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“They are the caretakers of knowledge, but they dare not attempt to use it.” Peretta scratched her dark ringlets. “It is risky.”
“Indeed it is. I’m glad you realize that.” Verna’s brow furrowed. “For thousands of years the Sisters of the Light have been the teachers of the most powerful magic.”
“I wish we had you in Cliffwall,” Oliver said with a sigh. “We really needed someone knowledgeable to guide us.”
Verna’s pulse raced, and she turned to Zimmer. “General, if that archive is as extensive as they say, not only would it be a powerful resource, but it would be a dangerous weapon should it fall into enemy hands.” She pressed her lips together. “Perhaps we need to protect it? Help the scholars study the lore?”
General Zimmer sat back down behind his desk, narrowing his eyes as he considered the possibilities. “You have a good point, Prelate. I was sent here to build a garrison, but Tanimura is at peace and everyone serves Lord Rahl. Thousands more soldiers will be sent here as peacekeepers, and from here we will dispatch them south to other cities. Part of my mission is to establish beachheads throughout the unexplored Old World.”
“It is not unexplored,” Peretta said. “Oliver and I know the way.”
“I made careful notes,” the young man agreed. “And she remembers everything.”
“No one would be better suited to studying all that ancient lore than the Sisters of the Light,” Verna pointed out. “And you and your army are particularly suited to protect it, so that the archive doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
General Zimmer gave a slow nod. “It may be wise to take a few hundred soldiers. We could leave the garrison in good hands here, so I’ve got nothing to worry about. Reinforcements will soon come from the north, and according to plan they will be dispatched to Larrikan Shores, Kherimus, Serrimundi, and other cities that no one from D’Hara has yet visited.” He flexed his large hands, then laced his fingers together as he leaned forward across the desk. “For now we could mount an expeditionary force to Cliffwall, maybe establish other outposts along the way. It would be well within my mission to take these two back home.”
Peretta placed her hands on her knees, adjusting the folds of her worn skirt. “But we have to find Lord Rahl. Nicci said we need to deliver this report to him. She said it was very important.”
“Leave that to me, young lady,” said Zimmer. “I’ll send my best riders north to the People’s Palace at full speed to deliver these documents directly to Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor.” He glanced to the two young travelers. “We would be much obliged if you’d let us escort you back to Cliffwall—provided you can lead the way.”
“The messages will be delivered?” Oliver asked, wanting to be sure. “You promise? On your honor?”
“Of course. I am a man of my word.”
“And we get to go home!” Peretta said.
Verna rubbed her cheek and realized she was smiling. “We will make sure your archive is in good hands.”
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 w
ith 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.
