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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.
CHAPTER 34
In the ruling tower, Nicci turned at the shouts and commotion. The duma members rose in alarm from their benches, and even Maxim stood, curious, while Thora remained ensconced in her chair, as if it would take more than an ordinary crisis to make her stir from her place.
High Captain Avery marched in with a leather-and-steel rustle of his personal armor. Six city guards escorted a dangerous-looking warrior whose entire body seemed bleached, his armor and skin coated with a whitish film. His dark, close-cropped hair seemed dusted with white powder. The prisoner moved sluggishly, staggering under the burden of heavy iron chains draped over his shoulders and encircling his chest. Avery stared ahead, his expression grim. Nicci could tell he was afraid.
Sovrena Thora finally rose to her feet. “What is this?”
Recognizing the stylized-flame symbol on the prisoner’s breastplate, Nicci guessed what had happened even before the wizards did.
Avery marched up to the dais. “Sovrena, Wizard Commander, one of the petrified warriors awakened. Your son and his friends were among the ranks of stone soldiers when this one came alive again.”
The strange warrior spoke in a deep, heavily accented voice. “My name is Ulrich.” He struggled with the chains. “What have you done to my comrades? What did you do to me?”
Maxim’s normally cocky expression changed to one of alarm. His fa
ce turned nearly as pale as the ancient soldier’s. “The spell wore off? How is that possible?”
Thora snapped, “What did Amos do? Did our son cause this?”
“It seems to have occurred spontaneously, Sovrena,” said Avery. “The young men brought him to the city gates, where he was seized.”
