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CHAPTER 62
From her seat in the high ruling tower, Thora could feel the dark energy and unrest in the streets of Ildakar, and it made her furious. She had been on edge for days, ever since the defiant sorceress Nicci challenged her.
Thora had been suspicious of the outside visitors since their arrival. Such an unsettling and contradictory worldview did not fit well with what she and her fellow wizards had accomplished in Ildakar, the perfect society. Nicci had been quick to criticize, but she didn’t belong here, and her wizard companion had no powers. Thora wished they had never come to the city.
At least the outside sorceress was defeated now, and Nathan still lay unconscious in the fleshmancer’s mansion. Maybe he would be less of an annoyance when he woke up. If Andre’s experiment did restore his gift, then Nathan Rahl might feel gratitude. And if he proved intractable, Thora would destroy him as well.
Meanwhile, the useless young man Bannon was being trained in the combat pits. That way he could serve some purpose to the city. Yes, all was well.
At the sovrena’s request, Adessa came to the ruling chamber first thing in the morning to give her report. As it was early, Maxim and the duma members were not present.
The morazeth leader stood below the throne, knowing her place. “Bannon Farmer is an adequate fighter, Sovrena. He even fought well against our champion, though he suffered a severe concussion. Lila has been instructing him. He needs to be thoroughly blooded, but he will be a decent warrior once he is finished.”
“At least he will serve as sufficient entertainment,” Thora said. “I don’t care if he falls in his first combat. He was Nicci’s friend, and that still angers me.”
Across the room, fresh masonry showed where workers had repaired the edges of the smashed windows and the wall. Much of Adessa’s spell-marked skin was discolored from the many blows that Nicci had landed on her. Adessa called it the price of her combat. Every blow was one little defeat. Even though she had ultimately helped destroy Nicci, the morazeth had not won her battle as quickly or cleanly as the sovrena had expected.
“Have you found her body yet?” Thora asked. “She fell from the tower, so she must be sprawled down in the city below.”
Adessa twitched as she turned away. “No, Sovrena. Captain Stuart and the city guard have searched the streets and the rooftops. We should have found her broken corpse somewhere down there.”
In cages behind her raised chair, newly captured larks twittered and chirped, but their music did little to calm Thora now. She stood from her throne and walked across the polished blue marble tiles to the newly repaired windows. She threw them open, breathing in the cool morning breeze, and stared down at the city. Nicci had been flung through these windows with all the force Thora could summon. She could have fallen anywhere. “I’d expect some citizen to report a smashed body in his backyard or gutters.”
“We would expect that, Sovrena, yet it has not happened.”
“Find her body,” Thora said. “The people are talking about Nicci as much as they mutter about that fool Mirrormask.”
Though no duma meeting had been called that morning, she preferred to stay in the ruling chamber, because it was hers. Sitting on her throne, staring out the windows, the sovrena was reminded of her power and her place. Ildakar belonged to her. The duma members, and even her husband, were just trappings. She was the sovrena, and this was her utopia, her plan all along. She had developed her vision after seeing the army of General Utros cross the plains. The rest of Ildakar had been terrified, but Thora had seen an opportunity.
With the shroud in place, they were protected, yes, but they were also sheltered from outside influences, dangerous ideas, the poison of teachings and opinions that did not match her own. Ildakar had been perfect for fifteen centuries … until the magic weakened and the shroud spell faded. A decade ago, the legendary city had flickered and returned from its bubble outside of time—exposed and vulnerable. Visitors could come from lands afar and bring their unsettling ideas that did not belong in Ildakar.
Nicci was merely the most egregious example of the dangers Ildakaran society faced. Fortunately, after the recent bloodworking, the shroud was back and Sovrena Thora could rest easily … for a time.
But she also knew that spell was thin and temporary, because they had not spilled enough blood. She and Maxim continually bickered over whether to make the shroud permanent again. The rules of magic in the outside world had changed dramatically, unstable and shifting now, and Thora couldn’t tell how long even a grand-scale bloodletting would last.
But it had to be done.
As she stood inside the ruling chamber, listening to the breeze curl through the open windows, Thora made up her mind. She was the sovrena. She didn’t care what the duma members thought, because they would follow her command. Some might mutter, and Maxim would surely complain—but he always complained, and she would keep to her decision.
“The shroud is in place,” Thora said, “but we must make it stronger.”
Adessa straightened. “The only way to make the shroud stronger is to shed more blood.”
“Yes,” Thora said with a thin smile, “and we must shed so much blood that the shroud remains intact for a thousand years. That will give us enough time to ferret out Mirrormask and his vermin. Begin the preparations! We have to restore and calibrate the apparatus on top of the pyramid, but I want you to begin selecting and gathering slaves, all of the remaining ones the Norukai just brought, and more.” She tapped a finger on the stone sill of the window, calculating. “I would say three hundred. Yes, let us make it three hundred. Round up the candidates we need, seize additional ones from the gifted nobles … and if they complain, tell them to consider it a tax for their own safety.”
She slowly paced the room as thoughts churned in her mind. Yes, all that blood would be extravagant, but powerful. “Have the slave masters work with them, use the peaceflowers to keep them docile.” She climbed back to the dais and settled into her throne, where she belonged.
“That will take some time, Sovrena,” Adessa said. “At least two or three days.”
“Two days,” Thora said. “And enlist the aid of the city guard as well. The people will cheer and rejoice. They know what Ildakar used to be and what it can be again—but only if the shroud is permanent.”
She was still troubled about Nicci’s challenge, which had very nearly succeeded. Thora stared at the petrified figure of the sorceress Lani standing near the wall. That woman had been defiant, too—principled and naive, wishing to expand the duma to include members of the lower castes. Absurd!
Lani had been overconfident in her own abilities and underestimating Thora’s. She had been a dreamer, a gifted woman who played with water and performed tricks for children, as if the gift were such a trivial thing. Lani, too, had fed birds and drawn them around her. Thora remembered how she would delight in standing on the highest levels of the tower, holding out her arms and letting the songbirds flit around her.
After the sovrena defeated that challenge, she had decided to cage the larks, which seemed appropriate. Beaten and bleeding, Lani had crawled away, withdrawing her challenge, begging and surrendering. Lani thought that would be the end of the matter, but the sovrena was just getting started. Taking his wife’s side, Maxim had worked his petrification spell to turn the defeated challenger into the statue just as Lani turned with a last gesture of defiance. Lani served as a grim reminder for any other duma members who might consi
der a similar challenge—as Nicci had done. And Nicci had failed as well.
Thora gritted her teeth, still wishing they could find the woman’s lifeless body. Maybe she could convince her husband to turn the broken corpse to stone. She wanted to stand Nicci’s mangled statue in the ruling chamber as yet another reminder.
“Three hundred slaves will be rounded up for the ceremony, as you command, Sovrena,” Adessa said with a curt bow. “Although with that much bloodshed, I wish we could use some of the slaves in the combat arena. It seems a waste. All those potential fighters…”
“It is not a waste if the bloodworking solidifies the shroud,” Thora said. “We will have plenty of time to encourage the common slaves to breed and replenish their stock.” Her face hardened. “Gather the sacrifices.”
The morazeth nodded. “Yes, Sovrena. In two days.”
“Two days,” Thora agreed. She could already feel the anticipation building.
CHAPTER 63
Down in the training pits, with his body scabbed and sore, Bannon braced himself for another day of training.
His skull still thrummed with echoes of pain. He had been so severely injured by Ian’s knout that one of the gifted workers had been forced to heal his cracked skull. Lila forcefully prevented the healer from doing anything more than was absolutely necessary, however. “The boy needs to feel his pain,” she had said. “Every bruise, every ache, every cut is a lesson he must remember.”
“Sweet Sea Mother, I remember well enough,” Bannon groaned.
Lila had playfully stroked his cheek. Her smile was filled with more hunger than humor. “I prefer to keep you intact for more play. You have so much to learn.”
He resisted, but it did him no good. Soon enough he learned to use his energies in more productive ways, such as keeping himself alive. He had heard nothing of Nathan or Nicci, but he was sure they must be looking for him. What if Amos and his companions had covered up his disappearance? His heart ached.
