Shroud of Eternity Page 12

  Verna held her tongue, thinking about how the foundation of her entire order had turned to quicksand with the end of prophecy, how the Palace of the Prophets was nothing but a memory and a few broken scraps of rubble. “I am no longer so important as you might think.”

  Another pang struck her heart as she thought of Warren, once her student, then her beloved husband, whose tragic death had left her devastated. Some days she thought that her identity as a widow was far more consuming than her identity as the prelate of the Sisters of the Light.

  When Richard had descended into the underworld, trapped on the twilight verge of death, he had spoken with the spirit of Warren and brought back a message for her that Verna cherished more than any prophecy or proclamation. But it was her message, and she kept it wrapped in pretty bows of memories and stored close to her heart. Now she was alone, but not alone, because she had work to do. She had come back to Tanimura, and that carried certain responsibilities.

  Among the soldiers milling about to receive the new arrivals, she saw colorful dresses, red and green and blue, worn by the Sisters of the Light—her companions, ten of whom had arrived ahead of her. One novice Sister looked like just a fresh-faced girl, far too young to have any responsibilities or heavy teachings from the Sisters.

  “Amber!” Norcross called out as he hurried forward, laughing.

  His sister’s dark blond hair hung in ringlets around her face, and long tresses fell below her shoulders. She had sparkling deep blue eyes that laughed along with her voice. “You took your sweet time riding here, Brother. I almost left you to find some other man to cherish me.”

  “There are plenty of men who would be happy to marry you, Amber,” he said. “But you’re too young yet.”

  “I am a Sister of the Light, and proud of it,” the girl said, then suddenly realized that Verna was watching her. She blanched and stammered, “Prelate, I’m very sorry. I did not mean to be so casual and friendly in your presence.”

  Verna gave her a maternal look. “Child, the Sisters are not so grim and studious that we don’t allow happiness. Enjoy the reunion with your brother.” She lowered her voice, talking as much for her own benefit as for the young novice’s. “Dear spirits, we have enough pain. We should cherish whatever joy we can find.”

  A deep male voice boomed out, “Prelate Verna! I’m glad you kept my soldiers safe on the trip down here.”

  Verna turned to see General Zimmer, a young man she had first met as a much-lower-ranking officer, now only about thirty, but because so many military leaders were slaughtered in the recent war, Zimmer had unexpectedly risen in rank far above his expectations. But his heart and his mind were strong, and he accepted the increasing burdens each time one of his superior officers was killed, leaving him in charge. He had dark hair and a thick neck, but when he smiled, Zimmer looked much younger than expected.

  Striding forward, he extended his arm for her to take and escorted her toward the command office in the two-story headquarters building inside the stockade wall. The structure was built from freshly hewn pine boards, sanded and fitted together, still redolent with a sweet forest scent that reminded her of spring. Workers on the roof were hammering wooden slat shingles into place. Inside the fence near the training ground, rows of canvas sleeping tents had been erected while larger permanent barracks were built. The sounds of sawing and hammering were as loud as the sounds of soldiers drilling.

  Zimmer led her into his office on the upper level, where he kept the broad windows open to the sea breezes. The raw floorboards creaked as they walked across them, and Verna took the offered wooden chair in front of the general’s desk. “I called for tea as soon as I saw you ride up, Prelate,” Zimmer said. “To refresh yourself and to inspire conversation.” He scratched his cheek, where a dark stubble was already prominent even though it was barely midafternoon. He shouted for his adjutant, who hurried into the room with a steaming pot, two porcelain cups, and a small jar of honey. “After the long road, I thought you’d like the amenities.”

  “I don’t need to be pampered, General,” she said, although she was glad for the tea.

  “And who’s to say that I don’t?” He poured a cup for her and then for himself, and he did not skimp on the honey. “Sometimes hints of civilization remind us what we are fighting for.”

  She took a sip with a smile. “To tea and honey, then—for D’Hara!”

  “For D’Hara.” Though he had been recruited as a very young soldier, Zimmer already spoke with a solid military demeanor. He got down to business. “You bring reports from the People’s Palace? The men have been asking if Lord Rahl intends to visit us in Tanimura.”

  “I know nothing of Lord Rahl’s plans. He has an empire to run and many urgent matters, I’m sure.”

  The general mused, “He told me once that the D’Haran Empire effectively encompasses the entire world, but how are we to know how vast that is? How is he to know? Though my own journey to Tanimura was uneventful, and this garrison is secure, I’ve seen maps of the coastal cities and even sketchier reports of the Old World beyond, many cities, the Phantom Coast, and many islands beyond. As the world goes, we may have seen only one grain of sand on a very long beach.”

  Verna nodded. “That could well be true, General. There will be explorers, there will be ambassadors. We can see this world and make sure that Lord Rahl’s golden age touches them all.”

  Zimmer smiled as if he had hoped she would make such a comment. “In light of that, Prelate, I have received a report you may find interesting. Nathan Rahl, the wizard and prophet, came through Tanimura some months ago.”

  Nathan? Verna was surprised. “He is no longer a prophet. There is no more prophecy.”

  Zimmer did not seem bothered by her correction. “Even so, a man likes to keep his titles. He was with Nicci. From Tanimura, they both booked passage aboard a three-masted carrack, the Wavewalker.”

  Verna was always surprised to hear about the former Sister of the Dark and how greatly she had changed. Nicci had been with Verna in the Palace of the Prophets for many years, but she had secretly served the Keeper. She had done much to destroy the order as well as Richard Rahl, but she had changed, and Nicci—who once called herself Death’s Mistress—was now one of Richard’s staunchest allies.

  Verna’s lips curved in a distant smile. “I knew Lord Rahl had dispatched them together, but I am surprised Nicci stayed with Nathan. I would not have thought they’d be good traveling companions.”

  “Soldiers do their duty,” Zimmer said. “Although Nathan and Nicci are not soldiers, they both have the same goal—to see that Lord Rahl’s cause succeeds.”

  “How long have they been gone? Where did they go?” Verna asked.

  “They sailed south, and there has been no word from the Wavewalker since. Apparently, they went to explore those empty places in our knowledge, to meet local leaders and tell them about Lord Rahl, perhaps to establish treaties or agreements. They have much work to do.”

  He poured a second cup of tea for each of them. She added a dab of honey, stirred it, then drank. The tea was surprisingly good for something concocted in a rough-hewn military garrison.

  Zimmer’s face darkened. “Even though Jagang has been defeated and the Imperial Order disbanded, there is still so much unexplored and ungoverned land. The Old World seems to be a fertile ground for tyrants.”

  Verna wrapped her fingers around the cup, feeling its warmth, enjoying the sense of peace as she sat across from this brave military man, smelling the fresh pinewood and seeing the bright sunshine out the window.

  She said, “If there are a dozen new tyrants out there, I’d still bet my money on Nicci.”

  CHAPTER 17

  The next day, Nicci returned to the ruling tower, where the wizards’ duma was holding session. Sovrena Thora and Wizard Commander Maxim took their ornate seats on the raised platform above the floor of blue marble tiles. Thora wore a shimmering orange and scarlet dress that clung to her shapely body and highlighted he
r startling sea-green eyes. Her long hair had been done up in a different, intricate pattern of loops and braids, held in place by jeweled clasps. She seemed to radiate power, amplified by her own confidence.

  Because there was no pressing business, only a few duma members bothered to attend the meeting—Elsa, Renn, and Quentin. Entering late, the muscular Ivan came from the arena pits. The chief handler was swarthy, sweating, and in a foul mood. He stalked in, grumbling, but the other members paid him no mind; apparently, Ivan often attended in such a state.

  “Had to kill two more unruly animals today, a sand panther and a speckled boar. With my gift, I can usually knuckle them under, force them to submit even if I have to break a few bones or burst some blood vessels. But these two beasts kept turning on me. I needed one of my apprentices, Dorbo, to club them into submission.” He twisted his thick lips as if he wanted to spit. “A waste of time and energy, all of them.” He looked around the room as he approached his seat at the marble table. “Where’s Andre? He creates the things.”

  “Perhaps he’s just giving you a challenge, Chief Handler,” said Maxim, lounging back in his chair, amused.

  “I have enough damned challenges already.” He slumped heavily in his seat.

  Nicci had been invited to watch, but not interfere. From where she stood in the observers’ alcove near the tall windows overlooking the city, Nicci maintained her silence. She narrowed her intense blue eyes and watched closely, absorbing the interaction among the duma members. As far as she could tell, the ruling council of Ildakar lacked any compassion for the rest of the city. She couldn’t imagine how they had kept Ildakar functioning when it was bottled up under a protective shroud for fifteen centuries. If the mirrors mounted defiantly on alley walls were any indication, she suspected a low undercurrent of unrest beneath this supposed utopia.

  Though Nicci felt skepticism and distaste roiling inside, she reminded herself that she and her companions were only guests here, and she still had her underlying mission to spread the word of the D’Haran Empire. She would be quiet for now, but she was strong. These people paid little attention to her, but they didn’t know who she really was yet.

  Nathan had also joined her for the council session, but he remained uncharacteristically quiet. He had looked unsettled since meeting with Fleshmancer Andre the previous day. For the loquacious former prophet to withhold conversation, Nicci could sense that something was wrong. Though she wouldn’t overtly offer, she would be ready to assist him if she saw the opportunity. Nathan was convinced he needed the help of these wizards, but maybe he was seeing the cracks under this society as well.

  Bannon arrived. Instead of the loose finery from the banquet, he wore his durable canvas pants, which had been cleaned and mended, as well as his scuffed traveling boots, but he did don a slick brown Ildakaran shirt. The sleeves were wide and billowing, but tapered to a cuff at his wrists. As always, he kept Sturdy strapped to his side, and Nathan carried his more ornate sword. No one seemed the least bit uncomfortable that guests would bring deadly blades in their presence, and that told Nicci how confident the council members were in their own magic.

  When the young redhead entered in the ruling hall, the wizards looked askance at him. Thora frowned, making it plain that she didn’t wish the ungifted young man to be there. “Have you no activities with our son and his friends?”

  Bannon—intentionally, Nicci was sure—missed her mood and shrugged. “I enjoy the company of Amos and the others, but I also like to spend time with my friends Nicci and Nathan. We’ve traveled a long way together to find your city.”

  “And you’re welcome to sit with us, my boy.” Nathan indicated the bench beside him; then he emerged from the observation alcove and cleared his throat, as if Thora’s comment had invited open discussion from the floor. “Fleshmancer Andre is hard at work on some massive new project, which consumes his attentions. I’m sure he sends his apologies that he can’t attend the duma meeting today.”

  “He rarely attends duma meetings,” Maxim said with a lilt of sarcasm. “We’ll be forced to muddle along without the delight of his company.”

  “Such a pity.” Sovrena Thora matched her husband’s sarcasm.

  “He’s creating something special for the arena,” Ivan said, brushing at a stain on his panther-pelt jerkin. His wide mouth broke into a grin. “I’ll let him take the time he needs, but he said it would be done soon.”

  When Nicci shot her companion a questioning glance, Nathan looked away. He raised his voice and kept speaking to the duma. “Before he became preoccupied, though, Andre identified the root cause of my problem. Apparently, through the fundamental changes after the star shift, I somehow lost … the heart of a wizard. The fleshmancer is working on a way to rectify that condition. He has some ideas, but no clear answers as of yet.”

  “At least that means your weakness is not contagious,” Renn said with a sigh. “When will he be able to cure you?”

  “He’s finishing my project first,” Ivan said, rubbing at a red welt on his exposed biceps, as if trying to remember how he had gotten injured.

  With some embarrassment, Nathan agreed. “Considering his obvious interest in the challenge, I believe his attention is focused entirely on that.”

  “I hope he doesn’t take too long,” said the wizard commander. “How it must pain you to be utterly impotent, Nathan … unable to use even the most trivial magic.”

  Nathan flushed. “I wouldn’t exactly use the word ‘impotent.’”

  “Until you can demonstrate the use of magic, your position among us remains in limbo,” Thora said with a sour expression. “For the moment, we extend our courtesy to you as a guest, but if you mean to stay here in Ildakar forever, that will have to change.”

  A fire of surprise pulsed through Nicci’s veins. This was the second time they had mentioned the possibility. “We have no intention of remaining here forever.”

  “You may not have a choice if you are inside the walls when the shroud goes back up permanently,” Thora said.

  “Then we can’t let you restore the shroud yet.” Nicci’s voice was hard, and the sovrena looked startled at the defiance. She continued, “We still have work to do here.”

  Richard had explicitly charged her with seeking out tyranny and oppression. She might have to reshape the city’s entire ruling structure, if she took that mission entirely to heart here. Was Ildakar worth the effort? Though the sovrena and the wizard commander did not seek to conquer the world, like Jagang, they still posed a threat to freedom. “I don’t think you’d want to leave me trapped here.”

  Before Thora could argue, loud footsteps and harsh shouts drifted up from the entry at the base of the tower below. Footsteps came up the waterfall of stairs in a brisk percussive beat, landing after landing, until a group reached the expansive ruling chamber.

  Nicci, Nathan, and Bannon turned to see three ominous women leading a scruffy young man in the rough-spun tunic and trousers of a slave. He was barefoot and smudged with dirt, possibly excrement. His unruly mop of hair looked as if it had been cut with a sharpened spoon. His brown eyes darted in defiance from side to side. Fresh bruises were apparent through the dirt smeared on his cheeks. Nicci was surprised to recognize the young yaxen herder who had caused High Captain Avery such consternation on the day of their arrival.

  But her main focus was drawn like a lodestone to the three whip-thin women who escorted the prisoner. The compact female warriors were composed entirely of muscle, as if some fleshmancer had created them out of coiled wires and metal rods, then covered the framework with feminine flesh. Each of the three wore a scant black leather wrap around her waist and another leather band cinched across her breasts, leaving legs, arms, and midriff bare. They wore metal-shod sandals with black leather wrappings bound high up their calves.

  Their exposed skin was an overworked canvas, marked not with tattoos, but actual brands, arcane Ildakaran symbols that turned their bodies into walking spell books—just like those Nicci
had seen on Mrra’s hide, or the horrific combat bear they had killed. Despite their marred skin, these thinly clad warrior women were hauntingly beautiful. They exuded power and dangerous sexuality. Their hair was cropped short, perhaps as a defense against some enemy grabbing a fistful of locks.

  Thora leaned forward in her tall chair. “What have you brought us, Adessa? He looks like a dirty slave, not one of your warriors in training.”

  “Too scrawny for a warrior,” Chief Handler Ivan muttered, “though he might provide some food for my hungry beasts.”

  The oldest and best-muscled of the three women came forward. Her short black hair was peppered with highlights of silver, and her dark eyes were bright as a raven’s. She might have been beautiful, under other circumstances. Adessa delivered her report with military precision. “He is not one of my fighters, nor a trainee from the cells. Just a dirty yaxen herder, but my morazeth caught him. He supports the rebels.”

  The other two black-clad women each took an arm of the struggling captive boy and pushed him across the polished blue marble tiles toward the dais. His hands were tied in front of him at the wrists.

  Nathan stroked his thumb and forefinger down his chin as he turned to Nicci. “‘Morazeth’? The word sounds similar to ‘Mord-Sith.’ They are obviously powerful and dangerous women, and they even have a penchant for wearing leather, though there would not seem to be enough of it to serve as body armor.”

  Nicci studied the women. “It may have come from the same root word in ancient times.” These morazeth warrior trainers did indeed remind her of the Mord-Sith, women impervious to magic, who wore leather and swore their lives to protect the Lord Rahl. “I do not know the origins of the Mord-Sith back in D’Hara. These may have been an offshoot thousands of years ago, separated back in the days of the great war. Ildakar has been sealed away for many centuries. These women could have developed independently, followed their own path. Some things may be similar to the Mord-Sith, but I expect much will be greatly different.”