Shroud of Eternity

CHAPTER 67

Water spilled across the polished blue marble tiles in the ruling chamber, pouring away from the jagged fragments of the smashed pitcher. In anger, Thora strode down the steps from the dais and bent over to peer into the spreading pool. The reflective surface showed nothing but the early-morning light that came in through the windows. “All of my scrying pools are ruined throughout the city!”

Maxim chortled, lounging back in his seat, crossing his black-clad legs. “What did you expect, my darling wife? You felt compelled to show off your secret in front of everyone. You revealed to the duma members that you’ve been spying on them, just as you spied on Nicci and the wizard Nathan.”

“He is no wizard,” she snarled. “He has no gift.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Andre reported that he’s awake and recovering, and he does indeed show some aptitude for magic.”

“Andre never likes to admit failure.” Thora stared down at the pool, which showed her nothing.

Maxim rested his head against the raised back of his ornate chair. “Once the duma members knew about your scrying pools, word was bound to get out. Slaves could have overheard, even guards and citizens, and from there the information was passed to Mirrormask.” He flicked his forefinger back and forth like an accusing metronome. “You really should have expected that.”

“I expected our duma members to be loyal.”

The wizard commander toyed with his dark goatee. “Loyalty is earned, my dear, not commanded.” Back in their own homes, the duma members had drained their pools and fountains, just to cut her off.

Thora narrowed her sea-green eyes. Her thoughts spun, and her anger grew hotter inside her mind. “And have I not earned their loyalty, after fifteen centuries of perfect rule? Have I not given them peace and protection?”

“Why, of course. If only everyone else saw it that way. Like our slaves.”

The sovrena was annoyed at her husband and annoyed at the turn of events. During the hours of darkness, Mirrormask and his rebels had spread through the streets in a coordinated effort to smash the public scrying basins, blinding her magical eyes across the city.

But she was most furious with one of the last images projected from a scrying pool the moment before it was destroyed. She had seen Nicci’s face, her full lips curved down in vengeful anger as she stared into the reflective water, mocking. Nicci took malicious delight in revealing that she had survived both the attack and the long fall from the tower.

“One does not need to blame the loose tongues of our duma members,” Maxim continued. “Since you let Nicci survive, she could have told them all.”

Thora knew he was right. “It will all be over tonight. The sacrificial slaves are rounded up in their pens. At midnight when the star threads and alignments are at their peak, we will ascend the pyramid and undertake the greatest bloodworking since we defeated General Utros. The shroud will then be permanent … and we can take our time to smother this unrest.”

Because of the important upcoming ritual, the other wizards would spend the day preparing, making sure they were ready for such an expenditure of magic. Gifted workers had gone to the top of the stepped pyramid to make certain all the parts of the apparatus were in perfect alignment for the grand sacrifice.

“I think your own decisions have trapped you,” Maxim said. “Even knowing you won’t listen, I still have to disagree. A permanent shroud will cut off all outside trade, and that won’t solve our problems, but simply create a bigger cage. You’re like one of those larks caught in a net and unable to break free.”

The comparison annoyed Thora, but her husband had annoyed her for centuries. He was good at it.

With an extravagant yawn, Maxim rose from his chair and sloshed straight through the puddle, not caring. He headed out of the ruling chamber.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“I am the wizard commander. I have work to do—as do you,” he said. “With all of the imminent blood magic, maybe you should pay attention to your responsibilities, instead of brooding over a sorceress that you couldn’t defeat.”

Anger flashed in Thora’s eyes. She drew in a quick, cold breath, but her husband strolled out of the chamber, leaving wet footprints. He called over his shoulder, “Since you have nothing else to do, why don’t you call some slaves and clean up that mess?”

* * *

Nicci’s dreams were unsettled and filled with feline energy. Through the spell bond, her vision drifted through to Mrra’s predatory mind, her restless spirit. So many times Nicci had dream-hunted with her sister panther, roaming free across the plains, feeling hot adrenaline as she ran a bleating antelope to ground and tore out its throat.

Now Mrra could only pace inside a confined lair, caged and tormented as her troka had been for so many years. Sullen, she was forced to eat food she had not killed, offal from the yaxen slaughterhouse or hunks of human flesh fed to her by the new handlers. Mrra had tasted human meat before, and in her memory, dreaming, Nicci tasted it as well. Chief Handler Ivan had used chopped-up victims to whet the appetites of his animals, making sure they would kill their opponents in the arena. For Mrra, any dead meat was just a victim; it was nourishment. Mrra remembered the pain the burly chief handler had inflicted on her, how these new apprentice handlers attempted to do the same, but they were weaker than Ivan. Nicci could detect scorn in her feline thoughts. When the big cat defied them, the handlers were incensed, and worried.

Nicci drifted in sleep on her pallet in the aqueduct tunnels, looking through her cat’s eyes. The slatted bars in her lair formed shadows, and she delved deeper, remembering the panther’s recent experiences. She was shocked by a surge of recognition, another familiar human! The young man with long ginger hair and a sword. Mrra knew his smell, his demeanor, his voice—and Nicci knew it, too. Bannon!

The young man had disappeared days ago, and now she saw that Bannon had been captured and held in the fighter training pits. No wonder Nicci hadn’t been able to find him.

She was sure his faithless friend Amos lay behind it. Mrra had been pitted against Bannon in one of the fighting pits, where the two were expected to battle each other, to maim and kill. The two had circled while spectators watched, and even though the handlers used their gift to coerce the panther, Mrra had refused. The big cat knew Bannon. He was part of her hunting unit with Nicci, with Nathan. Bannon had also refused to fight, and their defiance outraged the observers.

With a surge of anger, Nicci forced herself to remain connected through the spell bond, gleaning more information from the panther’s memories. Mrra knew every turn of the tunnels, every cage and every rock-walled pen. She knew the warrior cells as well. She knew the fighting areas.

Nicci drew upon that now, seeing that many of the combat animals remained restless in their cages: several swamp dragons, two armored bulls, ten ravenous spiny wolves, and three wild speckled boars with large tusks. The animals gave off the scent of fury, hunger, and murder. They would wreak havoc if they were turned loose.

Nicci also saw where Bannon was imprisoned, and when she had a clear picture in her mind of the layout of all those cells, she forced herself back to wakefulness, reluctantly severing the close bond with her sister panther. She drew in a deep breath and sat up in the dim, moist aqueduct tunnels. Though the information she had obtained was deeply disturbing, she let herself smile. A plan began to form in her mind.…

Mirrormask arrived late in the morning, and dozens of uneasy followers came to meet with him and hear his words. “Tonight will be our great opportunity. The duma members intend to commit a gigantic slaughter to work their blood magic. Three hundred slaves, three hundred victims—victims like you.”

His followers grumbled. Many of them looked disgusted. A woman with a wan face and dry skin reached up to brush a tear from the corner of her eye. Next to her, Rendell reached out to take her hand, his gaze flinty with determination. The bread baker, Melba, still wasn’t among them.

“That means we must do something,” Nicci interrupted. “This is our chance. The plans we considered in the past, the ideas we discussed—it is time. With this concerted effort, we can uproot the noxious weeds that grow in Ildakar.”

Mirrormask turned his reflective visage toward her. He seemed interested, not offended that she would take charge. “And what do you suggest, Sorceress?”

“I challenged the sovrena before, and I failed. I should not have done it alone. Now, we act together. We must free the captive slaves marked for slaughter. We must reach the top level of the city, swarm the steps of the pyramid, and destroy the apparatus to prevent the bloodworking. If we wreck the projection tower, we will bring down the shroud forever.”

“Ah,” Mirrormask said, “then many of us can escape the city and flee into the countryside.”

“Fleeing will not be sufficient,” Nicci said. “We have to free the city.” She would help oust the oppressive masters who believed that bloodshed and slavery made a utopia.

And then, after she found Nathan and Bannon, after she released Mrra, they would all depart. Enough of Ildakar! She had too much work to do, too many other places to bring into the fold of the D’Haran Empire. Richard had given her this quest.

And the Sorceress shall save the world.…

Nicci would not leave until her work was done. “First, as night falls, we will go into the arena cages and free my panther. We’ll turn the other animals loose—not just to cause mayhem this time, as you did the other night, but as part of an effort to disrupt the city before the bloodworking can take place at midnight. We will release my friend Bannon from the training pits. He and his sword will help us greatly.” She rolled her shoulders, felt her muscles loosen up. “The rest of the warriors are slaves, and we need fighters. They kill one another to entertain the nobles—do you doubt they would fight just as hard for their freedom?”

The rebels muttered among themselves, their words low.

Mirrormask lifted his reflective face, which glinted with the light from the wall torches. “Many of the warriors fight for the love of fighting, but perhaps we can give them a better opponent.” He raised the arms of his billowing gray robe, signaling to the gathered rebels. “Very well, Sorceress, I agree with your plan. We’ll spread the word among our many followers, and they will be ready to take action.” He turned slowly, addressing the crowd. “This is what we wanted. If we succeed, Ildakar will be yours!”