Amos, Jed, and Brock cheered him on. Next, he thought of how his father had whipped him, how he had killed the kittens, how he had beaten his mother to death. Bannon swung the club again, finding a surrogate target to pay for that despicable man’s crimes.
Soon all four were whirling their clubs, destroying one petrified soldier after another. The sounds of iron ringing against stone accompanied their shouts and cheers across the otherwise-silent plain. There were so many targets to choose from that Bannon did not need to be selective. The petrified enemy ranks seemed endless.
He was panting hard, his long ginger hair dripping with sweat. His arms ached, and his wrists were numb from so many blows against unyielding stone. He gasped for breath, not happy, but at least purged. He had extinguished some of his anger, though he wished he could be hurting a worthy enemy rather than old statues.
Off to his left, far from where the other three were attacking motionless enemies, Bannon heard an unexpected sound: a groan and then confused words, a male voice that slowly built to a wail.
Bannon looked around, seeing only statue after statue, so many warriors from fifteen centuries ago. Then he spotted movement. One figure from the standing stone ranks shifted. The legs moved. The arms raised up. The moan grew louder.
Bannon gripped his iron-tipped club in his left hand, while his right strayed to the sword at his side. The statue warrior shifted and moved, then collapsed to his knees. “Ohhhh, what has happened? Ohhhh.”
The sound was so plaintive, so desperate that Bannon couldn’t stop himself from venturing forward. The ancient warrior had some color in his face, though the flesh tone remained gray and pasty, as if dusted with flour. His armor had been restored to brass and leather; the flame symbol on his shield was bright red.
“Ohhhh.”
Bannon paused ten strides away and his heart beat faster. The strange warrior looked at him through his helmet. They stared at each other, speechless.
“You’re awake,” Bannon finally said. “The spell must have worn off.” He looked around in alarm at the countless statue warriors, afraid they might all lurch into motion, but everything else remained still on the plain. The rest of General Utros’s warriors were white marble.
The confused ancient soldier pulled off his helmet, and Bannon saw a young man no more than twenty-five, a fighter from the days of Emperor Kurgan. The irises of his eyes were gray, but they faded into the whites, as if he was not yet entirely restored from the stone. His short dark hair seemed stiff. He flexed his arms, slowly. “What happened?” His voice had a strange accent, and he looked around at all the statues of his former comrades. “My army … my liege.”
Bannon came closer as the wakened warrior hunched his shoulders and shook his head, utterly miserable. “What happened?”
“It was a spell from a long, long time ago,” Bannon said. “Your army came here during a war that’s been over for fifteen centuries.”
The warrior removed his gauntlets and bent his fingers, reminding Bannon of a blacksmith bending a strip of iron that wasn’t heated enough to be worked. His forearms were also chalky, partially stone.
“My name is Bannon Farmer. I’m a traveler too, visiting Ildakar.”
The warrior’s expression tightened. “Ildakar … we are here to conquer Ildakar for Iron Fang. General Utros says we must do it because the emperor commands it.” He heaved a deep breath, which whistled through his mouth and nose. His chest crackled, as if his lungs were still full of stone dust. “I am Ulrich, tenth-rank foot soldier, and I give my life for Emperor Kurgan.”
“Emperor Kurgan is just dust, I’m afraid,” Bannon said.
With a groan, Ulrich stood straighter. Bannon didn’t know what to do, but he realized that Nathan would surely want to talk to this man, as would the wizards of Ildakar. “The war is long over. There’s no need for you to fight. We can take you back to the city.”
Amos shouted, “What are you doing over there, Bannon?”
Bannon waved. “One of the soldiers woke up! The spell faded for some reason.”
The three young Ildakarans hurried over. “The spell faded? Keeper’s crotch, how did that happen?”
Ulrich raised his arms as if still struggling to believe he was really awake. “I can barely move. Please help me.”
“We should take him back to the city.” Bannon felt sorry for the ancient soldier. “He may need medical care, and the historians will want to talk with him. Won’t the wizard commander need to understand why the spell wore off?”
“We’ll bring him to the city,” Amos said, gesturing. “Come, join us.”
Bereft and confused, the ancient warrior lumbered after them. “What about my family? My comrades?”
“They’re all gone,” Amos said. “Be thankful that you’re awake.”
“I … don’t understand,” Ulrich said.
Bannon reassured him. “We’ll figure it out once we get inside Ildakar. We’ll find you some food.”
Perplexed, Ulrich touched his abdomen. “Not hungry … still feels like stone.”
They moved at a brisk pace, weaving through the ranks of the statue army back toward the city’s towering defensive walls. Ulrich looked at the petrified figures, muttering in despair. “Help me get home.”
“I doubt your home exists any longer,” Bannon said. “A lot has changed over the centuries.”
Nearing the wall, Amos, Jed, and Brock began to shout, waving their iron-tipped clubs. “Ho, Ildakar! We have an emergency. Ildakar!”
By the time they reached the gate, soldiers had gathered for an attack, but they saw only the four young men and their unexpected companion in the antique armor of the long-defeated troops. Bannon followed Ulrich closely. High Captain Avery arrived at the tall gate, looking at them with a suspicious expression. He adjusted the red pauldron on his shoulder, placed a hand on the hilt of his short sword.
Ulrich staggered forward, overwhelmed to be so close to the immense city he had tried to conquer long ago.
Bannon said, “High Captain Avery, this is an awakened warrior from the army of Emperor Kurgan.”
Amos pushed forward. “He is an enemy of Ildakar. Seize him and throw him into the dungeons before he can cause any harm.”
Ulrich whirled, confused and betrayed. Bannon was taken aback. “Wait, we were going to get him help!”
Amos sneered. “Don’t be a fool. This man wanted to conquer Ildakar.” He smiled. “Finally, we can bring one of them to justice. Every person in the city will want to see it done!”
Ulrich looked betrayed, and Bannon realized that he had been tricked as well.
CHAPTER 34
In the ruling tower, Nicci turned at the shouts and commotion. The duma members rose in alarm from their benches, and even Maxim stood, curious, while Thora remained ensconced in her chair, as if it would take more than an ordinary crisis to make her stir from her place.
High Captain Avery marched in with a leather-and-steel rustle of his personal armor. Six city guards escorted a dangerous-looking warrior whose entire body seemed bleached, his armor and skin coated with a whitish film. His dark, close-cropped hair seemed dusted with white powder. The prisoner moved sluggishly, staggering under the burden of heavy iron chains draped over his shoulders and encircling his chest. Avery stared ahead, his expression grim. Nicci could tell he was afraid.
Sovrena Thora finally rose to her feet. “What is this?”
Recognizing the stylized-flame symbol on the prisoner’s breastplate, Nicci guessed what had happened even before the wizards did.
Avery marched up to the dais. “Sovrena, Wizard Commander, one of the petrified warriors awakened. Your son and his friends were among the ranks of stone soldiers when this one came alive again.”
The strange warrior spoke in a deep, heavily accented voice. “My name is Ulrich.” He struggled with the chains. “What have you done to my comrades? What did you do to me?”
Maxim’s normally cocky expression changed to one of alarm. His fa
ce turned nearly as pale as the ancient soldier’s. “The spell wore off? How is that possible?”
Thora snapped, “What did Amos do? Did our son cause this?”
“It seems to have occurred spontaneously, Sovrena,” said Avery. “The young men brought him to the city gates, where he was seized.”
“Wisely,” Ivan said.
Fleshmancer Andre did not try to control his curiosity, scuttling across the blue tiled floor. The city guards crowded around the warrior in his antique armor, tense and wary, but Andre showed no hesitation. He poked and prodded the armor, then the man’s exposed cheek. Ulrich grimaced, thrashed his head, and snapped his teeth as if trying to bite off the fleshmancer’s fingers, but Andre was nimble and snatched them away. “Skin is stiff and hard, still partially faded.” He looked up. “Good news, Wizard Commander—your spell is only partially faded, hmmm?”
“Good news, indeed.” Maxim did not sound the least bit pleased. “Let’s hope it doesn’t happen again.”
Quentin tapped his fingers on the table, accusing Avery. “You bring a fully armed enemy into the duma chamber, Captain? Why didn’t you strip him bare?”
“We could not remove his armor,” Avery said. “We took away his shield, helmet, and sword, but other parts are still … fused to his skin.”
“His skin is still partly stone as well.” Andre rapped his knuckles against Ulrich’s bare arm above the spiked band that wrapped his biceps. “Very interesting. It would make him a very tough enemy to kill.” Ulrich flinched, then glared at him, but the fleshmancer did not seem to notice.
Chief Handler Ivan slammed a meaty fist against the stone tabletop in front of him. “He is an enemy of Ildakar. This man intended to overthrow our city, rape our women, torture our children.”
Damon glanced at the sovrena with a disrespectful sneer. “I always thought your son and his friends were foolish to go out and vandalize the statues. Now I think I understand. Perhaps we should have them do more of it. Send out entire crews to smash the stone warriors.”
“Waste of time,” Quentin muttered. “There are hundreds of thousands…”
Still angry, Ivan rose to his feet, his arms bent to show off the bulging muscles beneath his panther-hide jerkin. “Turning that army to stone granted us an unprecedented victory, but it failed to give us a modicum of justice. Now we have one of the enemy in our hands!” He looked around the chamber, scowling at the confused ancient warrior, who was barely able to stand with the weight of shackles. “Let’s throw this one into the combat arena and make him fight. All of Ildakar can watch him be torn to shreds.”
Nicci spoke up, and they turned to look at her, surprised at the interruption. “Interrogate him first, find out what he knows of General Utros’s plans. This is an unprecedented opportunity.”
“For history as well as for the city’s defense,” Nathan said.
“Another waste of time,” Quentin said. “How could his knowledge possibly be relevant after so many centuries? Emperor Kurgan is long dead; the army is stone.”
“Besides, he is just a foot soldier,” Damon added. “He would know nothing.”
From her own experience, Nicci knew that foot soldiers often understood many details that others didn’t realize. This ancient soldier would have kept one of Jagang’s interrogators busy for months, and the questioning would not have been quiet or peaceful. Not only did they need to understand why the spell had dissipated, but she imagined all the intelligence even this mere foot soldier could provide. To discard him seemed a waste of resources to her.
“Ildakar is a peaceful city,” Maxim said. “We know little of torture and interrogation techniques.” He sniffed. “Better that we use him for something else. Like the arena.”
Ulrich stood in his chains, filled with confusion, his face a knot of anger. “I will fight whatever you throw against me. I will fight all of you in the name of Iron Fang.”
“At least it would be something, hmmm?” Andre said. “I agree with the suggestion.”
“If the petrification spell is faltering, then we may be in great trouble,” Maxim muttered, troubled. He tapped the left corner of his lip as if it helped him think. “We have to eliminate this anomaly and make sure the weakness doesn’t spread.” He nodded at the sovrena. “Yes, I agree. Send him into the combat arena for another great exhibition. Chief Handler, do you have something interesting to throw against him?”
“I always do.” Ivan narrowed his hooded eyes, as if the wheels of his mind were turning.
Thora agreed. “Summon the citizens. We will give them a spectacle unlike any they have seen before.”
* * *
The hot sun shimmered on the sand of the combat arena. The merchants, tradesmen, gardeners, tailors, and craftsmen dropped their daily work, closed up shops and smithies, and hurried to see the fight. General Utros had nearly destroyed their city centuries ago, and that ancient army was more hated than any other. Now that one of the stone warriors had broken free of the petrification spell, they would have a chance to see justice served. They wanted to watch that enemy soldier defeated, slaughtered.
Deadly combat had been a part of Ildakaran culture for as long as the city had existed, and the people seemed to enjoy it as a release of their increasing frustrations and anger. Now that Nicci witnessed the tensions brewing among the populace, she wondered if this was the duma’s calculated plan to direct unrest toward a specific target and distract them.
Nathan followed her into the nobles’ observation tower as the crowds gathered with a drone of voices and jostle of bodies. Splashes of colorful fabric and furs among the wealthier patrons stood in contrast to the drab brown garments in the lower seats, clearly delineating the classes of spectators.
Through the grace of Maxim, Nicci had been invited to sit on one of the high platforms again. On the other side of the stand, Thora was closely attended by Avery, although not because she needed his protection.
Nathan continued his conversation with Andre, but the fleshmancer seemed preoccupied by this unusual reanimated warrior, no longer thinking about restoring the wizard’s gift. “We will work on it, my dear Nathan. There’s no hurry, hmmm?”
The burly Norukai slavers also came to watch the bloody combat. Kor and his muscular, scarred companions jostled for seats in the lower levels, shoving spectators aside and claiming benches down at the edge of the arena among the lesser workers and unwashed slaves.
Sovrena Thora had invited the Norukai to sit among the nobles in the high observation seats, but Kor spurned the offer. “I want to see the sweat, smell the blood, and hear every grunt of pain. We might learn something we can bring back to King Grieve. This is the sort of amusement he might like.”
Deeply disturbed, Bannon worked his way up to join Nicci and Nathan. “Sweet Sea Mother, it’s shameful,” he said in a low voice. “When Ulrich awakened, he was lost and confused, and he asked me for help. Amos lured him to the city walls with promises, but as soon as we brought him through the gate, the guards seized him. He’s going to be killed!”
“He is their mortal enemy,” Nicci pointed out, “A warrior from the army that tried to destroy Ildakar.”
“That was fifteen centuries ago!” Bannon said. “He’s no threat anymore.”
“Maybe not a threat, my boy,” Nathan said, his lips turned down in a frown, “but for millennia, the people in this city have been seething over Emperor Kurgan’s plans to rule the world. They have seen that army of half a million warriors turned to statues. This is their first opportunity for revenge.”
“It’s still not right,” Bannon muttered.
“No, it is not,” Nicci agreed. “There is much about Ildakar that isn’t right.”
Men in sleeveless tunics hammered on gongs with a crashing metallic clamor that drove the spectators into silence.
From the top of his high stand, the announcer cried out in a booming voice, amplified by magic, “Today Ildakar will witness an execution, and not an easy one.” The crowd muttered until
the speaker drowned them out again. “An enemy from the past shall receive the punishment he deserves—the punishment they all deserve! He will die in our combat arena.”
The crowd began to cheer, hiss, and boo, venting their emotions, ratcheting up their hatred.
Wizard Commander Maxim seemed entertained, while Sovrena Thora was pleased to channel the citizens’ anger in an appropriate direction. When the spectators in the lower benches rose up for a better view, the people behind them also had to stand, triggering a ripple of motion throughout the crowd.
The Norukai down at the lowest level leaned forward. When one man stood up and got in Dar’s way, the raider knocked him off the edge. The man tumbled down into the pit and scrambled back to his feet on the sand. In panic, he gaped at the opening gate and jumped, clawing for the rim, which remained well out of reach. His friends reached down to grab him, hauling him up and out of the way before the ancient warrior emerged.
The cheering shifted to grumbles as the reawakened warrior marched onto the combat sands. Ulrich moved sluggishly in his antique lapped armor, which was still dusted with gray from stone that had not yet been restored. He held his curved sword, which had been returned to him for the fight. He strode into the arena, moving uncertainly. He looked up at the crowds, still disoriented. Their mutters turned into a chorus of angry threats.
Ulrich stepped to the middle of the sands and turned to stare at the high platform where the wizards sat. He bellowed, “What do you want of me?”
“We want you to die, you fool!” said Maxim, and then giggled.
Elsa sat next to Nathan, primly holding her hands on her purple skirts. He said to her, “Where is Chief Handler Ivan? I would have thought he’d want to watch the combat.”
“He is down in the arena,” she said, “where he can manage the beasts.”
Remembering the combat bear, Nicci felt a chill. “What beasts?”
Down on the sands Ulrich turned as a second gate opened.
Nicci stiffened as she saw three tawny and muscular felines. The troka of sand panthers bounded out onto the fighting field, looking much like Mrra, their hides branded with spell symbols to make them impervious to magical attacks.