Sunset of Lantonne (69 page)

While the north end of Lantonne was mostly filled with homes and shops that had grown beyond the walls of the city proper, the south region had been entirely dominated by farms sprawling far off in all directions. On several, Ilarra saw hundreds of tents set up as though squatters had taken over the fields. She guessed they had begun moving many of the unemployed members of the city to the fields to help work them and provide for all the new mouths that sought shelter in Lantonne during the war. With most of the northern cities and their farmlands overrun, it seemed most likely the case. A tent city was hardly high among her concerns.

Ilarra reached the southern gate during twilight as many other people hurried to get into the city before dark. She slid into the crowd and through the gates without so much as a glance by the soldiers stationed there. All the concerns she had about being spotted were dismissed as Lantonne welcomed her home.

Stopping just inside the gate, Ilarra looked back at the soldiers manning the area and wondered how many others like her had made their way into the city. Turessians could be anywhere, waiting for their moment to strike. It was a chilling thought, but here, she had to assume she was competing with others like her to find the undiscovered Turessian relic that Nenophar said held the only chance of saving the city.

Unlike the last time Ilarra had been in the city, soldiers were everywhere. Previously, there would be anywhere from four to ten soldiers at each gate, with others waiting off-duty just inside the city. This time, there were no less than twenty soldiers working either the gate entrance or the walls above, with twice that many within sight inside.

Ilarra hurried past the soldiers, doing her best to keep from drawing attention to herself. She doubted any of them had reason to look for her after being gone so long, but she could not help worrying. All it would take was one overzealous soldier, and she might never have a chance to begin her search in the city for whatever had made it a target to the undead. Sitting in Lantonne’s prison would waste precious time and bring her far closer to Dorralt’s control.

That thought made Ilarra stop part way down the arterial road that went from the gate toward the center of the city. She looked around at the thousands of buildings and the people rushing to and fro everywhere. Anywhere she turned her gaze, there were crowds of elves, humans, dwarves, even halflings and the occasional wildings and fae-kin. All of these people would die if she did not find some way to divert the undead army or, far less likely, find a way to stand against it. Failure meant every face she saw would one day march beside the other undead on another land.

All she saw would burn to the ground, and for what? Greed or pride? Nothing warranted what could come of the undead arrival, no matter how much one man might covet something hidden in the city. Even kings with their private wars rarely would go to such an extreme. Whatever Dorralt’s reasons for doing this, she could not fathom anyone willing to lay waste to entire lands.

Nenophar’s explanation of where to look for the staff had been very detailed, giving Ilarra some hope that she could have it in her hands before the next morning. Finding it quickly helped ensure the undead were diverted long before reaching the city. She just had to hope that any other Turessians in the city had no idea where Nenophar had hidden it centuries earlier.

Ilarra made her way into the southwestern part of the inner city, avoiding patrols as she went. They might not specifically be looking for her yet, but her clothing was the same she had worn when she escaped the city the last time.

Stopping in an alley, Ilarra looked down at her old dress and the traveling boots she had worn for months. She had barely registered the garments had repaired themselves along with her flesh when she was hurt, but that meant her magic extended beyond her body itself. A change of appearance might help her considerably in avoiding detection.

Picturing a different outfit in her mind, Ilarra tried to hold that image the way Nenophar had taught her to envision her wounds healing. The dress she pictured was one her father had sent with her to Lantonne to be her graduation outfit when she left the school. She could not imagine anything more fitting to how she felt, returning now to save the city that had turned her away so long ago.

Opening her eyes again, Ilarra could not help giggling as she saw her battered, heavy green dress had been replaced with the elegant blue one she had lost during the first hours in Lantonne. Her old leather belt was now deeply adorned and bore pouches of varying sizes and shapes, as many of the elder wizards tended to wear to carry supplies. Even her boots had changed into sandals that laced nearly to her knee, visible through the slit sides of the dress. Nothing of her outfit had been entirely removed or added from what she wore before, but every piece had changed into something else.

“I may not have the title, but I do look like a magister now,” she mused, looking over the outfit with amusement. Clearing her throat and trying to look like she had not been staring at herself, Ilarra smiled in greeting to an elderly woman that she caught watching her.

The thumping of heavy boots alerted Ilarra to approaching soldiers, and she moved behind a row of abandoned crates barely in time to avoid being seen. With the moon high overhead, she had no doubt they would have questions for a wizard wandering around the streets alone.

Once the guards were gone, Ilarra continued toward the walls and made her way into one of the plazas in the southwest section of the city. Nenophar had been quite specific on which and where she should look for the staff. From what he had told her, he had placed the staff far up on the sculpture of a tree that dominated the wall, in a hidden compartment among the stones. He had then rambled for nearly an hour about how bad the writing he had marked the hiding place was, though most of that Ilarra had ignored. Getting to it might prove difficult, but Ilarra smiled happily at getting to the staff’s location so quickly. Knowing that the key to getting at it would be speaking Turess’ name in old Turessian, she began reciting the word over and over, hoping she could say it right the first time.

Ilarra approached the wall and felt a sudden dizziness. An abrupt tug against her body forced her to stop walking and yanked her head up to look at a specific location on the wall. Even in the dark, she could see a black spot where a hole had been opened in the tree sculpture.

“Looking for something?” asked a man’s voice inside her head. “I intended for you to retrieve it, but you have let me down, Ilarra. The time for that was long ago. If you wish to serve, you can fetch it for me from the man who has it now. I won’t tell you who, but if you promise to obey me…”

Shaking her head and trying to remain focused the way Nenophar had taught her, Ilarra made her way around the plaza, trying to look for any other location resembling the spot Nenophar had described.

“Ignoring me does little to help you. I am pleased you have given up on whatever was inhibiting your training.”

Ilarra dug her nails into her left palm, trying to let the pain be something she could pay attention to rather than the disembodied voice. She paced at the base of the wall, knowing deep down the hole was her target but wanting to find something else, if only to prove the voice wrong.

“Ilarra,” continued the man, sounding disappointed. “Your father resisted longer than most, and I must say, I am pleasantly surprised by the wizards of your little village. None have chosen to continue their old lives for more than a few weeks previously, but here you are, trying to keep me out after the greater part of a year. You will not be punished for such an accomplishment…instead, I wish to reward you. All you have to do is show me how you did it. I’m guessing it has something to do with that mangy creature that you traveled with.”

Cursing, Ilarra hurried from the plaza as a group of soldiers arrived on what appeared to be routine patrol. She ducked into an alley and thought of Raeln, wondering where he was. That man had protected her in the past and now she needed him more than she cared to admit.

The voice in her head chuckled. “The wildling? That’s who you think of to save you from me? He’s as useless as the rest. Another savage creature like the rest of his ilk. Your father had one like him, but that did not keep me out long. There has to be something else, some spell or conjuration you’ve been using. Raeln is strong, but not strong enough to stop me for more than a few weeks.”

Screaming, Ilarra clutched her head and began running, trying to find anywhere she could hide from the whispers at her ear.

“We did not manage to break your will the traditional ways,” continued the man. “It would have been easier on you if you simply killed the wildling and accepted your fate. Now, we must get creative. How do you feel about being the reason this city falls? Tens of thousands will curse your name and the historians will list you as the reason Turessi rose to power in this region once again. Maybe the burning of an orphanage? Do you know where those are in Lantonne?”

“Leave me alone!” she cried, huddling in the dank corner of the alley she found herself in. The run between the plaza and that location was a blur, lost in her struggles to push out the voice. “I’ll find a way to stop you, Dorralt. You won’t take Lantonne!”

The voice laughed openly this time. “Ilarra, my child, you’ve already done what I want,” he told her, the whispers moving from one ear to her other. “When my armies arrive, you will take your last step and join us. This is my promise to you for now. Once you join your brothers and sisters on this side of the wall, I will make you a general of my armies. You will personally see to the deaths of all the cockroaches that inhabit our cities. You will tear the life from those who resist and cast their children from the walls. You will be my right hand, if only because you so adamantly resist me. It will be your deepest desire to kill every wildling between here and Turessi as punishment for letting Raeln come between us this long.”

“I’ll…I’ll find a way,” she answered in a near whisper, unable to find the strength to argue more forcefully.

“How little you understand,” Dorralt replied.

Suddenly, Ilarra’s right arm went numb and tingled, then moved of its own accord. No matter how she fought against it, she felt her own hand reach up and rest the tips of her fingernails against her eyelids. Using her other hand, she strained to push her right arm away, but it fought against her.

“I can gouge out your eyes and you would not even be able to scream without my permission,” Dorralt told her, his voice drifting about as if he were walking around her. “You are not so special as you believe, Ilarra. Dozens more like you came out of Turessi when I traveled south and nearly that many more have joined our ranks. You are just another Turessian recruit for the army, nothing more. I respect what you have accomplished, but that does not make you anything more than a hundred other soldiers.

“Do you honestly think you can hold me back forever?” he asked her as her own nails scratched painfully at her eyelid. “They called me the Puppet Master for good reason. Today, I can make your arm obey me with a bit of effort. A week from now, you will watch helplessly as you tear the life from your wildling. Make good use of your time. I will speak with you again, once I have more control over you.”

Crying, Ilarra curled into a ball and covered her ears as feeling returned to her arm. The whispers stopped, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they returned.

Eventually, Ilarra sat up and thought through what was happening to her. She leaned against the wall of the alley and looked at her hand as though it had betrayed her to Dorralt. Somehow, she had to stop him from taking charge again.

Magic. Everything came back to magic. Nenophar had told her magic was what had consumed her life, turning her into the creature she knew herself to be. Dorralt held the reigns of that magic, and through it, every undead Turessian could be influenced. This was how he maintained control over the army’s leaders and ensured they did as he asked.

Ilarra needed to be rid of the magic. Completely cutting it off would kill her, that much she had figured out. Suppressing it for a time was far more reasonable and likely would accomplish the same thing Nenophar’s influence had, letting her do as she wished for a time. It was risky, given what she had become, but she saw no other way. She would have to get rid of the very thing that gave her the strength to fight, or she would use it against the city sooner or later.

Ilarra had no time to look for other options. She rushed through casting the complicated spell that would tear her own magic from her. The spell was intended to hold a wizard fighting others of their kind, but she intended to make it last rather than affecting a target for mere seconds. It required her to alter the spell as she created the flows of magic, bending it to its new purpose.