Page 76 of Siege of Stone (Sister of Darkness: The Nicci Chronicles 3)

With a gathering crowd of curiosity seekers around her, Nicci went to the ruling tower to report about her trip to Tanimura. When she walked into the chamber, Rendell was talking about all the work ungifted people did throughout the city, sharpening swords, fashioning armor, creating weapons, and generally keeping Ildakar functioning. The former slave’s words faltered as soon as Nicci entered.

Nathan jumped to his feet. “Dear sorceress! I am glad to see you.”

Her gaze swept around the room. “I informed the D’Haran garrison about Utros and his army, and Lord Rahl will soon be aware of the threat. We cannot expect reinforcements any time soon, though. Ildakar must defend itself. Have you made any progress? Found any new weapons?”

Olgya explained that the Ildakaran silk houses were working to create enhanced worms that spun even tougher silken armor. Before the woman could finish her report, Bannon dashed in, grinning, accompanied by a businesslike Lila. “Nicci! You’re back.”

Though overwhelmed with surprise to see the young man still alive, Nicci controlled her reaction. “I’m pleased to see that you survived. You are a good fighter, and I would not have wanted to lose you.” He seemed overly exuberant as usual, and hurried forward, but reconsidered a welcoming embrace at the last moment.

Elsa added in a heavy voice, “We also have bad news. Lani is dead.”

The conversation in the chamber became low and muted. Nicci asked, “What happened to her?”

Nathan stroked his long white hair. “She used her water-scrying magic to spy on General Utros, but his two sorceresses caught her and struck back.”

“Lani was no match for them,” Elsa said. “They killed her, right here. And we could not save her.”

“That is a blow,” Nicci said. “We need every gifted fighter, and Lani was strong.”

Nathan said, “It gets worse, I’m afraid … dear spirits, it gets worse. Before she was killed, Lani learned that Utros and those two women were working a summoning spell. Something so powerful that it terrifies me.”

“It terrifies all of us,” said Quentin. “We should seriously consider our last resort of raising the shroud before the general can succeed. Sovrena Thora offered us her cooperation.”

Nicci didn’t want to hear about Thora. “What did Lani discover? What summoning spell?”

Nathan said, “Utros intends to summon a dragon. He has a connection, and the sorceresses drew upon it.”

Damon’s voice cracked, showing his fear and stress. “If a dragon joins that ancient army, our walls won’t be able to protect us. The monster will wreak havoc on Ildakar. Countless thousands of lives will be lost, our homes destroyed.”

Nicci understood the threat. “If General Utros can command a dragon, then we have to prepare.”

Quentin said, “If a dragon comes, what can we do? We haven’t found a sufficient weapon.”

Nathan looked down at the stone table in front of him, then squared his shoulders. “I have been waiting for Nicci before even suggesting this.” He looked at them all with his alert azure eyes. “Ildakar does have such a weapon, and now we truly have to consider it.” Intrigued, Nicci waited for him to say more. Nathan rose to his feet. “Sorceress, come with me. You can tell me whether or not I’m mad even to suggest the idea.”

* * *

In broken patches of sunlight in Andre’s ruined studio, Nicci stared at the towering Ixax warriors. “You destroyed one of these yourself when you regained your gift,” she said.

Nathan and Elsa were beside her, both uneasy. Nathan said, “Mirrormask unleashed it to cause chaos, and the Ixax was maddened by centuries of mindless inactivity.” He lowered his voice, stroking his chin. “The fault lies squarely on Andre’s shoulders.”

Nicci looked at the two remaining titans. Behind the slits in their cumbersome helmets, she saw their yellow eyes staring straight ahead.

Nathan moved closer to them, as if to demonstrate his confidence. “These two have suffered the same endless waiting, but the souls of the original young men are still inside them—I know it. When Ildakar was first threatened, long ago, they volunteered to become these monstrous warriors. But they remember, and they know the city’s need.”

Nicci thought about the sliph, who had similarly volunteered to become something inhuman because of her fierce devotion to a cause. “Are you sure they remember their loyalty? Have you spoken with them? Can you speak to them?”

“I have been talking to them regularly, reading them stories, legends, and history,” Nathan said. “I’ve explained what is happening now outside the walls, with the reawakened army. I am convinced they understand.”

Elsa touched his arm. “We reminded them of their duty. The Ixax may not be able to defeat a dragon, but they are the most powerful weapon Ildakar has right now.”

Nicci nodded slowly. “They were designed to slay tens of thousands of enemy soldiers. They would certainly cause much greater harm than our surprise attack the other night.” She studied the giant warriors for a long moment. They would be devastating in their own way. “Yes, I think we should take the chance.”

CHAPTER 60

Fighting stormy seas, the Norukai fleet sailed south from the jagged islands, heading to the wide mouth of the estuary where the Killraven River spilled into the ocean.

Fifty sturdy serpent ships, blessed by the blood of Yorik and the grace of the serpent god, pushed across the open water, their dark blue sails stretched tight by guiding winds. Whenever the breezes faltered, King Grieve would sound the drums, and his warriors extended the lines of oars to row the ships onward.

Grieve had always been a restless man. Sitting on his blocky throne left him impatient, so he tended to leave the Bastion walls and roam the island, hunting by himself or taking a small boat to one of the nearby islands. His people needed to see him, and they needed to fear him.

Wanting to fight, he would provoke clan leaders, yell at them, open his scarred mouth wide as if to bite their faces off. He insulted them, shamed them until they retaliated. Occasionally, some hotheaded fool got angry enough to challenge him for the rule of the Norukai, and those reluctant challengers always died. Grieve selected them carefully.

Now, the Norukai islands were half empty, since the bravest were with him aboard the serpent ships in his giant navy, while others had gone off in separate fleets with the disgraced Kor or Lars. Those others were misfits and lackluster warriors, mostly drunkards, those with exorbitant gambling debts, or cuckolds who couldn’t face their fellow warriors without shame. King Grieve knew they would fight with wild abandon, but he was interested in blood and glory for himself. Ildakar was a legendary city with countless wizards and ancient defenses that had held for centuries, but no mere city could stand against a Norukai invasion.

He stood behind the serpent carving that roared from the prow of his ship. When he grew bored of staring at the waves and the spray, he stalked back along the deck. His shaman pranced alongside him, unable to contain his energy. “Sailing, sailing, sailing!” Chalk said. “We are sailing, and soon we will kill. I’ve seen it. We will kill! Ildakar will be gone! My Grieve, King Grieve! They’ll all grieve.”

“Yes, I’m your Grieve, and our enemies will grieve.”

“We’ll kill soon, I’ve seen it.” The albino grinned with glee.

Grieve knew they were still far from the estuary. “What will we kill?” On the open sea they wouldn’t find any ships, nor would they bother to attack small coastal towns, like Renda Bay. Not this time.

“Don’t know, my Grieve.” Chalk looked away as if he had failed his king. He stared into the sun without blinking, gazing for so long that Grieve thought he might go blind. He knocked the gangly shaman aside. Chalk rubbed his eyes. Back at the Bastion, he would stare at the flames in the large hearth and sort out his visions. Now without a convenient fire, he seemed to seek premonitions in the sun itself.

With a brisk wind, the water was rough and choppy. Even though Chalk had sailed with him from island to island, thi

s was the longest ocean voyage the pale man had endured. For the first three days, Chalk was abominably sick, clutching his stomach with one hand and holding on to the rail with the other as he retched over the side, convinced that the serpent god had cursed him, that somehow Yorik’s sacrifice hadn’t been sufficient. In his misery, he threatened to throw himself overboard, but Grieve held him back.

“It is not the serpent god. It’s just sickness from the sea. You know that others get it.” Even brave Norukai with painfully scarred faces, warriors eager to bloody their hands and weapons on raids, could be struck with seasickness, for which they were mocked by the other Norukai.

Two raiders had snickered and insulted Chalk on this voyage, and King Grieve clubbed one of the men to death while he was guffawing. With the man’s head leaking brains like a broken cliff gourd, Grieve heaved him over the side of the ship.

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