"We can take solace in the fact that it earned him no profit. He has wasted his investment. Now hold still. I must tend to this wound."
"There be no time for that. We must get back to my house. I must get my bones."
"I said be still."
"We must hurry."
Zedd scowled up at her. "We will go back when I am finished, but the horse is exhausted; she must be walked. I will walk and let you ride, if you give me no further trouble. Now be still or we will be here the whole night quibbling."
By the time they reached Adie's house, dawn was breaking, offering a cold, weak light. It was a sad sight. The skrin had splintered the place apart. Adie disregarded the leaning, holed walls as she rushed inside, stepping over debris, picking up bones, holding them in the crook of her other arm, as she worked her way toward the corner where they had last seen the round, carved bone.
Zedd was inspecting the ground outside when he heard her calling to him.
"Come help me find the round bone, wizard."
He stepped over a fallen beam. "I don't expect you will find it."
She pushed a board aside. "It be here somewhere." She stopped, looking back over her shoulder. "What do you mean, you don't expect we will find it?"
"Someone has been here."
She looked around at the ruin. "You be sure?"
Zedd waved his arm vaguely toward where he had been studying the ground. "I saw a footprint, over there. It isn't ours."
She let the bones in her arm drop to the floor. "Who?"
He laid his hand on a beam that hung from the ceiling, its end resting on the floor. "I don't know, but someone has been here. It looks to be a woman's boot, but it isn't yours. I suspect she will have taken the round bone."
Adie pawed through the rubble in the corner, searching. At last she stopped. "You be right, old man. The bone be gone." She turned, seeming to inspect the very air with her white eyes. "Banelings," she hissed. "You be wrong about the Keeper wasting his effort."
"I fear you are right." Zedd brushed his hand clean on the side of his leg. "We had better get away from here. Far away."
Adie leaned toward him, her voice low but firm. "Zedd, we must have that bone. It be important for the veil."
"They have covered their trail with magic. I don't have any idea where they went. I only saw one footprint. We must be be away from here; the Keeper might expect us to return. I will cover our trail also. They will not know where we are going."
"You be so sure about that? The Keeper seems to know where we be, and sends his minions for us at will."
"He tracked us by the necklaces we wore. He will be blind to us for the time being. But we must get away from here. He may have eyes watching, the same eyes that took the bone."
Her head sunk lower as she closed her eyes. "Forgive me, Zedd, for endangering you so. For being a fool."
"Nonsense. No one knows everything. You can't expect to walk through life without stepping in the muck now and again. The important thing is to maintain your footing when you do, and not fall on your face and make it worse."
"But that bone be important!"
"It is gone. We can do nothing about it now. At least we foiled the Keeper; he didn't get us. But we must be away from here."
Adie bent to pick up the bones she had dropped. "I will hurry."
"We can't take anything, Adie," he said quietly.
She straightened. "I must take my bones. Some of them be important. Some have powerful magic."
Zedd took up her thin hand. "Adie, the Keeper knew where we were by one of the bones. He's been watching you. We can't know if he would recognize any of these, too. We must leave them, but we can't risk having someone else taking them; they must be destroyed."
Her mouth worked for a moment before she found words. "I will not leave them. They be important. They were extremely difficult to obtain. It took me years to find some of them. The Keeper could not have marked them. He could not know the trouble I went to."
Zedd patted her hand. "Adie, he wouldn't have placed one he wanted you to have, to mark you, right in your path. He would have made you struggle for it, so you would value it and keep it close."
She yanked her hand back. "Then he could have marked anything!" She pointed. "How do you know this horse was not given by a baneling?"
Zedd gave her a level look. "Because it was not the one offered. I took another."
Tears welled up in her eyes. "Please, Zedd," she whispered. "They be mine. They be how I was going to reach my Pell."
"I will help you get your message to your Pell. I have given you my word, but this is not the way to do it; it hasn't worked yet. I'll help you find a new way."
She limped a step closer to him. "How?"
He regarded her stricken face with sympathy. "I have a way to bring spirits through the veil for a brief time, to speak with them. Even if I can't bring Pell through, I might be able to get a message to him. But Adie, you must listen to me; we can't do it now. We must wait until the veil is closed."
Her trembling fingers touched his arm. "How? How can such a thing be done?"
"It can be done. That is all you must know."
"Tell me." Her fingers tightened on his arm. "I must know you speak the truth. I must know it can be done."
He weighed the decision a long moment. He had used the wizard's rock his father had given him to call the spirits of his father and mother to himself, but they had told him explicitly not to call them again until this was finished, or they would risk tearing the veil apart. Using the rock in such a fashion was dangerous even in the best of times, and he had been cautioned not to do it except in the gravest circumstances.
Opening a path to the spirits was always a great risk. You never knew what you could be letting through, unintended. Enough dark things were getting through without his helping them.
Even though Adie was a sorceress, this use of the wizard's rock was not for her to know. It was a secret, like many others, that wizards must keep. His heart felt heavy with that responsibility.
"You will have to trust my word that it can be done. I have given my word that I will help you, and when it is safe, I will try."
Her fingers still dug urgently into his arm. "How can such a thing be? Are you sure? How could you know such a thing?"
He straightened his shoulders. "I am a wizard of the First Order."
"But are you sure?"
"Adie, you must take my word. I don't give it lightly. I'm not sure it will work, but I believe it may. Right now the important thing is to use what we know, what you and I know, to stop the Keeper from tearing the veil. It would be wrong to use what I know for selfish reasons and thus endanger the safety of everyone else. Maintaining the veil requires a delicate balance of forces; this could disturb it. It could even be that such a use would tear the veil."
She took her hand from his arm and wiped a stray strand of gray hair from her face. "Forgive me Zedd. You be right. I have studied the cusp between the worlds for most of my life. I should know better. Forgive me."
He smiled as he hugged her around her shoulders. "I am gratified that you hold your vows to be so important. It means that you are a person of honor. There is no better ally than a person of honor."
She looked around her shattered home. "It is just that... I have spent my life gathering these things. I have been their caretaker for so long. Others have entrusted them to me."
Zedd walked her out of the rubble. "Others have invested their trust in you to use the gift you were given to protect those without power. They are the ones who wrote the prophecies. You have been brought to this point for a reason. That is the trust you must keep."
She nodded, rubbing a thin hand on his back as they walked away from the remains of her home.
"Zedd, I think several other bones be missing, too."
"I know."
"They be dangerous in the wrong hands."
"I know that too."
"Then what do you plan to do about it?"
br /> "I plan to do what the prophecies say is the only thing that gives us a chance at closing the veil."
"And what be that, old man?"
"Helping Richard. We must find a way to help him, for the prophecies say he is the only one who can close the veil."
Neither looked back as fire roared to life, roiling and racing through the ruins, dancing through the bones.
26
Queen Cyrilla held her head high. She refused to acknowledge how much the coarse fingers of the brutes to each side were hurting her arms. She didn't resist as they walked her down the filthy corridor. Resistance was hopeless, anyway. Resistance would bring her no aid. She would conduct herself now as always: with dignity. She was the Queen of Galea. She would endure what was to come with honor. She would not show her terror.
Besides, it was not what was being done to her that mattered. It was what was going to happen to the Galean people that grieved her.
And what had already happened.
Nearly one hundred score of the Galean guard had been murdered before her eyes. Who could have foreseen that they would be set upon in this, of all places: on neutral ground. That a few had escaped was no solace. They, too, would probably be hunted down and killed.
She hoped that her brother, Prince Harold, had been among those who had escaped. If he had gotten away, perhaps he could rally a defense against the worse slaughter that was yet to come.
The brutal hands on her arms brought her to a halt next to a hissing torch set in a rust incrusted bracket. The fingers twisted so painfully that a small cry escaped her lips despite her will to stifle it.
"Are my men hurting you, My Lady?" came a mocking voice from behind.
She coolly denied Prince Fyren the satisfaction of an answer.
A guard worked keys at a rusty lock, sending a sharp, metallic sound echoing down the stone corridor when the bolt finally drew. The heavy door groaned on its hinges as it was pulled open. The viselike hands forced her on, through the doorway and down another long, low passageway.
She could hear the swish of her satin skirts, and to the sides and behind, the men's boots on the stone floor, splashing occasionally through stagnant, foul smelling water. The dank air felt cold on her shoulders, which were unaccustomed to being uncovered.
Her heart threatened to race out of control when she thought about where she was being taken. She prayed to the dear spirits that there wouldn't be rats. She feared rats, their sharp teeth, their clutching claws, and their cunning, black eyes. When she was very little she had nightmares about rats, and would wake screaming.
It an effort to bring her heart back under control, she tried to think of other things. She thought about the strange woman who had sought a private audience with her. Cyrilla wasn't at all sure why she had granted it, but she now wished she had paid more heed to the insistent woman.
What was her name? Lady something. A glimpse of her hair beneath the concealing veil had shown it to be too short for someone of her standing. Lady... Bevinvier. Yes, that was it: Lady Bevinvier. Lady Bevinvier of... someplace. She couldn't will her mind to remember. It didn't matter anyway; it was not where the woman was from, but what she had said, that mattered.
Leave Aydindril, Lady Bevinvier had warned. Leave at once.
But Cyrilla had not come all this way, in the teeth of winter, to leave before the Council of the Midlands had heard her grievance, and acted upon it. She had come to demand that the Council do their duty to bring an immediate halt to the transgressions against her land and people.
Towns had been sacked, farms burned, and people murdered. The armies of Kelton were massing to attack. An invasion was imminent, if not already underway. And for what? Nothing but naked conquest. Against an ally! It was an outrage!
It was the Council's duty to come to the defense of any land being attacked, no matter by whom. The whole point of the Council of the Midlands was to prevent just such treason. It was their duty to direct all the lands to come to the aid of Galea, and put down the aggression.
Though Galea was a powerful land, it had been gravely weakened by its defense of the Midlands against D'Hara, and was not prepared for another costly war. Kelton had been spared the brunt of the D'Haran conquest, and had reserves aplenty. Galea had paid the price of resistance in their stead.
The night before, Lady Bevinvier had come to her, and had begged that she leave at once. She had said Cyrilla would find no help for Galea from the Council. The Lady Bevinvier said that if the Queen stayed, she would be in great personal danger. At first, when pressed, Lady Bevinvier refused to explain herself.
Cyrilla thanked her but said she would not turn away from her duty to her people, and would go before the Council, as planned. Lady Bevinvier broke down in tears, begging that the Queen heed her words.
She at last confided that she had had a vision.
Cyrilla tried to draw the nature of the vision out of the woman, but she said that it was incomplete, that she didn't know any details, only that if the Queen didn't leave at once, something terrible would happen. Though Cyrilla trusted well the powers of magic, she had little faith in fortunetellers. Most were charlatans, seeking only to fatten their purse with a clever turn of a phrase, or a vague hint of danger to be avoided.
Queen Cyrilla was touched by the woman's seeming sincerity, though she reasoned it might be nothing but deception, meant to trick her out of a coin. A ruse for money seemed strange coming from a woman of such seeming wealth, but times had been hard, and she knew the wealthy were not immune to losses. After all, if gold and goods were to be seized, it only made sense to seek them from those who had them. Cyrilla knew many who had worked hard all their lives, only to lose everything in the war with D'Hara. Perhaps lady Bevinvier's short hair was the result of that loss.
She thanked the woman, but told her that the mission was too important to be turned aside. She pressed a gold piece into the woman's hand, only to have Lady Bevinvier throw the coin across the room before rushing off in tears.
Cyrilla had been shaken by that. A charlatan did not refuse gold. Unless of course they sought something more. Either the woman had been telling the truth, or she was working in aid of Kelton, trying to prevent the Council from hearing of the aggression.
Either way, it didn't matter; Cyrilla was resolute. Besides, she was influential among the Council. Galea was respected for its defense of the Midlands. When Aydindril had fallen, Councilors who had refused to swear the allegiance of their land to D'Hara had been put to death and replaced by puppets. Those councilors who had collaborated were allowed to retain their position. Galea's loyal ambassador to the Council had been executed.
How the war had ended was a puzzle; D'Haran forces were told that Darken Rahl was dead and all hostilities were ended. A new Lord Rahl had succeeded, and the troops were simply called home, or ordered to help those they had conquered. Cyrilla suspected Darken Rahl had been assassinated.
Whatever had happened was good by her; the council was now back in the hands of the people of the Midlands. The ones who collaborated, and the puppets, had been arrested. Things were said to be set back to the way they had been before the dictator. She expected the Council would come to the aid of Galea.
Queen Cyrilla, too, had an ally on the Council, the most powerful ally their was: the Mother Confessor. Although Kahlan was her half sister, that held no sway. Galea, and the Queen, supported the independence of the different lands, and the peace of the Midlands through the Council. Galea had always advocated unity of purpose. The Mother Confessor respected that steadfastness, and that was what made her Galea's ally.
Kahlan had never shown Cyrilla any favoritism, and that was as it should have been; favoritism would have weakened the Mother Confessor, threatening the alliance of the Council, and therefore, peace. She respected Kahlan for putting the unity of the Midlands above any power games. Such games were a shifting bog anyway; one was always better off in the end when dealt with fairly, rather that by favor.
Cyril
la had always been secretly proud of her half sister. Kahlan was twelve years younger, smart, strong, and despite her young age, an astute leader. Though they were related by blood, they almost never spoke of it. Kahlan was a Confessor, and of the magic. She was not a sister who shared the blood of a father, but a Confessor, and the Mother Confessor of the Midlands. Confessors were blood to no one but Confessors.
Still, having no family of her own, save her beloved brother, Harold, she had often longed to take Kahlan in her arms as kin, as a little sister, and speak of the things they shared. But that was not possible. Cyrilla was the Queen of Galea, and Kahlan was the Mother Confessor; two women who were virtual strangers who shared nothing save blood and mutual respect. Duty came before the heart. Galea was Cyrilla's family; the Confessors, Kahlan's.
Though there were those who resented Kahlan's mother taking Wyborn as a mate, Cyrilla was not among them. Her mother, Queen Bernadine, had taught her and Harold of the need for Confessors, their need for strong blood in that line of magic, and how it served the greater cause of the Midlands in keeping peace. Her mother had never spoken bitterly of losing her husband to the Confessors, but explained instead the honor Cyrilla and Harold had of sharing blood with the Confessors, even if it was mostly unspoken. Yes, she was proud of Kahlan.
Proud, but also perhaps a bit wary. The ways of Confessors were a mystery to her. From birth they were trained in Aydindril, trained by other Confessors, and by wizards. Their magic, their power, was something they were born with and in a way they were slaves to it. In some ways it was the same with her; born to be Queen, without much choice. Though she had no magic, she understood the weight of birthright.
From birth until their training was completed, Confessors were kept cloistered, like priestesses, in a world apart. Their discipline was said to be rigorous. Though Cyrilla knew they must have emotions like anyone, Confessors were trained to subjugate them. Duty to their power was all. It left them no choice in life, save choosing a mate, and even that was not for love but for duty.
Cyrilla had always wished she could bring a little of the love of a sister to Kahlan. Perhaps, she also wished Kahlan could have brought a little of that love to her, too. But it could never be. Maybe Kahlan had loved her from afar, as Cyrilla had Kahlan. Perhaps Kahlan had been proud of her, too, in her own way. She had always hoped it was so.