Page 26 of Shroud of Eternity (Sister of Darkness: The Nicci Chronicles 2)

The crowd roared, suddenly released from their sullen anxiety. Now their celebration was genuine glee.

Chief Handler Ivan crossed his massive arms over his vest made from the pelt of a sand panther. “At least it was a good show.”

Andre looked frustrated. “The champion has no modifications whatsoever. He is just a man and should not be able to defeat my creations.”

“That’ll keep you on your toes,” Maxim said with a smirk. “You just need to make better creations.”

Thora said, “Listen to the crowd. They are still cheering the champion. I expected them to grow tired of him by now.”

Elsa leaned forward. “They celebrate the skills of the champion, Sovrena, and they would not want to see him defeated by a monstrosity like that. You should make him fight better and better human combatants. The people will only accept another human champion.”

“For now, let him have his victory,” said Maxim, and then his lips quirked in a smile. “I’m sure Adessa will reward him quite well tonight. She has taken him as her lover already, has she not?”

Thora sniffed. “Of course. She takes each champion as her lover.”

Below in the arena, standing over the butchered body of the fleshmancer’s creation, the champion raised his bloody sword and turned in circles to receive the adulation of the crowd. When the cheers built to a crescendo, he reached up to grasp his helmet, pulling it off and flinging it free. He threw it far across the bloody sands so that he could smile and bask in the open air. He raised both hands in triumph.

* * *

Bannon watched the violent combat with trepidation. He had fought and killed many enemies since joining Nicci and Nathan, and he’d felt no remorse when he defended himself against the ferocious selka or the Lifedrinker’s dust people. But the very idea of bloody combat for sport displayed a cruelty that he could not understand.

He was sure his abusive father would have enjoyed the spectacle.

Bannon had hardened since leaving Chiriya Island. The darkest and ugliest days at home had nearly ruined him, but Bannon clung to and nurtured a spark of optimism and a sense of good in the world despite all the tragedies he had suffered. Now he squirmed uncomfortably at the sound of the cheers, the sight of the bloodshed. That horrific monster didn’t deserve to die any more than the distorted combat bear they had encountered … but such monstrosities should not have been created in the first place. They were unnatural and sickening.

He struggled with his feelings but did not understand them. When he watched the champion kill his opponent, though, Bannon acknowledged that it was a battle for survival. He supposed that people under extreme circumstances would do just about anything to stay alive. He himself certainly had.

The champion removed his helmet and stood exposed so the audience could see his face. As the victorious warrior turned his head up to stare at the crowd, Bannon froze. He knew that face. He recognized the eyes, the wide cheekbones, the rounded chin, even the grin.

He had seen that grin on a young boy’s face in times of joy, long ago in a childhood that had ended in violence and slavery.

Ian!

The champion was his friend Ian, stolen away by Norukai slavers so many years ago.

CHAPTER 19

Thaddeus, the new town leader of Renda Bay, was happy to receive the two young scholars from Cliffwall. “We will help you meet your needs,” he told Oliver and Peretta. “For the sorceress Nicci and the wizard Nathan, we’d do anything to show our gratitude. They saved our town.” His lips quirked in a smile. “Even the swordsman Bannon defeated more than his share of Norukai slavers. I think he has a genuine vendetta against them.”

Oliver nodded. “Yes, we watched all three of them fight many impossible enemies. They have many stories to tell.” He patted the pouch at his side in which he carried the reports Nicci and Nathan wished to have delivered up to D’Hara. “I wouldn’t believe them if I hadn’t seen myself what they could do.”

“Aye, we know some of what they endured,” Thaddeus said. “Join us for a town feast this evening, and we will share stories.”

“I can recite our tales accurately,” said Peretta, tossing her mop of tight dark ringlets. “I remember every detail.”

“She really does,” Oliver added, “and she won’t let you forget it.”

The slender girl huffed as if finding some insult in what Oliver had said. He laughed because he’d known that would be her exact reaction, but still he enjoyed her company. Then, after she looked at him, Peretta’s expression melted. “Oliver and I have been traveling together for too long. Sometimes we know what the other might think.”

“I would only think the best of you, Peretta,” he said with a congenial smile. “We share the same important mission.”

“Yes, we do, and I suppose your companionship is … tolerable.”

Oliver felt himself blushing, and Peretta snickered at him. In a way, he knew, they were much alike. Both of them had been born and raised in Cliffwall, trained among the scholars and brought up to love the history and lore stored in the books there.

Oliver’s father was an orchard tender and a beekeeper. When he was young, Oliver had helped him pick the apples and pears, and also to set out the beehives so they could carefully harvest the honey. But the boy had been stung too many times because he was simply too distracted, daydreaming about the stories in the books stored up in the great archive. After Oliver could read, his father had let him go up to Cliffwall to be tested by the scholars, and once that dream got into his head, the boy couldn’t think of anything else.

One day Oliver accidentally knocked over a beehive, setting loose an angry buzzing swarm to swoop through the canyon. The boy had only saved himself from countless stings by diving face-first into the fast-flowing brook. At the time he had been lost in ideas about how to catalog the types of spells in the shelves, even though he had only the vaguest idea what sorts of spells existed at all. Angry, his father had marched him—still dripping wet from the brook—up the winding cliff path.

His father presented him to Scholar-Archivist Simon. “I promise, he will be of more use to you than he is to me. He’ll be happy here, and his mother and I can come visit him whenever we like.” He glanced in dismay at his son. “Read to your heart’s content, while I go see if I can fix that hive.”

Oliver loved his family, but the call of the great library and all its knowledge had always been too strong for him. Even now, though he had volunteered for the mission Nicci requested, he dreamed of being back among the warm and friendly books, but he convinced himself he was learning far more about the world on this journey than he had known in his entire previous life … the vastness of the land, the mountains, the ocean, and now the villagers in Renda Bay.

To celebrate the visitors, the people hosted a meal in the town square with a roasted goat in addition to bushels of boiled mussels in an enormous pot mixed with salty seaweed. Though many villagers engaged them in conversation, Oliver felt embarrassed by all the attention being showered upon them. He thought of the times he had spent alone in the Cliffwall archives with nothing but books and scrolls as his companions. He sat on a splintered wooden bench next to Peretta, who was far less shy than he was. The gregarious young memmer chatted with anyone who expressed an interest.

Nicci had made it clear that her report should be widely shared, so the people of the Old World could draw together and follow the basic rules Lord Rahl set down for the D’Haran Empire. For their own part, the villagers embellished the fearsome tale of the Norukai attack and how the sorceress had driven them back, destroying three of their sturdy serpent ships.

As full dark set in and the meal wrapped up, Thaddeus introduced a hardy man with a face weathered by too much salt and wind. His long brown hair, parted in the middle, hung past his ears to where it met a bushy brown beard with enough wiry mass to hide a number of small wild animals.

“This is Kenneth,” said the town leader, “a fisherman with his own boat and a restle

ss heart.”

Kenneth thrust out a large callused hand and shook Oliver’s with enough force to hurt his elbow. When the fisherman took Peretta’s, he was gentler, but his hand was so large it engulfed hers. “Most importantly, I have no real ties to Renda Bay, though I grew up here.”

Thaddeus explained, “Kenneth means that he is willing to offer his boat and take you north.”

“I’ve heard of some of the cities up there, but I’ve never seen them.” When Kenneth scratched his beard, his fingers disappeared up to the second knuckle. “I was always waiting for the excuse.”

“Do you have charts and maps?” Oliver asked. “To know where we’re going?”

“I haven’t the faintest clue, but I imagine that if we follow the coast north long enough, we’ll find something.”

Without consulting her companion, Peretta said, “We accept your offer, Kenneth. We’ll go with you.”

Oliver stammered, “W-We can’t pay, though.”

“The sorceress already paid Renda Bay enough for a lifetime of favors,” Kenneth said. “Besides, if I go with you and come back, people will buy me free drinks in the inn for a year. I consider that payment in full.”

Kenneth’s plate overflowed with the sopping, steaming seagreens and a hunk of roast goat from which a twisted bone protruded. He sat heavily on the bench next to Peretta, though there was plenty of room on the other side. He fell to his meal with great gusto. “Don’t often get goat. For a fisherman, every meal tastes like the sea. Red meat has an entirely different flavor.” He filled his mouth, talking as he chewed.

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