in the city will want to see it done!”

Ulrich looked betrayed, and Bannon realized that he had been tricked as well.