Siege of Stone

CHAPTER 69

Thora remained locked in the dungeon cell, bored and frustrated, but this time the prison was of her own making. Although protective runes were again chiseled in the stone blocks around the door, she knew how to break free. She could smash her way out of the cell any time she chose, and her captors knew that. But she refused.

How odd, Thora thought, that the people who had betrayed her, the people who considered their own sovrena to be a danger to them, would grant her such a measure of trust. Yet, she had surrendered, and she did indeed want to save her city. She remained in the cell, bound by chains of her own guilt. For Ildakar.

Though she sat quietly, her thoughts never rested. For hours at a time, she would ignite a bright glow that illuminated the bare stone walls. Other times, swallowed by black thoughts, Thora preferred darkness and she would sit surrounded by possibilities.

Previously, when she escaped, a kind of blindness had convinced her to abandon Ildakar. She had actually made up her mind to aid General Utros, the true enemy. Thora realized now that she had been mad. Despair and frustration had twisted her thoughts, tangled them like a mass of tentacles, and she almost made a terrible mistake, worse than any mistake she’d ever made.

Something had broken inside her, though, when she stood on that wall, ready to throw herself to the ancient army. Her heart had undergone a metamorphosis, like one of Olgya’s enhanced silkworms that was finally allowed to enter a cocoon after a lifetime of exhausting service. Thora knew that Ildakar would endure. It was still her perfect city, and she had to help preserve it, if the duma members ever allowed her to do so.

She was different from Maxim. Her treacherous husband had done everything possible to destroy Ildakar, not for any grand purpose, but simply because he was bored. She would not be like him. Yet she remained isolated here, as if sealed in a tomb.

When she heard whispering voices in the corridor, the rattle of the lock, she drew herself up, straight-backed and proud. She faced the door and shielded her eyes against the sudden flood of light as two men in wizard’s robes greeted her.

“Sovrena, we need to speak with you.” The gruff voice belonged to Quentin.

Though she had been contemplating possibilities in the dark, she summoned the bright glow again to light her chamber. Damon stood next to Quentin, looking uncertain, even frightened.

She narrowed her eyes. “You have come alone. No one else knows you’re here?” The two men looked skittish, like the larks Thora had kept in cages. “Where is Lani?” she demanded when they didn’t answer. “Why isn’t she here to taunt me?”

“Lani is dead,” Damon said, his frown enhanced by the long mustaches. “The general’s sorceresses killed her when she used a scrying spell to spy on them. She drowned in her own scrying water.”

Thora fought to hide her satisfaction. “And now you need me. How can I help? I want to fight.”

“Ildakar needs you.” Quentin scratched his round cheek as he and Damon explained the recent battle, how they had unleashed the two remaining Ixax warriors, how the dragon had come.

“But we have no more significant defenses, and the ancient army is still impossibly powerful,” Damon said. The bangs on his forehead nearly reached his eyes and he subconsciously brushed them out of the way. “We have to use every possible means to save the city.”

Thora was surprised. “And what of Nicci? I thought she was so powerful she could single-handedly save the world. Isn’t that what Nathan Rahl’s life book predicted? That she would save the world!” She snorted, but controlled her anger. She had been isolated so long she needed to hear whatever these two wizards could tell her.

“Nicci abandoned us again to go rally other cities, and she may never come back,” Quentin said.

“Why should she?” Damon asked. “It is only a matter of time before Ildakar falls. The other duma members are digging through magical lore and testing obscure spells. Elsa believes she has an innovative transference rune to present to the duma, but that plan is not certain and seems desperate.”

“It will never be enough,” Quentin interjected with a groan. “That is why we have to be realistic. That is why we came to you.”

Damon swallowed audibly. “Quentin and I have concluded there is only one sure way to protect Ildakar for all time, a way that we never need to worry about General Utros or any enemy again.”

Quentin nodded. “We have to raise the shroud of eternity again. And we will need your help, Sovrena, if you are willing.”

Thora had already guessed where the conversation would lead. “When I surrendered at the wall, I vowed to you that Ildakar was sacred to me, that I would do anything to save my city, if only you would let me. I meant that.”

Damon and Quentin looked at each other, relieved. “We can do much of the preparation work ourselves. In fact, we’ve already begun. While Nicci is gone and Nathan and Elsa are making plans for her transference-rune scheme, we have spread the word secretly among the citizens. We are collecting names. Some are volunteers, some are … suggestions.”

Thora touched her hard, cold cheek, feeling the infusion of stone there. “You understand how terrible the cost will be? How much blood will be required? You will need a great many people, and gifted blood is the strongest.”

“We know,” Quentin said. “So does everyone, but they can also see the enemy army outside. They think of their families. They think of the future. They know that if the general breaks down our gates, the city will be laid waste. Nothing will remain but rubble. All their families will be slaughtered. Even some rebels have offered to be sacrificed.”

“Rebels?” Thora scowled. “They broke down our traditions and the boundaries of the classes. Why would they help?”

Damon shrugged. “They wanted to be free. Now they need to understand the cost of freedom. If everyone wants to be equal in their new Ildakar, then they must accept equal responsibility.”

Damon’s voice cracked. “And they are agreeing! They understand. Some even quote the words of Mirrormask, vowing to fight and die for the future of their families and friends.”

Thora was surprised. “My husband was never sincere in his words. He made them up.”

“They were good words, no matter his motivations,” Quentin said. “What is important is how his followers heard them, not what was in the wizard commander’s heart.”

Thora wondered if he was still alive, since Adessa had been hunting him for some time now. She pointed out, “The pyramid is destroyed, the blood channels and spell-forms gone, the apparatus ruined. How will you work so much blood magic?”

“I can remake the equipment,” Damon said, “and we don’t require the pyramid. We just need a place for the sacrificial victims to gather.”

Quentin added, “And we need executioners to shed all that blood to work the magic and raise the shroud.”

Thora remained dubious. “Even with the best of intentions, I’m not certain you will find enough volunteers.”

“As I said, we have a large list of names,” Quentin said. “And we’ve compiled a second book of people we can take by force, if we need more blood. We can mandate one sacrifice from each family.”

Thora felt warm inside, a glimmer of pride for her city. “Then maybe Ildakar can be saved after all. I will help in any way I can. Come to me when your plans are ready.”