They weren’t false words to save his own life, they were the reverent words of a man who had seen something he truly hadn’t expected.
Richard had chanted those same words countless times at devotions. For two hours each morning and afternoon everyone at the People’s Palace in D’Hara went to a devotion square when the bell tolled and, bowing forehead to the ground, chanted those same words. Richard, as commanded, had said those same words the first time he had met Darken Rahl.
Looking down at the general, now, and hearing those same words, Richard was repulsed, and yet another part of him was relieved at the same time.
“Lord Rahl,” Reibisch whispered, “you saved my life. You saved all our lives. Thank you.”
Richard knew that if he were to try to use the Sword of Truth against him now, it wouldn’t touch his flesh. In his heart, Richard knew this man was no longer a threat, or his enemy. The sword, unless he turned it white and used the love and forgiveness of the magic, couldn’t harm anyone who was not a threat. The wrath, though, responded not to reason, and denying it the attempt was agony. Richard finally exerted his dominion over the rage and drove the Sword of Truth into its scabbard, driving back the magic, the anger, at the same time.
It had ended as swiftly as it had begun. To Richard, it almost seemed an unexpected dream, a twitch of violence, and it was over.
Across the sloping tabletop lay a dead officer, his blood running down the incline of polished wood. Glass littered the floor, along with scattered papers and stinking mriswith blood. The roomful of soldiers, and those in the hall, were on their knees. Their eyes, too, had seen the unequivocal.
“Is everyone else all right?” Richard realized his voice was hoarse from screaming. “Is anyone else hurt?”
Silence echoed in the room. A few of the men were nursing injuries that looked painful, but not life-threatening. Ulic and Egan, both panting, both with their swords still in their scabbards, both with bloody knuckles, were standing among the men on their knees. They had been at the People’s Palace; their eyes had already seen.
Gratch folded his wings and grinned. At least there was one, Richard thought, who was bonded through friendship. Four dead mriswith lay sprawled on the floor; Gratch had killed one, and Richard three, fortunately before they were able to kill anyone else. It could have easily been much worse. Cara drew a hank of hair back from her face, while Berdine brushed glass fragment off her head, and Raina released her grip on a soldier’s arm, letting him slump forward to catch his breath.
Richard glanced past the severed torso of a mriswith on the floor. Hally, her red leather standing out in sharp contrast to her blond hair, stood stooped with her arms folded across her abdomen. Her Agiel dangled from its chain at her wrist. Her face was ashen.
As Richard looked down, a tingle of icy dread flushed across his flesh. Her red leather had hidden what he now saw; she was standing in a pool of blood. Her blood.
He vaulted the mriswith and caught her in his arms.
“Hally!” Richard took up her weight and lowered her to the floor. “Dear spirits, what happened?” Before the words were out of his mouth, he knew; that was the way mriswith killed. The other three women were there, kneeling behind him as he put her head in his lap. Gratch squatted beside him.
Her blue eyes fixed on his. “Lord Rahl…”
“Oh, Hally, I’m so sorry. I should never have let you—”
“No… listen. I was foolishly distracted… and he was quick… but still… as he slashed me… I captured his magic. For an instant… before you killed him… it was mine.”
If magic was used against them, Mord-Sith could take control of it, leaving an opponent helpless. That was how Denna had captured him.
“Ah, Hally, I’m so sorry I wasn’t fast enough.”
“It was the gift.”
“What?”
“His magic was as yours… the gift.”
His hand stroked her cold brow, forcing him to keep his eyes on hers, and not look down. “The gift? Thank you for the warning, Hally. I’m in your debt.”
She gripped his shirt with a bloody hand. “Thank you, Lord Rahl… for my freedom.” She struggled to take a shallow breath. “As brief as it was… it was worth… the price.” She looked to her sisters of the Agiel. “Protect him.…”
With a sickening wheeze, the air left her lungs for the last time. Her sightless eyes stared up at him.
Richard drew her limp body to himself as he wept, a despairing response at being powerless to undo what had happened. Gratch put a claw tenderly to her back, and Cara a hand to his.
“I didn’t want any of you to die. Dear spirits, I didn’t.”
Raina squeezed his shoulder. “We know, Lord Rahl. That is why we must protect you.”
Richard gently laid Hally to the floor, bending over her, not wanting the others to see the ghastly wound she had taken. A searching glance revealed a mriswith cape close by. He turned to a nearby soldier instead.
“Give me your cloak.”
The man yanked his cloak off as if it were on fire. Richard closed Hally’s eyes and then covered her with the cloak as he fought back the urge to be sick.
“We’ll give her a proper D’Haran funeral, Lord Rahl.” General Reibisch, standing beside him, gestured toward the table. “Along with Edwards.”
Richard squeezed his eyes closed and said a prayer to the good spirits to watch over Hally’s sprit, and then he stood.
“After the devotion.”
The general squinted one eye. “Lord Rahl?”
“She fought for me. She died trying to protect me. Before she’s put to rest, I want her spirit to see that it was to a purpose. This afternoon, after the devotion, Hally and your man will be put to rest.”
Cara leaned close and whispered. “Lord Rahl, full devotions are done in D’Hara, but not in the field. In the field, one reflection, as General Reibisch has done, is customary.”
General Reibisch nodded apologetically. Richard’s gaze swept the room. All eyes were on him. Beyond the faces, splashes of mriswith blood stained the whitewash. He brought his steely gaze back to the general.
“I don’t care what you have done in the past. This day there will be a full devotion, here, in Aydindril. Tomorrow, you may go back to the custom. Today, all D’Harans in and around the city will do a full devotion.”
The general’s fingers fidgeted at his beard. “Lord Rahl, there are a great many troops in the area. They must all be notified and—”
“I’m not interested in excuses, General Reibisch. A difficult path lies ahead. If you cannot accomplish this task, then do not expect me to have faith that you can accomplish the rest.”
General Reibisch cast a quick look over his shoulder at the officers, as if to say he was about to give his word, and commit them to it as well. He turned back to Richard and clapped a fist over his heart. “On my word as a soldier in the service of D’Hara, the steel against steel, it will be as Lord Rahl commands. This afternoon all D’Harans will be honored to do a full devotion to the new Master Rahl.”
The general glanced at the mriswith under the corner of the table. “I’ve never heard of a Master Rahl fighting steel against steel beside his men. It was as if the spirits themselves guided your hand.” He cleared his throat. “If I may, Lord Rahl, may I ask what difficult path it is that lies ahead?”
Richard studied the man’s scarred face. “I am a war wizard. I fight with everything I have—magic, and steel.”
“And my question, Lord Rahl?”
“I just answered your question, General Reibisch.”
A slight smile tightened the corner of the general’s mouth.
Involuntarily, Richard glanced down at Hally. The cloak couldn’t cover everything that had been rent from her. Kahlan would have even less of a chance against a mriswith. Again, he thought he might be sick.
“Know that she died in the way she wished, Lord Rahl,” Cara said in soft condolence. “As Mord-Sith.”
In his
mind’s eye he tried to picture the smile he had known for a only few hours. He could not. His mind would show him only the horrific wound he had seen for but a few seconds.
Richard tightened his fists against the nausea and turned a glare on the three remaining Mord-Sith. “By the spirits, I intend to see you all die in bed, toothless and old. Get used to the idea!”
10
Tobias Brogan knuckled his mustache as he glanced out of the corner of his eye at Lunetta. When she returned the slightest of nods, his mouth twisted with a sour expression. His rare good mood had evaporated. The man was telling the truth, Lunetta didn’t make mistakes about this kind of thing, yet Brogan knew it wasn’t the truth. He knew better.
He redirected his gaze to the man standing before him on the other side of a table long enough to banquet seventy people, and willed a polite smile to his lips.
“Thank you. You have been a great help.”
The man peered suspiciously at the soldiers in polished armor to each side of him. “That’s all you want to know? You have me dragged all the way over here, just to ask me what everyone knows? I could have told your men if they would have asked.”
Brogan forced himself to hold the smile. “I apologize for the inconvenience. You have been of service to the Creator, and to me.” The smile escaped his control. “You may go.”
The man didn’t miss the look in Brogan’s eyes. He bobbed a bow and scurried for the door.
Brogan tapped the side of his thumb on the case at his belt and glanced impatiently to Lunetta. “Are you sure?”
Lunetta, in her element, returned a serene gaze. “He be telling the truth, Lord General, as were the others.” She knew her craft, filthy as it was, and when practicing it was enveloped with a confident air. It annoyed him.
He slammed a fist to the table. “It not be the truth!”
He could almost see the Keeper in her placid eyes as she watched him. “I not say it be the truth, Lord General, only that he be telling what he believes to be the truth.”
Tobias harrumphed. He knew the truth of that. He hadn’t spent his life hunting evil without learning some of its tricks. He knew magic. The quarry was so close he could almost smell it.
The late-afternoon sun spilled through a slit in the heavy gold drapes, splashing a glowing line of light across a gilded chair leg, the ornate royal blue flowered carpet, and up over the corner of the long, lustrous tabletop. The midday meal had long ago been put in abeyance while he pressed on, and yet he was no further along the path than when he had started. Frustration gnawed in his gut.
Galtero usually displayed a talent for bringing in witnesses who could provide proper information, but so far this lot had proved useless. He wondered what Galtero had found out; the city was in turmoil over something, and Tobias Brogan didn’t like it when people were in an uproar, unless he and his men were the cause. Turmoil could be a powerful weapon, but he didn’t like unknowns. Surely, Galtero must have returned long ago.
Tobias leaned back in his diamond tufted leather chair and addressed one of the crimson-caped soldiers guarding the door. “Ettore, is Galtero back yet?”
“No, Lord General.”
Ettore was young, and anxious to make his mark against evil, but he was a good man: shrewd, loyal, and not afraid to be ruthless when dealing with the Keeper’s own. One day he would be among the best of the baneling hunters. Tobias knuckled his aching back. “How many more witnesses do we have?”
“Two, Lord General.”
He wound his hand impatiently. “Bring in the next, then.”
While Ettore slipped through the door, Tobias squinted past the slash of sunlight, to his sister standing against the wall. “You were sure, Lunetta, weren’t you?”
She stared as she clutched her tattered rags to herself. “Yes, Lord General.”
He sighed as the door opened and the guard led in a thin woman who didn’t look to be any too happy. Tobias put on his most polite smile; a wise hunter didn’t let his quarry catch a glimpse of fangs.
The woman jerked her elbow from Ettore’s grip. “What’s this about? I was taken against my will and have been locked in a room all day. What right have you to take a person against their will!”
Tobias smiled apologetically. “There must be some misunderstanding. I am sorry. You see, we only wanted to ask a few questions of people who we judged to be reliable. Why, most of the people on the street wouldn’t know up from down. You seemed an intelligent woman, that’s all, and—”
She leaned over the table toward him. “And so you locked me in a room? Is that what the Blood of the Fold does to people they judge reliable? From what I hear, the Blood doesn’t bother with questions, they simply act on rumor, as long as it results in a fresh grave.”
Brogan could feel his cheek twitch, but he held the smile. “You hear wrong, madam. The Blood of the Fold only be interested in the truth. We serve the Creator and his will, no less than a woman of your character. Now, would you mind answering a few questions? And then we will see you safely home.”
“See me home now. This is a free city. No palace has the right to drag people in to question them, not in Aydindril. I’ve no obligation to answer any of your questions!”
Brogan widened his smile as he forced a small shrug. “Quite right, madam. We’ve no right at all, and didn’t mean to imply one. We are only seeking the assistance of honest, humble folk. If you would simply help us get to the bottom of a few, simple matters, you could be on your way with our heartfelt appreciation.”
She scowled a moment and then rolled her bony shoulders to straighten her wool shawl. “If it will get me back home, then get on with it. What do you want to know?”
Tobias rearranged himself in his chair so as to cover a quick glance at Lunetta, to make sure she was paying attention. “You see, madam, the Midlands has been torn asunder by war since spring last, and we seek to know if the Keeper’s minions have a hand in the strife now shadowing the lands. Have any of the council members spoken against the Creator?”
“They’re dead.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that, but the Blood of the Fold doesn’t put stock in rumor. We must have solid evidence, such as the word of a witness.”
“Last night I saw their bodies in the council chambers.”
“Is that so? Well, that is powerful evidence. At last we hear the truth from an honorable person who was a witness. You see, you are already of assistance. Who killed them?”
“I didn’t see the killing done.”
“Did you ever hear any councilor preach against the Creator’s peace?”
“They railed against the peace of the Midland alliance, and as far as I’m concerned that’s the same thing, though they didn’t put it in those terms. They tried to make it seem as if black were white, and white black.”
Tobias lifted an eyebrow, trying to act interested. “Those who serve the Keeper use such tactics: trying to make you think doing evil be right.” He lifted his hand in a vague gesture. “Was there any land in particular that wished to break the peace of the alliance?”
The woman stood with her back straight and stiff as she looked down her nose at him. “They all, including yours, seemed equally ready to cast the world into slavery under the Imperial Order.”
“Slavery? I have heard that the Imperial Order seeks only to unite the lands and bring man to his rightful place in the world, under the guidance of the Creator.”
“Then you heard wrong. They seek only to hear whatever lie suits their purpose, and their purpose is conquest and domination.”
“I’ve not heard that side of it. This be valuable news.” He leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and folded his hands in his lap. “And while all this plotting and insurrection was taking place in the council chambers, where was the Mother Confessor?”
She faltered for an instant. “Away on Confessor business.”
“I see. But she did return?”
“Yes.”
“And when s
he came back, did she try to stop this insurrection? Did she try to hold the Midlands together?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Of course she did, and you know what they did to her for it. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
A casual glance in the direction of the window showed Lunetta’s eyes focused on the woman. “Well, I’ve heard every sort of rumor. If you saw the events with your own eyes, then it would be powerful evidence. Did you witness any of these events, madam?”
“I saw the Mother Confessor’s execution, if that’s what you mean.”
Tobias leaned forward on his elbows and steepled his fingers. “Yes, that was what I feared. And she is dead, then?”
Her nostrils flared. “Why are you so interested in the details?”
Tobias widened his eyes. “Madam, the Midlands has been united under the Confessors, and a Mother Confessor, for three thousand years. We have all prospered and had a good deal of peace under Aydindril’s rule. When the war with D’Hara started up after the boundary went down, I feared for the Midlands—”
“Then why didn’t you come to our aid?”
“Though I wished to lend my aid, the king forbade the Blood of the Fold from interfering. I objected, of course, but he was, after all, our king. Nicobarese suffered under his rule. As it turns out, he had darker intentions for our people, and apparently, as you have said, his councilors were ready to cast us into slavery. Once the king was exposed for what he truly was, a baneling, and paid the price, I at once brought our men across the mountains, to Aydindril, to place them at the disposal of the Midlands, the council, and the Mother Confessor.
“When I arrive, what do I find but D’Haran troops everywhere, yet they are said to no longer be at war with us. I hear the Imperial Order has come to the rescue of the Midlands. On my journey, and since my arrival, I have heard all sorts of rumors—that the Midlands has fallen, that the Midlands is rallying, that the councilors are dead, that they are alive and in hiding, that the Keltans seized control of the Midlands, that the D’Harans have, that the Imperial Order has, that the Confessors are all dead, that the wizards are all dead, that the Mother Confessor is dead, that all of them are alive. What am I to believe?