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Bannon raised a hand, realizing that now he was protecting her. “It’ll take time. You’ve already made your point. Your grievances are still valid.”
Lila seemed oblivious to her danger. A couple of people took flaming brands from the cook fires, and another man found a makeshift wooden club. She didn’t flinch as they approached.
Bannon’s voice grew more urgent. “Look at how much has changed in such a short time. The wizard commander is gone, the sovrena is in a dungeon. You’ve made progress. Don’t destroy it by some foolish action. We all have to fight against General Utros.”
“The morazeth bitches should be in dungeons, too,” said a young man with a crippled arm. “Think of what they did to those arena fighters, what they did to you, Bannon! I was at your side when we freed the victims up at the pyramid.”
“How can you stand with her?” sneered the woman washing clothes, shooting a glare at Lila. “Didn’t she beat you? Break you?”
“It’s not as simple as that,” Bannon said, his voice uncertain.
Lila turned her glare on the people who had made their makeshift settlement in the slave market. “You live in Ildakar and you’ve seen the thousands of enemy soldiers outside the walls. Our true battle is against General Utros, our common enemy. Once he is defeated and the city is safe, then we can discuss the niceties of equality and representative rule. But right now we’re at war, and we need all fighters.”
Her tone of voice did not appease them. One man was braiding long leather thongs into what would become a bullwhip. He spoke up. “Over the last few years, lots of escaped slaves slipped out the city and made new lives for themselves in Stravera and other mountain towns. I stayed, but what if that was a mistake? The sooner Ildakar falls, maybe the better it is for us.”
Someone else said, “We should just leave the city and join General Utros.”
Now Lila was incensed. “Then you are truly the enemies of Ildakar and should be killed here and now.”
“Lila!” Bannon cried out, afraid the mob would swarm forward. “Sweet Sea Mother, don’t you see where you are?”
“Yes, I am among potential traitors.”
Then a young man’s voice broke in, surprising them. “I don’t care what’s been done to us by some arrogant nobles. Ildakar is still our city. Do we want to earn our new place in it, or not? What would Mirrormask say?”
“Mirrormask betrayed us, too,” grunted the man with the bullwhip.
Bannon turned to see a ragamuffin figure with unruly hair, a boy no older than fourteen in a rough-spun tunic and flimsy sandals. Oddly, the boy’s skin, his face, his hair all had a pale powdery appearance, a hint of gray on his flesh. Bannon suddenly recognized him. “I know you—you’re the yaxen herder, the boy caught working for Mirrormask.”
“I planted mirror shards, as a symbol, and then I was caught by the morazeth.” The boy snorted at Lila. “I think she was one of them, but they all look alike to me.”
“As you look alike to us,” Lila said.
Bannon remembered the day Adessa and other morazeth had dragged this captive young man into the ruling tower. The boy had confessed his involvement with the rebels, and Wizard Commander Maxim had worked the stone spell on him before the boy could confess any details. Since Maxim himself was Mirrormask, Bannon understood now why the wizard commander had needed to silence the captive boy.
He said, “You do know that Mirrormask was lying to you? Using the unrest of the lower classes for his own purposes, not for your good.”
The boy looked downcast. “That doesn’t mean his words weren’t true. We staged the revolt for our own reasons, not for his.”
Clearly angry, Lila placed her hands on the black wrap around her waist, touching the agile knife that could inflict incredible pain on others. “Ildakar is your city, no matter what. Will you fight for it, or will you shirk your duties and complain?”
Bannon stepped closer to the half-stone yaxen herder. “They placed you as a statue in the slave market to warn others against resisting the nobles.”
“And how did that work?” the young boy snorted. “I’m Timothy. Everyone here knows me.” He gave a stiff grin. “In some ways, becoming a statue was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.” He turned around, and Bannon realized that the freed slaves camped in the broad market did indeed defer to him.
Timothy raised his voice to all of them. “I agree with the morazeth in this. Ildakar is our city. We fought too hard to be free, and now that we have much of what we wanted, would you just give it up?”
Bannon stood closer to the boy. “We’re all fighting for the same thing, really, and judging by the size of the army out there, we’ll need all the help we can get.”
Timothy stared uncertainly at Bannon for a long time. “I’ve heard of you. I know what you did breaking the warriors free, fighting alongside Nicci.” But he shook his head at Lila. “Since I worked for Mirrormask, I accepted that I’d probably be caught someday, but that didn’t stop me from spreading messages, helping recruit others to fight for the cause.”
“And we found you,” Lila said, “and so many others.”
“Still, we won,” Timothy said with a shrug. He seemed young, happy-go-lucky, and determined, as if he had iron inside of him as well as stone. “I’ll agree to fight for Ildakar, and so will all these people—but only if we have part of the city once we win.”
Remembering the vast army outside, the pounding stone fists that made the thick walls echo and tremble, Bannon wasn’t sure anything would remain unless they won, and soon.
“We need an army,” Lila said in a haughty voice, “not muttering slaves who hide under tents in the city square.”
Timothy crossed his arms over his hardened chest. “I’ll fight, but only if I can be part of a real army. It’s better than herding yaxen.”
Lila stepped very close to him, intimidating, but the boy didn’t back down. “You’re just a scrawny wisp of a child. What would you do for our army? Trip some of Utros’s soldiers?”
He gazed right back at her, mirroring her defiance. “I’ll fight.”
“You could never be a real fighter. How could you inflict any damage?” In a lightning strike, Lila backhanded him hard across his chest.
Surprisingly, her knuckles cracked against his tough skin. The blow would have knocked anyone else backward, but Timothy remained sturdy, as if anchored to the flagstones.
Shocked, the morazeth looked at her stinging hand. Her knuckles were bloody.
Timothy chuckled and offhandedly struck her in return. Lila wasn’t expecting the blow, and she staggered from the impact. She blinked in amazement, then turned to the street scamp with greater respect. “Maybe we can make fighters out of you after all.”
“Teach me how to fight, and I’ll show you what I can do,” said Timothy.
The freed slaves in their camp looked up from cook fires, while others emerged from silken tents.
Lila gave a small smile, glancing at Bannon. “I could train him into an adequate fighter. Let me teach you, Timothy. I’ll take you under my wing.”
“Teach all of us how to fight,” the young man said, “or it’s no bargain at all.”
The morazeth considered, while the freed slaves muttered. They respected Timothy for the ordeal he had gone through, and now he was forcing them to put their unrest, their dissatisfaction, and their complaints into real action.
Bannon felt strangely relieved. “We’ll be happy to have you as part of Ildakar’s defenses. We need every fighter right now.”
CHAPTER 22
The high windows in the ruling chamber were open to let the breezes and city noises waft in, along with the renewed drumbeat of fists pounding against the wall. Nicci sat by herself, her blond hair ragged and uneven, roughly shorn after the spell attack.
Quentin looked down at a long strip of paper spread out on his table, where he had written lists. He raised his voice to get the attention of the duma members. “What is our next order of business??
?
Damon sat beside Quentin, peering down at ledgers as if searching for some number in a long-forgotten accounting. Oron sat in another seat wearing a fur-lined cape and a fur-collared shirt. He used a stubby knife to scrape beneath his fingernails, removing the residue of blood. Beside him on the stone bench perched a short-statured woman, Olgya, who ran the silk spinners’ guild, another new duma member. Her round eyes were highlighted with crow’s-feet. Her long, straight brown hair was shot with lines of pale gray, as if infused with strands of raw silk and gathered in clumps tied with bright silk ribbons. She was also Jed’s mother.
