On the shore, villagers scurried about like terrified ants. Kor’s lips twitched in an imitation of a smile on his slashed cheeks. Salt spray crashed from the prow of the raiding ship. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the helpless town. He felt hungry.
CHAPTER 25
After sunset the following day, General Utros surveyed his vast camp and his countless soldiers. The warriors lit campfires, not because they needed the warmth or to cook meals that they wouldn’t eat, but because it was part of their routine, as it had been since ancient times. Such a colossal army needed campfires as a symbol of camaraderie. In addition to the other effects of the petrification spell, Utros had noticed that his night vision and that of his soldiers was severely diminished, just like the sensitivity of his skin. He could see the fires blazing bright and defiant, but the shadows seemed to be deeper than before.
Over the days since awakening, as the news spread about how much time had passed and that Iron Fang’s empire had fallen long ago, a ripple of despair went through the countless soldiers. Utros spent the day walking among the troops, telling them that even though everything they knew was gone, they were still his army. “As my soldiers, you are always with your true family, and I will lead you.”
He wore his helmet with the horns of the monstrous bull, looking powerful, but he could feel the shock of his men, their sadness. He understood their disbelief, but he could do nothing to help them. He, too, had lost everything. Majel …
Utros spoke to the squads, stepping up to just a few sullen, dutiful warriors, but others gathered closer to hear.
“I can’t bring them back, not any of them,” he said. “Time has stolen our families, our friends, our loves and our lives from us.” He paused. “No, not time—the wizards of Ildakar stole them from us. They placed this spell on us.” He clenched his partially hardened arm. “They are to blame.”
Utros saw the grief and loss in their expressive eyes, the inability to shed tears the way they normally had. The reality sank in, and these soldiers, so many thousands of them, had only their duty and their loyalty—to him. “I can’t bring you the past. I can’t bring any of them back. But I can bring you hope and duty. Our reality is now centered on capturing Ildakar, as we swore to do when we left Orogang so many centuries ago.” He drew a deep breath, felt his lungs expand. “And that is what we will accomplish.”
At first the dutiful cheers were halfhearted, but slowly the soldiers pulled themselves up with the new realization and their new purpose. Later that night, under a common banner, soldiers gathered around the big fires and told stories about their families, now long lost to the ravages of time. His troops would reminisce about their loves, their children, the homes they would never see again. But they would complete their mission. For him. Utros knew it.
His warriors came to accept their fate. What choice did they have? They had always followed Utros, and he had never let them down. So long as he convinced them of his vision, they would continue to serve him. But even he didn’t have a complete plan.
First Commander Enoch reported after sending scouts along the wall of the city, then up into the hills and along the cliff that plunged down to the river. He did not seem optimistic. “It is possible, by traveling far from these plains, to find a way down to the river, but it widens into swamps, which seem impassable. If we did send troops along the water to the base of the bluffs below Ildakar, we would still have to scale the cliffs to get into the city.” Enoch frowned. “It does not seem a good strategy, General. The Ildakarans have defenses there, too, and we have no boats, no means to attack from the water. I think our siege at the walls may be the best option. Ildakar can’t withstand us forever.”
Utros listened, absorbing the information. “I’ll continue to work on a plan, First Commander. Bring me any other intelligence you gather. There must be a way.” Enoch gave a formal bow, then departed.
Despite his reassurances, Utros had only a limited amount of time to find his clarity of purpose, because the army’s questions would become too loud for any answers he might offer. His orders from Emperor Kurgan were fifteen centuries old, and the mercurial ruler himself had been overthrown by his own people because of his cruelty.
Long ago, Utros had taken a vow of loyalty to Iron Fang, yet there was also Majel, and his love for her had been as strong as a boulder diverting a fast-flowing stream. Somehow, in the compartments of his mind, Utros managed to separate those conflicting loyalties. He held them like the opposite poles of two lodestones, both attracting and repelling, and it was only through rigid determination that he could hold both in his mind at the same time.
As he studied the campfires dotting the valley, he felt a chill rather than warmth. Kurgan was gone—and Majel was gone. Iron Fang could no longer advise him or give him new orders, and he couldn’t hear the beautiful voice of his beloved. Both were in the underworld now, their spirits with the Keeper. Utros could never speak with either of them again.
In ancient times, there had been rumors of a fraying of the veil, occasional ways for spirits to return to the world of the living, if only briefly, but Richard Rahl’s star shift had sealed the breach forever, if Nicci and Nathan could be believed. Never again would spirits be able to pass from the underworld.
His leader and his lover were both lost to him forever, and Utros was on his own. Even surrounded by hundreds of thousands of loyal soldiers, and the sorceresses who served him with their bodies and their magic, Utros felt entirely alone.…
From the doorway, he turned to the inside of the headquarters, where the two braziers glowed red. Ava and Ruva stood waiting for him in gauzy gowns that clung to their curves. Freshly shaved and painted, the twins watched him in silence, letting him have his thoughts, but they seemed to read his mind.
“We remember the magic we have been taught, beloved Utros,” said Ava.
“All the stolen books we studied in the cities we conquered,” Ruva said.
Utros closed the wooden doorway behind him. “I have never doubted it.” He could smell the dizzying smoke from the braziers. “But if what the representatives of Ildakar claim is true, the underpinnings of magic have changed. Your most powerful spells may not work anymore.”
Ava held up a finger, studied it, then stroked her sister’s cheek. “Or at least not in the same way.”
Ruva closed her eyes and let out a sigh of pleasure from the touch. “That also means we may have different opportunities. Magic might function in ways we never considered before.”
Utros ran his palm over his scarred cheek. “Maybe you can find a spell that will turn Ildakar’s stone walls to dust, and then we can simply march through the city streets.”
“An interesting possibility.” Ruva reached across to stroke her sister’s face in a reciprocal gesture. “But that’s not what you want most, beloved Utros.” The twins stared intently at him.
Ava said, “We know what you want, and it will strengthen your heart.”
“Strengthening your heart will strengthen your army,” Ruva added.
Utros frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what happened to your dear Majel, the woman to whom you gave your heart and your soul,” Ava said, “while your mind and your skills were sworn to Emperor Kurgan. Absolute loyalty and absolute love, tugging against each other.”
Ruva nodded. “Before you can accept your place in this time, you need to speak to Iron Fang. And to Majel.”
The general’s heart ached. “That is true, but they’re long dead. The only way I can speak to them is if I go to the underworld, and I am not ready to die yet.”