Page 51 of Shroud of Eternity (Sister of Darkness: The Nicci Chronicles 2)

He pulled the rendering cart to the next cage, gauging how much meat he still had to distribute. He had left the preparation work to slaves. They had stripped the garments from High Captain Avery’s body and returned the armor to the guard headquarters so the blood could be scrubbed off the metal scales and leather, before the armor was given to some other recruit.

Then the renderers had chopped up the man’s body, using axes and cleavers to break the limbs from the joints, to cut off hands and feet, legs, arms, head. They had piled the internal organs into separate buckets, which Ivan would use as special treats for the pets that impressed him most.

With a rumbling growl, a huge black-furred beast slammed into the cage in front of him with such force that the bars rattled and the hinges groaned. Raising itself ten feet tall, a combat bear rose up, reaching a paw through the bars. The beast had a square face with close-set obsidian eyes. It opened its jaws, and ribbons of silvery drool poured out. Parts of its body wore armor shells grafted on to protect its vital organs. The combat bear’s enhanced claws scraped down the bars of its cage, striking sparks.

Ivan stood within inches of the beast’s grasp and laughed. “You’re daring. You hate me, don’t you?” He moved just within reach.

The bear snarled, its eyes focused on him like sparks in a forge.

“I’m right here.” Ivan stepped even closer. Just as the bear lunged toward him, he released his gift, sent a shock wave down the monster’s spine. The combat bear roared and retracted its arms, reeling backward. Surprisingly, it fought the pain and slammed into the bars, again swiping at him.

Ivan had to dance out of the way. “Good, good!” As a special reward, he removed Avery’s liver and tossed the purplish-red handful at the bear. With one last glower at its tormentor, the beast devoured the bloody organ.

Ivan went to the other cages, selecting portions of the dead guard captain: a thigh, an arm. He tossed the head into a cage where five starving spiny wolves fought over the handsome man’s head, ripping it to pieces.

Ivan enjoyed the days when he could give his pets treats to prepare them for the combat arena. It insured that they all had a taste for human flesh, which would make them better attackers in front of a cheering audience.

Last, saving some of the choicest meat and the heart, Ivan stopped in front of the pen that contained his troka of spell-bonded panthers. The three female cats did not approach the bars, but kept their distance and watched him from the back of the lair. The low growls sounded almost like purrs in their throats. Their tails thrashed. They looked at him with clear malice in their eyes.

These panthers were still sore from the fight against Ulrich, he could tell. When they fought the partially petrified warrior, they had been injured, but worse, they had been defeated for all to see. Ivan was disappointed in them, and he had punished them afterward by jabbing their brains with his gift, finding and pressing their pain centers.

Somehow, though, the more he used his power in an attempt to hurt them, shape them, control them, the more the troka seemed to resist. The three spell-bonded panthers had a link that made them feel one another’s pain, share one another’s thoughts. When he poked one with a burst of pain, all three felt it … but the troka found a way to distribute the agony to allow them to endure more. They could share their strength.

Ivan was troubled. He could not allow this to spread. He did not want his gift to fade away like that of the impotent wizard who had come from the outside.

He could smell their hatred, their anger. But no fear. Even after all the pain he had inflicted, the cats did not cringe when they saw him. Instead, they sat defiant, refusing to come closer, despite the smell of the fresh meat. They were wary, but not intimidated. Ivan was worried, but could not let it show.

He lifted the last pieces of High Captain Avery, the haunch and the red copper-smelling heart. “Regain your strength. You’ll need to fight soon.”

He tossed the offerings into the cage, but all three panthers remained at the rear, not moving. Ivan frowned. He had never seen such behavior before. “Eat!” he roared, and the panthers roared back at him, sending a chill down his spine.

He took a step backward, staring at them, and they stared back. He felt the gift whipping and twisting inside him like a night crawler exposed after a downpour.

The cats didn’t move toward the meat. Ivan stepped close to the bars. “If you don’t want it, then you can starve. I’ll take it back.” When he reached for the lock on the cage door, he saw all three sand panthers coil slightly, tense and ready. Their golden eyes flashed, fixed on him, and he froze.

Was this their plan? Did they mean to trick him into opening the cage door, so they could tear him apart the moment he entered?

Ivan had always controlled them before … but considering the way they resisted him, maybe they would not be deterred this time. Maybe they would resist his control just long enough to drive him to the ground, rake their claws across his throat, dig their curved fangs into his gut, and tear him open.

He stood at the bars for a long moment, not moving, assessing. The sand panthers kept staring, and Ivan slowly backed away. “Not this time,” he said. “I am your master. Don’t you forget it.”

He stalked away, pulling the empty rendering cart with its squeaky wooden wheels behind him.

CHAPTER 38

Anxious for answers, Nathan followed the fleshmancer, wanting to be done with his weakness, ready to do anything so he could have his gift back, if only to fight alongside Nicci in rebuilding lldakar. Failing that, at least he would have achieved his reason for coming here. To be made whole again …

And Andre seemed to be his best source for solving the problem.

Originally, the fleshmancer had been intrigued by the loss of Nathan’s gift, yet he was easily distractible and left many things half finished. Now, instead of heading to his laboratory studio, the fleshmancer led him through the beautiful garden streets toward the towering pyramid at the top of the plateau.

“We are going to join the sovrena and the wizard commander in their preparations,” Andre said. “It is almost time to raise the shroud again.”

Nathan felt queasy as he walked along. As usual, he wore the copper-trimmed green robes Ildakar had given him, though he might have felt more comfortable in his travel clothes—tight black breeches, ruffled shirt, and a cape thrown across his shoulders so that he cut a dashing figure.

Reaching the base of the pyramid, Andre climbed the stone stairs with a jaunty step, one level after another, calling back to Nathan, “Better hurry. Thora and Maxim tend to be impatient, hmmm?”

One level below the top, the platform held a new fenced area, flimsy barricades of metal crossbars. “That looks like a corral,” Nathan remarked. “For wild beasts or livestock?” Sacrificial animals, he assumed.

/> Andre raised his eyebrows. “Livestock … yes, I suppose so. How else would we work the blood magic to project the shroud?”

“I don’t know,” Nathan said, then muttered, “Dear spirits, I may not wish to know.”

The wizard commander and the sovrena toiled together under the bright morning sunlight. Perfect prisms stood erect on silver poles, shattering sunlight into rainbows. Maxim adjusted the crystals, rotating them so that the multicolored rays fell upon a huge mirrored bowl turned toward the sky.

Thora glanced up at them as they arrived. Her face was drawn, her eyes shadowed with grief after the recent murder of High Captain Avery. Maxim seemed cheery, though. “Much work to do! We could use your help.”

“We are here,” Andre said. “Simply guide us.”

“What is this blood magic about?” Nathan asked. “I am willing to help protect Ildakar, but what is the cost, and how can I help you accomplish it?”

The sovrena’s face turned brittle. “You have no gift, Nathan Rahl. You cannot help us in any way.”

“Now, now, I want him to observe what we do,” Andre said. “He was once a great wizard. It can be an intellectual exercise for him, hmmm? If nothing else, he can assist in the manual labor.”

“I suppose we could use a slave or two,” Maxim said, “and our real slaves refuse to do it, because they know what the bloodworking entails.”

Nathan knew he had to walk a fine line. He couldn’t offend these people if he expected them to help him regain the heart of a wizard … unless the way to make himself whole again was through another means. Maybe the witch woman’s declaration meant that he had to fight to defend the innocent and downtrodden here in Ildakar, as Nicci suggested. But first he had to be sure.

“Tell me more about the process,” Nathan said. “How do you raise the shroud?”

“It is blood magic.” Thora sounded exasperated. “How can you claim to be a wizard and not know about blood magic?”

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