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“You haven’t earned your freedom,” Nicci said in a low, dangerous voice. “There is a cost for freedom, and it often comes in blood. But not just any blood. You cannot keep spilling it indiscriminately.”
The people muttered. They had expected congratulations, not scolding from these two people they considered heroes.
Rendell looked beseechingly at the crowd. “You all know I have a place on the duma council. Before long we’ll include others from the lower classes, not just gifted nobles but tradesmen, workers, even more slaves like myself. We have to work for equal representation.”
“We have to finish purging the disease that makes Ildakar sick,” said the scarred man in a challenging tone. He turned his head so that his voice boomed out to the crowd. “You all know what they did to us. Justice must be served.”
“And peace has to be arranged!” Rendell said. “Many nobles have been murdered.”
“Not murdered—executed!” said the gruff man. “For crimes committed against us.”
“By what trial and what authority?” Nicci demanded. “You hated how the powerful nobles abused you. Now you want to do the same? Ildakar is still under siege, and we have to fight the ancient army, together. We need every person, every noble, every slave, every tradesman. The city has to be strong, not tearing itself apart from within.”
“Lord Aubur deserved what happened to him,” insisted the gruff man. “We all know what he did to the silk yaxen.”
Since neither Nicci nor Rendell had mentioned the victim’s name, it was plain that this man had been involved. She stepped closer to him. “This new murder will touch a spark to the tinderbox of the duma members. Do you know how much work it was to get them to accept Rendell on the council? You will erase all the progress we’ve made. Are you fools?”
The people muttered, looking embarrassed. Timothy, the young half-stone yaxen herder, came forward. “We are a long way from evening the score. We thought you would fight on our side for justice, Nicci.”
Nicci turned to the young man who had once been a statue. “Every victim sees justice in a different way. Your actions make the nobles feel like victims, and so they will retaliate.” She gestured to the crowds around the slave market, the makeshift tents, the piles of plundered supplies from noble villas. “It will take the best of my ability to convince the hard-line duma members not to simply come here and burn you out. The city guard could surround this square with torches and swords and slaughter all of you in revenge for what one man did to Lord Aubur.” She glared at the gruff man who seemed to take such pride in his executions. “All because some of you couldn’t wait for revenge.”
“We all want revenge,” said the gruff man with a twisted smile. “One piece at a time.”
“I thought you wanted justice, not revenge,” Nicci said. “And justice requires an accounting. You declared Aubur guilty and beheaded him because you thought you were his judge, and now the nobles will want your blood in repayment for his. You’ve kept the wheel turning, round and round.”
“It’s a step in the right direction.” The scarred man crossed his beefy arms over his chest, refusing to back down. “I thought you’d be pleased after all those words you said when you led us against Sovrena Thora. I thought you were on our side. I thought you stood against evil.”
“Evil takes many forms, including self-justification. Hard justice is how we stop this cycle. You are the one who killed Lord Aubur. You know it. We all know it.” She took a step closer to the man. The other people in the square shifted uneasily.
The murderer squared his shoulders and faced Nicci. Though she was smaller in stature, she was far more powerful.
“This is how I make the accounting,” she said. “Afterward, I’ll convince the duma that the guilty man has paid for his crimes, and no further retaliation is necessary.” Her voice boomed out to all those gathered in the market. “But it must end here. No more nobles can be attacked if you ever hope to find equal footing in Ildakar. Do you understand?”
The scarred man snorted. “I’ll go and talk to them myself, give them a piece of my mind.” He still did not comprehend his danger. “I’ll make them see. I’ll—”
Nicci reached out with her gift and, with barely a thought, stopped the man’s heart. His eyes bulged. He twitched, then toppled like a felled yaxen on the tiles of the slave market, stone dead.
As the people gasped, Nicci looked to Rendell, who swallowed hard, then nodded. Rendell said to the crowd, “I speak to you as a member of the duma. We can’t play favorites. If we want equality, then we have to be equal, with equal rules. If we want freedom, we have to pay the price of our freedom. If we want our part of Ildakar, we have to be a part of Ildakar.”
Nicci spoke into the stunned silence. “That means you have to fight for Ildakar, too. When we attack the general’s army, we will need as many fighters as we can possibly have. We’ll give you training, weapons, and armor if you help in the assault. If you are going to shed blood for your freedom, then make sure it’s the right blood.”
The frightened people were cowed into nervous shifting.
“When the duma members find out about the murder of Lord Aubur, Rendell and I will inform them the matter is over.” Nicci paused long enough to sweep her intense gaze across them all, saw that her words had made an impact. The dead man lay sprawled on the flagstones, and no one came closer to him.
Nicci gave a quick nod. “Good. Then, as I said, the matter is over.”
CHAPTER 29
Bannon had fought battles before, but he had never gone to full-scale war. Now, he stepped out onto the combat arena sands at night, gripping Sturdy in his sweaty palm. Lila and the other morazeth had trained him with clubs, knives, and fists, but he preferred his sword. With its discolored steel, unadorned pommel, and flat blade guard, the sword didn’t look like much, but neither did Bannon. Appearances could be deceiving.
When a weapon cleaved an enemy in two, what difference did it make if the steel was bright or tarnished?
In the cool evening air he wore nothing but a fighting girdle around his waist and the kind of combat sandals preferred by Ildakaran warriors. Soon enough, the rigors of fighting would warm him. Even though he was confident in his skills, the thought of rushing out with only his sword against thousands of half-petrified warriors sent a chill down his spine.
As the duma’s plans proceeded, the fighters would keep practicing, honing their skills for the massive surprise attack. Around the top ring of the arena, blazing crystalline torches glowed like blue-white suns against the darkness, illuminating the arena. Sixty of the best warriors, along with officers of the city guard, emerged from the arched gates to the open sands, carrying their practice swords, staves, and spears. The Ildakar arena sometimes presented nighttime exhibitions, melees with dozens of fighters that resulted in an exciting slaughter. Tonight, the patchwork army of defenders
would practice deep into the darkness.
Bannon had tied his long hair back so it wouldn’t get in his way while fighting. Lila had suggested he chop off his locks, as Nicci had. “An enemy can grab your hair, boy, yank it, throw you off balance, even snap your neck.”
Thinking of Nicci’s spell-possessed hair made him shiver, but he shook his head. “I haven’t cut my hair since I left Chiriya Island. I won’t lose that part of who I am.”
“Then you might lose your head.”
“I’ll try not to.”
Lila’s expression was hard, but he could see the softness behind her eyes. “See that you don’t, for my sake if nothing else.”
Facing the warriors on the field, Lila and six other morazeth held their weapons of choice. The branded runes that covered their skin protected them against magic but not traditional weapons, and Utros and the ancient soldiers would fight with real weapons instead of spells. The women remained fixated on defending Ildakar. To them, their purpose had not changed. An opponent was an opponent.
Bannon had talked to many of the arena warriors, asking if they resented the morazeth for the abuses done to them, but most seasoned warriors already had their independence beaten out of them over the years. He remembered how wholeheartedly loyal Ian, Ildakar’s champion, had been to Adessa, but she had killed him on the night of the revolt. For that, Bannon could never forgive the morazeth leader, any more than he could forgive the Norukai slavers.
But Lila … He slowly, reluctantly, began to understand the young woman’s mind-set. Her harsh and painful tutelage had made him a far better fighter, and those skills might save him when he fought against a real enemy.
