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Nathan stepped back. “I can unleash my gift and blast this open.”
“Yes you could, but let’s not resort to that. I’ll use my transference magic instead.” She went to the nailsmith, who ceased his loud hammering when Elsa asked if she could borrow a bucket of water.
Handing her an empty wooden pail, he pointed to a trough. “Anything to help Ildakar,” he said, with no apparent irony.
Nathan filled the bucket for her and carried it to the bricked-up barricade. “Do you mean to splash water on the blocks and make them dissolve?”
“Of course not.” She dipped her finger into the water and drew a symbol on the side of the bucket. Before the pattern could run or evaporate, Elsa dipped her finger again and drew a larger version of the symbol on the solid barricade. “There, anchor rune and corresponding rune. Watch.”
When she completed the design, the bucket trembled. The surface of the water rippled with concentric rings that shuddered inward, then reflected outward. The stone barricade also shifted.
The water in the bucket grew murky, muddy, silty. The stone blocks in the barricade softened and slumped. The mortar holding them together ran like liquid, while the water in the pail solidified into cement. The bricks loosened, several of them dropping to the ground.
When her magic was complete, Elsa said, “Now, just knock them aside.”
“Remarkable.” Nathan pressed his palm against the stones and shoved. With alarming ease, the blocks tumbled inward to expose the large inner vault. “That was far simpler than I expected. It seems transference magic is quite effective, if one knows how and when to use it.”
With the barricade gone, Nathan and Elsa entered, each calling up a globe of light in the palm of a hand to illuminate the chamber. They found themselves in a cool shadowy place that smelled damp, with a tang of metal, not just rust but the indefinable undertone of silver and brass. Instead of a store of magical devices or a great library of secret spells, though, the chamber held only a low circular wall in the center of the room, like a well. That was the source of the odd smell.
Elsa frowned. “I was hoping for more. Is it another water source? Why would they keep it enclosed and hidden?”
Nathan felt a chill, and with it a sense of exhilaration. “I’ve seen something like this before. That’s not just a well. It’s a sliph.”
* * *
Nathan gave only hints of what he and Elsa had found as he persuaded Nicci to accompany them with all due haste. “Even with my gift restored, this discovery does me no good, Sorceress, because it requires both Additive and Subtractive Magic. You will be the one who has to use it.”
Entering the newly unsealed chamber, Nicci stepped forward and ignited her own light as she studied the low circular wall. Damon, Quentin, and the pale sorceress Lani had also joined them, curious about the find that had sparked such enthusiasm from Nathan.
“What is it?” Damon asked, glancing at Elsa. He seemed skeptical. “What could possibly be so exciting about finding a hole?”
“It is more than a hole,” Nicci said, stepping forward. She could feel the possibilities rise within her. “It’s a sliph well, a kind of transportation network.”
Lani frowned. “What is a sliph? I’ve never heard of it.”
“The sliph is—was—a woman transformed into a creature of great power. Anyone who has both Additive and Subtractive Magic can travel great distances in the sliph, in almost no time. I have used it before.”
“Do you think this sliph is still alive?” Nathan asked. “Can you travel through it?”
Nicci placed her hands on the stone rim and peered down into the moist, metallic-scented depths. The well seemed to have no bottom, no standing water, just an emptiness that went on forever. She sensed no stirring, heard no noise. “I have experienced two different sliphs before, and this could be one of those, or another one entirely. Ildakar is far from any other destination I know of. This could be part of a separate sliph network with destinations throughout the Old World.”
Thoughts circled in her mind. Could she perhaps travel back to the People’s Palace to tell Richard and the entire D’Haran Empire about the ancient army? For now, Ildakar was isolated, under siege, and far from any help.
“Maybe once I see what Utros intends to do to Ildakar, I will travel and spread a warning to other cities.”
CHAPTER 17
Much as he’d come to despise the city of Ildakar, Wizard Commander Maxim began to reconsider leaving civilization behind. On his fifth day out in the treacherous swamps, he was bedraggled, wet, muddy, and hungry. Clouds of bloodthirsty insects were constantly on the attack.
As he crashed through thornbushes and razor-edged sawgrass, Maxim used his gift to disentangle himself from a ropy spiderweb. He reached a mound of mossy dirt, rotten branches, and clumps of reeds. With resignation, he realized this was likely the best spot he would find to camp.
His black pantaloons were rumpled and muddy, but at least the tough Ildakaran silk had not torn. His yaxen leather boots kept his feet dry, except when he plunged up to his knees in the muck, and then water ran inside.
He paced around the disappointingly small island and listened to the burble and splash of creatures moving through the sluggish waters. He dragged together slimy fallen branches covered with moss, making a pile of sodden wood for his fire. It would take great mastery of the gift to keep himself dry and warm throughout the night, but he was one of the most powerful wizards in Ildakar. He could certainly manage a campfire.
He arranged the rotting wood in a haphazard stack, giving up on finesse. With a wave of his hand, he released his gift into the branches and logs, and flashed the moisture into steam, which hissed out and dried the wood. He sent a spark into the middle, careful not to explode the whole pile into a conflagration. Soon enough he had a crackling, popping fire as the darkness deepened.
Claiming another log for a makeshift seat, he brushed away the rough bark before settling down. It would be another uncomfortable night. He thought longingly of the spacious beds in his grand villa in Ildakar. He could have slept on silky sheets, feeling cool breezes wafting through the windows, no doubt sated from sex with one of his many partners in the pleasure parties.
Or, he might have lain beside the cold and venomous Thora, whose icy demeanor extended beyond her flesh and deep into her spirit. Maxim shuddered now and leaned closer to his fire. No, even this was better than being with her.
; Nearly two thousand years ago, his love for Thora had been genuine. Thoughts of her consumed his emotions, his actions. They’d been inseparable, loving each other with a passion that even minstrels could not adequately chronicle. Together, the sovrena and wizard commander had built great magic to rule the city they had claimed, like guardians. Thora had dreamed of shaping the perfect society, every slave, every worker, every merchant serving Ildakar in their own way.
That had been Thora’s dream, and because Maxim’s mind was dulled by love, he had let his wife have her way. The thought sickened him now as the night swamp buzzed around him. He couldn’t believe how gullible he had been. Maxim was such a powerful wizard himself, why had his heart been so weak? He could have stood up for himself and shaped Ildakar according to his wishes, rather than hers. At the time, he’d been a fool to think that was what he really wanted. And maybe it had been, but desires changed, needs changed, and Maxim’s interests had waned. Ildakar had been his greatest triumph, but over centuries of stagnation, he’d grown bored with it.
When fighting the siege of General Utros, Maxim and Thora had been united with the other wizards of Ildakar. Such triumphant days, days with purpose! Even a passion that burns so bright, however, will eventually run out of fuel. The greatest love could not last forever; that was simply human nature.
Thora had a perfect body, a face whose beauty went beyond the ability of sculptors to capture, but her once-sweet kisses had grown tasteless, the soft curves of her body and her warm flesh felt like an old worn garment. His adoration for her turned to scorn.
The city of Ildakar, built upon the map of dreams that Thora had drawn, became bitter and stale. Most citizens didn’t even notice the changes. Ildakar was like a beautiful porcelain vase, shot throughout with countless hairline cracks. Maxim wanted to smash it.
He had become Mirrormask, toying with unrest among the slaves and lower classes, feeding their doubts and anger. It had been a delightful exercise, which amused him for some time. The downtrodden people had been so hungry for a savior, a hero, and by playing a mysterious gray-robed figure who hid behind a reflective mask, Maxim had given them what they longed for.
