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As Bannon roped up, Elsa showed him the spell-form drawn on the damp sheet of paper. “If other wizards can lay down smaller boundary runes around the enemy army, as well as a central anchor rune, I can link all of them to this much larger design painted on the cliffs. Then I can transfer from the bluffs and the Killraven River right out to the middle of the general’s forces.”
“Transfer what?” Bannon asked. “Water?”
“The river and the stone have something far more destructive than just water.” Her eyes twinkled. “Heat, a great reservoir of heat. I could drain all the heat from the river for as much as a mile in either direction, and I can suck the heat from these rocks and dump it all into the middle of the battlefield from the anchor point of the connected runes. But first we need to have the primary spell-form painted large and bold. That’s the important part for now. We need to be ready in a day or two for the main assault.”
Bannon had never understood or attempted magic, but always fought with his sword. Right now, though, he would continue the battle with a paintbrush.
“Over the edge with you, young man,” Elsa said once he had all the ropes tied around him. “As soon as this is completed, we will hit General Utros again. Their army is in shambles, and after the terrible thing they did to High Captain Stuart…” A stormy expression crossed her face. “We are not inclined to show them much mercy.”
Bannon checked the rope again. In the drizzle, the thick cord was wet in his hands, but the knots were tight. He backed toward the edge of the sheer drop-off holding a bucket of paint in his right hand. “I will do my part.”
“Just paint the lines you see. So long as the projection magic keeps the design in place, the rune is clearly marked. You won’t have any trouble.”
The cold mist clung to him like a sheen of sweat. Determined, he lowered himself over the edge, taking care not to spill the paint. He found small handholds and footholds in the sandstone, then a narrow carved walkway.
After a quick glance at the dizzying drop, he focused on the rock in front of him. The rain picked up, but he kept descending toward the obvious mark of Elsa’s giant rune. He was glad Lila wasn’t watching him today. Instead, she was continuing to train prospective swordfighters for the charge of separate strike forces that Elsa’s plan would require.
Dangling on the rope, he reached the proper position near the sluice chute where river water flowed upward into the aqueducts. The shimmering design hovered on the rock. Bannon dipped the brush into the bucket and smeared a wide line of red paint on the sandstone. The paint was thick enough to stick to even the rain-wet rock, and Bannon covered the appropriate spot. He swung like a pendulum, back and forth, to reach more of the design. He dipped the brush into the bucket and slapped red along the projected line.
Across the cliff face, he watched his fellow volunteers hanging in their cradles, standing on narrow platforms, gripping rickety rails so they could lean out and paint farther along the lines. Many parts of the grand design were already coming together.
One of the workers leaned too far and slipped on the rain-slick wood. He yelped, and his bucket tumbled over the edge, splashing red paint like blood as it fell toward the river. The man managed to hook his arm around the scaffolding, while the rest of his body dangled free. He kicked his legs and flailed his other arm, but no one was close enough to help him. After a few tense seconds, the man levered himself back onto the scaffold, where he hunched on his hands and knees, panting to recover.
From above, Elsa looked down, her face filled with concern. When it was clear the man was safe, she yelled, “None of the paint got on the cliff. The spell-form is intact!” She called into the loading tunnels. “Bring that man another bucket. We need to finish.”
Bannon checked the knots on his harness and anchored his foot on a hard lump of rock for greater stability. He held the wet rope with one hand and brushed more paint with the other.
* * *
That night, knowing that the giant rune would be completely painted within the next day, Elsa met with Nathan and the leaders of six separate groups of volunteers who believed in her plan. She joined them in the torch-lit ruling chamber, making them gather around the stone tables where she drew on a large unrolled sheet of paper. “Here is how we will use transference magic to hurt General Utros.”
Nathan smiled at her in encouragement, admiring the scope of her plan. With precise instinctive motions, she described the complex spell-form on the cliff and the unique design of the boundary runes she had developed for this exact purpose. “This,” she said, tapping the paper. “Burn it into your minds.” It was a circle with internal loops bounded by a triangle. “With transference magic, each rune, each spell-form, has a certain grammar, a kind of punctuation that must be exact. I won’t explain what every curve and line means. Just know that you cannot make a mistake.”
Oron, Olgya, and three other gifted nobles would lead the satellite teams. Julian was one of Olgya’s primary silk merchants. The second gifted volunteer, Leo, was a short, effeminate man who managed two yaxen slaughterhouses and who had a remarkable control over his own magic. The third, Perri, was a meek-looking, middle-aged woman. She was a shaper, like Damon, and she manipulated the vines in the bloodwine vineyards to produce a larger harvest. These five team leaders had all sworn to use their skills to help Elsa’s plan.
“You will each be responsible for drawing one of these satellite runes—five boundary spell-forms—and they must be exact.” Elsa looked at each gifted leader to make sure they understood. “Your boundary runes will encircle the zone of destruction. Each of your teams will have a fighter escort to lead you to your respective positions around the valley. Nathan will accompany me, because we will face the hardest fighting to place the anchor rune in the center of the camp.” Her voice cracked. “We will mark the center point to connect the boundary runes. This complex of symbols will magnify and draw from the single huge design painted on the cliffs above the river.”
Nathan said to her softly, “I have no doubt you will save us all.”
Knowing the risks, the duma had decided not to send out all of their wizards, however. If Elsa’s attempt met with disaster, then no one would remain to defend the city. Damon and Quentin had offered to stay behind. Nathan also knew that he would find a way to keep Bannon safe behind the walls. The young man would want to volunteer to become part of a strike force, and he had certainly proven his mettle on the battlefield, but he had already been captured and nearly killed by the ancient army. Nicci wasn’t here, and Nathan would see to it that the young man remained inside the walls. Elsa’s plan had more than enough volunteers, and he knew he could convince Lila to keep Bannon safe. The morazeth wouldn’t risk him either.
As he thought of the upcoming mission, Nathan forced good cheer, more for Elsa’s benefit than for anyone else. He looked at the gathered volunteers, the powerful wizards who believed in her proposal. He brushed his hands together. “When Nicci returns, I will be quite pleased to tell her that we managed to defeat General Utros while she was gone.”
CHAPTER 72
Serrimundi sprawled across low hills surrounding a harbor that was crowded with tall sailing ships and fishing boats. Closely built homes lined the slopes that had been forested at one time. Serrimundi was an ancient city, and all that remained of the untamed woods were spacious parks. Wide canals guided water between the hills and into the bay. Boatmen poled shallow vessels along the canals, delivering supplies or ferrying people.
From a high point in the hills as Nicci stared across the rolling streets, the dark tile roofs, the whitewashed buildings, she acknowledged that Serrimundi was indeed a beautiful city. And entirely vulnerable.
When she emerged from the sliph, Nicci coughed and sucked in a deep breath. She realized that the sliph had not admonished her to “Breathe!” As she regained her balance, she turned to see the silvery figure staring at her with a hard expression. Without even acknowledging that she had delivered her passenger, the moody creat
ure dropped back into her well and retreated into the unfathomable depths.
Nicci found herself in the open sunlight on a hill above the harbor. The sliph well was part of an unoccupied open-air temple with fluted support pillars. Tall urns filled with fresh-cut flowers were arranged across the tiled floor. A platter of overripe fruit sat on an altar, an offering to some god or goddess that had apparently gone unheeded for days. Dry leaves skittered across the floor, and birds chirped in the vines overhead.
Nicci turned to see a statue of a revered woman with long, flowing locks of hair, like the waves on the sea. Her hands extended as if calling supplicants. Nicci had seen a similar statue before, a giant carving on a cliff at the mouth of Serrimundi Harbor. The Sea Mother.
On Chiriya Island, Bannon had been brought up to worship the Sea Mother, and the religion was common along the coast of the Old World. It was generally compatible with the prevalent belief in spirits and the underworld, which Nicci knew to be true because of her direct experience with the Keeper. She decided this must be an isolated temple to the Sea Mother.
Strangely, the goddess bore a striking similarity to the sliph. Nicci wondered if some gullible observer, thousands of years ago, had seen the quicksilver woman emerge from the well, delivering travelers who secretly served Emperor Sulachan. Could that have been the inspiration for the Sea Mother’s appearance and the huge statue on the cliff?
Though empty, the temple was obviously still used. Supplicants to the Sea Mother generally made their sacrifices in the open ocean, but if the original sliph well was up here, someone would have built a temple to mark that spot. Gardens spread out beyond the temple, and stone footpaths wound in haphazard directions, as if supplicants were expected to walk a contemplative path before they arrived at the altar.
Nicci heard voices and saw figures passing among tall hedges, approaching the open temple. Since she didn’t want to explain where she had come from, she departed down a different path, making her way toward the residential buildings closer to the harbor.
She reached the crowded streets where women sat outside sewing garments and men toiled at craft benches. Some of the people acknowledged her as she walked past. The inhabitants of Serrimundi were not suspicious, not even curious about the stranger. Nicci’s black dress was different from the style of their own clothes, but she realized that the bustling harbor city must see many foreigners.
She had been here once before, when she and Nathan sailed south from Tanimura aboard the Wavewalker. Back then, they were simply traveling the Old World as emissaries for the D’Haran Empire. Nicci had briefly met the harborlord, a man named Otto, when Captain Eli Corwin took on more supplies. She decided to start with the harborlord and deliver her warning.
