Page 85 of Shroud of Eternity (Sister of Darkness: The Nicci Chronicles 2)

She was sure his faithless friend Amos lay behind it. Mrra had been pitted against Bannon in one of the fighting pits, where the two were expected to battle each other, to maim and kill. The two had circled while spectators watched, and even though the handlers used their gift to coerce the panther, Mrra had refused. The big cat knew Bannon. He was part of her hunting unit with Nicci, with Nathan. Bannon had also refused to fight, and their defiance outraged the observers.

With a surge of anger, Nicci forced herself to remain connected through the spell bond, gleaning more information from the panther’s memories. Mrra knew every turn of the tunnels, every cage and every rock-walled pen. She knew the warrior cells as well. She knew the fighting areas.

Nicci drew upon that now, seeing that many of the combat animals remained restless in their cages: several swamp dragons, two armored bulls, ten ravenous spiny wolves, and three wild speckled boars with large tusks. The animals gave off the scent of fury, hunger, and murder. They would wreak havoc if they were turned loose.

Nicci also saw where Bannon was imprisoned, and when she had a clear picture in her mind of the layout of all those cells, she forced herself back to wakefulness, reluctantly severing the close bond with her sister panther. She drew in a deep breath and sat up in the dim, moist aqueduct tunnels. Though the information she had obtained was deeply disturbing, she let herself smile. A plan began to form in her mind.…

Mirrormask arrived late in the morning, and dozens of uneasy followers came to meet with him and hear his words. “Tonight will be our great opportunity. The duma members intend to commit a gigantic slaughter to work their blood magic. Three hundred slaves, three hundred victims—victims like you.”

His followers grumbled. Many of them looked disgusted. A woman with a wan face and dry skin reached up to brush a tear from the corner of her eye. Next to her, Rendell reached out to take her hand, his gaze flinty with determination. The bread baker, Melba, still wasn’t among them.

“That means we must do something,” Nicci interrupted. “This is our chance. The plans we considered in the past, the ideas we discussed—it is time. With this concerted effort, we can uproot the noxious weeds that grow in Ildakar.”

Mirrormask turned his reflective visage toward her. He seemed interested, not offended that she would take charge. “And what do you suggest, Sorceress?”

“I challenged the sovrena before, and I failed. I should not have done it alone. Now, we act together. We must free the captive slaves marked for slaughter. We must reach the top level of the city, swarm the steps of the pyramid, and destroy the apparatus to prevent the bloodworking. If we wreck the projection tower, we will bring down the shroud forever.”

“Ah,” Mirrormask said, “then many of us can escape the city and flee into the countryside.”

“Fleeing will not be sufficient,” Nicci said. “We have to free the city.” She would help oust the oppressive masters who believed that bloodshed and slavery made a utopia.

And then, after she found Nathan and Bannon, after she released Mrra, they would all depart. Enough of Ildakar! She had too much work to do, too many other places to bring into the fold of the D’Haran Empire. Richard had given her this quest.

And the Sorceress shall save the world.…

Nicci would not leave until her work was done. “First, as night falls, we will go into the arena cages and free my panther. We’ll turn the other animals loose—not just to cause mayhem this time, as you did the other night, but as part of an effort to disrupt the city before the bloodworking can take place at midnight. We will release my friend Bannon from the training pits. He and his sword will help us greatly.” She rolled her shoulders, felt her muscles loosen up. “The rest of the warriors are slaves, and we need fighters. They kill one another to entertain the nobles—do you doubt they would fight just as hard for their freedom?”

The rebels muttered among themselves, their words low.

Mirrormask lifted his reflective face, which glinted with the light from the wall torches. “Many of the warriors fight for the love of fighting, but perhaps we can give them a better opponent.” He raised the arms of his billowing gray robe, signaling to the gathered rebels. “Very well, Sorceress, I agree with your plan. We’ll spread the word among our many followers, and they will be ready to take action.” He turned slowly, addressing the crowd. “This is what we wanted. If we succeed, Ildakar will be yours!”

CHAPTER 68

Fleshmancer Andre pushed Nathan to try harder, provoked him, and the former prophet grumbled in frustration, “You are more sadistic than the Sisters of the Light. They locked me up so my dangerous prophecies could not cause damage.” Nathan sniffed and ran his fingers through his long white hair, which very much needed a wash. “But that, of course, is what prophecy does. For all their education, the Sisters deluded themselves.”

“We are not trying to restore your gift of prophecy, hmmm?” Andre said. “Because prophecy has gone away, and so the effort would be pointless. We discovered that even here. The stars are different overhead, and it has nothing to do with our protective shroud.”

“I’ve already explained the reasons why,” Nathan said. “Richard caused the star shift, sealed the veil, and changed the rules.”

“You have indeed told us interesting stories, but such things don’t matter here in Ildakar.” The fleshmancer paced around the laboratory studio, with its odd smells of chemicals and blood. “Thanks to the distortion of the shroud, we have always operated under our own rules.”

The indigo hangings blocked off the light from the open windows, but Nathan had pulled one down to let the bright sunshine pour in, making the dank chamber warmer and brighter than it had been in years.

Nathan was regaining his strength. The previous day, upon awakening for the second time, he had consumed an entire bowl of broth, and this morning he had eaten eggs, vegetables, and pastries. Once his hunger was triggered, he became ravenous, and Andre could barely keep up with feeding him, rushing the household slaves back to the kitchens for tray after tray.

Nathan was also restless and unsettled. He’d spent far too long in this stuffy room, and he wanted to get outside—not because he longed to see Ildakar, but to find young Bannon. He also vowed to learn more about Nicci’s death, although Andre had described her final combat against the morazeth and the sovrena. Even Nicci could not have survived a fall like that.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. Andre seemed to notice his gloom. “There, there, just try harder, Nathan. You’ll find your gift soon enough. We certainly know that Ivan had the power within him, hmmm?”

“I will try.” Nathan rubbed the palm of his hand across the stubble growing on his neck. Not only did he need to wash his hair; he also wanted a shave. “At least you aren’t making me wear an iron collar.”

Andre blinked at him. “Why would I ever do that?”

Nathan moved aside the plates, bowls, and cups from his third meal of the day, though it was just past noon. “Someday, I will have you a

sk the Sisters.”

The room smelled of harsh cleaning chemicals that barely covered the lingering undertone of urine spilled by terrified subjects in the laboratory room. Chemical urns rested on shelves, sealed cylinders marked with preservation symbols. Nathan couldn’t guess what strange things they might contain. The large fanged fish with jagged fins and multiple eyes swam in an endless loop in the murky water of its tank.

Nathan extended his hands, stared at the lines in his palm, the life lines.… He remembered how the witch woman Red had slashed his hand, drawing blood so she could create ink for his life book. Red claimed that the whorls and lines in a person’s palm were a unique spell-form. He focused his azure gaze, intently tracing the patterns, imagining that they were a reflection of the lines of Han throughout his body. He felt, or imagined, a tingle. He recognized the hint of magic, the gift reawakening within him.

Thump, thump.

Thump, thump.

He touched his chest, felt the beating there, heard the drumbeat of his new life.

“Remember that you have the heart of a wizard now,” Andre said. “Use it!”

“And how is the patient doing?” a woman’s voice called.

Nathan was glad for the interruption, but when he turned, he felt the tingle of magic fade. Elsa strode in, wearing dark purple robes embroidered with unreadable symbols in golden thread.

Nathan smiled at the attractive older woman. “Recovering.” He inhaled deeply. “The air still flows into my lungs. I’m alive—that’s something.”

Andre interrupted, “He has a strong new heart. Chief Handler Ivan beats within him, and dear Nathan will have his gift restored. He is still searching for it, though.”

“I’ve just gotten my appetite back.” Nathan glanced at the clutter of empty dishes, then lowered his voice and turned away. “I also learned that my dear companion Nicci was murdered by the sovrena, which is enough to make me ill.”

Elsa’s eyes were downcast. “It was a terrible thing, and several duma members, including me, believe that Thora cheated. She named Adessa as her champion, but when the morazeth didn’t kill Nicci quickly enough, the sovrena used her magic.” She shook her head. “That is not how a challenge should be given or completed.”

---