There were women inside, each wearing the ring through her lower lip, busily going about duties. While most appeared absorbed in their work, one of the women, polishing a collection of tall, delicate vases in a measured, methodical manner, coolly watched Jennsen out of the corner of her eye. She was middle-aged, broad shouldered, and wore a simple floor-length dark gray dress buttoned to her neck. Her gray and black hair was loosely tied back. For the most part, she appeared unremarkable, except for the knowing, self-satisfied smirk that seemed enduringly etched in her face. That look gave Jennsen pause.
As their eyes met, the voice stirred, calling Jennsen’s name in that haunting, dead whisper, calling for her to surrender. For some reason, Jennsen was momentarily suffused with the icy sense that the woman knew that the voice had spoken. Jennsen dismissed the odd notion, deciding that it was merely due to the woman’s expression, which exuded a demeanor of stark superiority.
Another woman busied herself brushing at the carpets with a small hand broom. Yet another was replacing candles that had guttered. Other women—some sure to be Sisters of the Light—hurried in and out of rooms beyond, tending to the collection of pillows, lamps, and even flowers in vases. One thin young man wearing only baggy cotton trousers worked with a comb ordering the fringe of the carpets set before openings into back rooms. Except for the brown-eyed woman polishing the tall vases, they were focused on their work and none paid any particular notice that visitors had entered the emperor’s tent.
Sebastian’s arm held her securely as he guided her deeper into the dimly lit room. The walls and ceiling moved and billowed slightly in the wind. Jennsen’s heart could have pounded no harder were she being led to her own execution. When she realized that her fingers were tightening around the hilt of her knife to check if it was clear in its scabbard, she forced herself to let her hand drop away from it.
Near the back of the room sat an ornately carved and gilded chair draped with streamers of red silks. Jennsen swallowed when she finally made herself look at the man sitting there, his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin held by his thumb, his forefinger resting along the side of his face.
He was a thick-necked bull of a man. Flickering candlelight reflecting off his shaved head lent the illusion that he wore a crown of tiny flames. Two long, thin braids of mustache grew down from the corners of his mouth, and another braid grew from the center of his chin. Fine gold chain connected the gold rings through his left nostril and ear, while a collection of much heavier, jeweled chains rested in the cleft of muscles on his powerful chest. Each meaty finger was studded with a large ring. The lamb’s-wool vest he wore had no sleeves, revealing his hefty shoulders and brawny arms. While he didn’t appear tall, his muscled mass was nonetheless imposing.
But it was his eyes that, despite Sebastian’s cautionary description, had her holding her breath. No words could have prepared her for being in the presence of the real thing.
His inky eyes had no whites, no irises, no pupils, leaving only glistening dark voids. Yet somber shapes shifted across those dark voids, like thunderclouds at midnight. Despite his having no irises or pupils, she was certain beyond any doubt that he was looking directly and intently at her.
Jennsen thought her knees might buckle.
When he smiled at her, she was sure of it.
Sebastian’s arm tightened, helping hold her up. He bowed slightly from the waist.
“Emperor, I am thankful that the Creator has watched over you and kept you safe.”
The smile widened. “And you, Sebastian.” Jagang’s voice matched the look of him, husky, powerful, menacing. He sounded as if he were a man who brooked no weakness or excuses. “It has been a long time. Far too long. I’m glad to have you back with me.”
Sebastian bowed his head toward Jennsen. “Excellency, I have brought an important guest. This is Jennsen.”
Despite Sebastian’s arm around her waist, holding her, she slipped free and went to her knees of her own accord and before trepidation imposed it. She used the occasion to bow forward until her head nearly touched the floor. Sebastian hadn’t told her that she was supposed to do so, but she felt an overwhelming fear that it was what she must do. If nothing else, it momentarily relieved her of the obligation of looking into those nightmare eyes.
She supposed that a man like this, a warrior who hoped to prevail against the invading force from D’Hara, had to be a man of brute strength, iron command, and grim tenacity. Being the emperor of a people hoping to be saved from the threatening shadow of enslavement was a job for a man no less than the one she knelt before.
“Your Excellency,” she said in a trembling voice toward the floor. “I am at your service.”
She heard a booming laugh. “Come, now, Jennsen, no need for that.”
Jennsen felt her face going scarlet as she rose with Sebastian’s jovial insistence and help. Neither the emperor nor Sebastian took note of her embarrassment.
“Sebastian, where did you ever find such a lovely young woman?”
Sebastian’s blue eyes beheld her with pride. “It’s a long story for another time, Excellency. For now, you must know that Jennsen has come to an important determination, one that will bear on us all.”
Jagang’s inky gaze returned to Jennsen in a way that made her heart seem to rise up into her throat. He wore the slightest smile, the smirk of an emperor looking down indulgently on a nobody.
“And what would that determination be, young lady?”
Jennsen.
An image of her mother lying on the floor of their house, bleeding, dying, flashed into Jennsen’s mind. She would never forget her mother’s last precious moments of life. The agonizing grief of having to flee without even being able to care for and bury her mother’s body still burned unabated in her soul.
Jennsen.
Rage flooded in to overwhelm any nervousness at answering an emperor’s question.
“I intend to kill Lord Rahl,” Jennsen said. “I have come to ask for your help.”
In the dead silence, any trace of mirth evaporated from the Emperor Jagang’s face. He watched her with cold, dark, merciless eyes, his brow set in warning. This was clearly a subject that tolerated no humor. Lord Rahl had invaded this man’s homeland, killed untold thousands of his people, and set the whole world to war and suffering.
Emperor Jagang the Just, the muscles in his jaw flexing, waited, clearly expecting her to explain herself.
“I am Jennsen Rahl,” she said in answer to his dark glare. She drew her knife, gripped the blade in her rock-steady fist, and thrust the handle up before him on his throne, showing him the ornate letter “R,” the symbol of the House of Rahl.
“I am Jennsen Rahl,” she repeated, “Richard Rahl’s sister. I intend to kill him. Sebastian told me that you may be able to provide me some help to that end. If you can, I would be eternally in your debt. If you cannot, then tell me now, for I still intend to kill him and will need to be on my way.”
Elbows on the arms of his red-silk-draped throne, he leaned toward her, holding her in his nightmare gaze.
“My dear Jennsen Rahl, sister to Richard Rahl, for a task such as this, I would lay the world at your feet. You have but to ask, and anything within my power shall be yours.”
Chapter 45
Jennsen sat close to Sebastian, drawing comfort from his familiar presence, yet wishing they could instead be alone by a campfire frying up fish or cooking beans. She felt more alone at the emperor’s table, with servants hovering all about, than she’d ever felt by herself in the silence of a forest. Without Sebastian there, laughing and talking, she didn’t know what she would have done, how she would have behaved. She was uncomfortable enough around regular people; this was far more unnerving.
Emperor Jagang was a man who, without effort, fluidly dominated the room. Although he never broke his gracious, courtly manner with her, in some inscrutable way, he made her feel that every breath she took had been granted her only by his grace. He referenced momentous
matters offhandedly, without realizing he was doing it, so common were such responsibilities, so sure his unflinching rule. He was a mountain lion at rest, sleek and poised, tail swishing lazily, licking his chops.
This was not an emperor who was content to sit safely by, back in some remote palace, and receive reports; this was an emperor who led his men into the thick of battle. This was an emperor who dug his hands down into the bloody muck of life and death and pulled out what he wanted.
Though it seemed an extravagant dinner for what was, after all, an army on the march, it was still the emperor’s tent and table, and reflected that fact. There was food and drink in abundance, everything from fowl to fish, beef to lamb, wine to water.
As servants, focused on their tasks, rushed in and out with steaming platters of beautifully prepared food, treating her like royalty, Jennsen was struck with a sudden gut-wrenching glimpse of how her mother, as a lowly, obscure, humble young woman, must have felt as she sat at Lord Rahl’s table, as she saw such tempting variety and abundance as she had never imagined, while at the same time trembling at being in the presence of a man with the power to sentence death, without pausing his meal.
Jennsen had little appetite. She pulled dainty strips of meat off of the succulent piece of pork sitting before her on a thick slab of bread, and nibbled as she listened to the two men talk. Their conversation was trivial. Jennsen sensed that when she was not around, the two men would have much more to say to each another. As it was, they spoke of acquaintances and caught up on inconsequential matters that had taken place since Sebastian had left the army the previous summer.
“What of Aydindril?” Sebastian asked at last as he stabbed a slice of meat on the point of his knife.
The emperor twisted a leg off a crispy goose. He planted his elbows on the edge of the table as he leaned forward and gestured vaguely with his prize. “I don’t know.”
Sebastian lowered his knife. “What do you mean? I remember the lay of the land. You are but a day or two away.” His voice was respectful, but clearly concerned. “How can you march in without knowing what awaits in Aydindril?”
Jagang tore a big bite off the fat end of the goose leg, the bone spanning the fingers of both hands. Grease dripped from the meat, and from his fingers.
“Well,” he said at last, waving the bone over his shoulder before casting it aside on a plate, “we sent scouts and patrols to have a look, but none returned.”
“None of them?” Concern put an edge on Sebastian’s voice.
Jagang picked up a knife and sliced off a chunk of lamb from a platter to the side. “None,” he said as he stabbed the piece of meat.
With his teeth, Sebastian eased the bite off his knife and then set the blade down. He rested his elbows on the edge of the table and folded his fingers together as he considered.
“The Wizard’s Keep is in Aydindril,” Sebastian said at last in a quiet voice. “I saw it, when I scouted the city last year. It sits on the side of a mountain, overlooking the city.”
“I remember your report,” Jagang answered.
Jennsen wanted to ask what a “Wizard’s Keep” was, but not enough to break her silence while the men talked. Besides, it seemed somewhat self-evident, especially by the ominous tone in Sebastian’s voice when he said it.
Sebastian rubbed his palms together. “Then may I ask your plan?”
The emperor flicked his fingers in command. All the servants vanished. Jennsen wished she could go with them, go hide under her blanket and be a proper nobody again. Outside, thunder rumbled and occasional gusts of wind drove fits of rain against the tent. The candles and lamps set about the table lit the two men and the immediate area, but left the soft carpets and walls in near darkness.
Emperor Jagang glanced briefly at Jennsen before directing his inky gaze to Sebastian. “I intend to move in swiftly. Not with the whole army, as I believe they will expect, but with a small enough force of cavalry to be maneuverable, yet large enough to maintain control of the situation. Of course we will take a sizable contingent of the gifted.”
In the span of those brief words, the mood had turned deadly serious. Jennsen sensed that she was silent witness to the pivotal moments of a momentous event. It was frightening to think of the lives that hung in the balance of the words these two men spoke.
Sebastian weighed the emperor’s words for a time before speaking. “Do you have any idea how Aydindril wintered?”
Jagang shook his head. He pulled a chunk of lamb off the point of his knife and spoke as he chewed.
“The Mother Confessor is many things; stupid is not one of them. She would have known for a long time, by the direction of our push, by the movements she’s observed, by the cities that have already fallen, the path we have chosen, by all the reports and information she would have gathered, that with spring I will move on Aydindril. I’ve given them a good long time to sweat as they ponder their fate. I suspect that by now they’re all shaking in their boots, but I don’t think she has the heart to flee.”
“You think that Lord Rahl’s wife is there?” Jennsen blurted out in astonishment. “In the city? The Mother Confessor herself?”
Both men paused and gazed at her. The tent was silent.
Jennsen shrank. “Forgive me for speaking.”
The emperor grinned. “Why should I forgive you? You’ve just stuck a knife in the prize goose and called it true.” With his blade, he gestured toward Sebastian. “You brought a special woman, a woman with a good head on her shoulders.”
Sebastian rubbed Jennsen’s back. “And a pretty head, at that.”
Jagang’s black eyes gleamed as he watched her. “Yes, indeed.” His fingers blindly scooped olives from a glass bowl to the side. “So, Jennsen Rahl, what is your thinking about all this?”
Since she had already spoken, she couldn’t now decline to answer. She gathered herself and considered the question.
“Whenever I was hiding from Lord Rahl, I would try not to do anything that would let him know where I was. I tried to do everything I could to keep him blind. Maybe that’s what they are doing, too. Trying to keep you blind.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Sebastian said. “If they’re terrified, they might try to eliminate any scout or patrol in order to make us think that they’re more powerful than they are and to conceal any defensive plans.”
“And keep at least some element of surprise on their side,” Jennsen added.
“My thought, too,” Jagang said. He grinned at Sebastian. “Small wonder you would bring me such a woman—she is a strategist, too.” Jagang winked at Jennsen, then rang a bell to the side.
A woman, the one in the gray dress and tied-back gray and black hair, appeared at a distant opening. “Yes, Excellency?”
“Bring the young lady some fruits and sweetmeats.”
As she bowed and left, the emperor turned serious again. “That’s why I believe it best to take a smaller force than they are sure to expect, one able to maneuver quickly in response to what defenses they try to catch us up in. They may be able to overpower our small patrols, but not a sizable force of cavalry and gifted. If need be, we can always pour men into the city. After a winter of sitting on their behinds, they would be more than happy to be unleashed. But I’m reluctant to start out with what those in Aydindril are expecting.”
Sebastian was idly poking a thick slab of roast beef with his knife as he considered. “She might be in the Confessors’ Palace.” He redirected his gaze to the emperor. “The Mother Confessor very well might have decided to make her stand at long last.”
“I think so, too,” Emperor Jagang said. Outside, the spring storm had picked up, the chill wind moaning among the tents.
Jennsen couldn’t restrain herself. “You really think she will be there?” she asked both men. “You honestly think she would remain there when she knows you’re coming with an enormous army?”
Jagang shrugged. “I can’t be sure, of course, but I’ve battled her all the way up throug
h the Midlands. In the past, she had options, choices, tough though they sometimes were. We drove her army into Aydindril just before winter, then sat at her doorstep. Now, she and her army have run out of choices, and, with the mountains all around, places to flee. Even she knows that a time comes when the choice you are given must be faced. I think this may be where she chooses to at last stand and fight.”
Sebastian stabbed a portion of meat. “It sounds too simple.”
“Of course it does,” Jagang said, “that’s why I must consider that she may have decided to do it.”
Sebastian gestured north with the red piece of meat on the point of his blade. “She may have pulled back into the mountains, and left only enough men to take out scouts and patrols, to keep you blind, as Jennsen suggested.”
Jagang shrugged. “Possibly. She is a woman who is impossible to predict. But she’s running out of places to pull back to. Sooner or later there will be no ground left. This may not be her plan, but, then again, it might be so.”
Jennsen hadn’t realized that the Old World had made such progress at throwing back the enemy. Sebastian, too, had been away a long time. Matters, for the Old World, were not nearly so bleak as she had thought. Still, it sounded a great risk to take based on such thin conjecture.
“And so you’re willing to gamble your men on such a battle, hoping she will be there?”
“Gamble?” Jagang sounded amused by the suggestion. “Don’t you see? It isn’t really a gamble at all. Either way, we have nothing to lose. Either way, we will have Aydindril. In so doing, we finally cleave the Midlands, thus cleaving the entire New World in two. Cleave and conquer is the path to victory.”
Sebastian licked the blood from his knife. “You know her tactics better than I and are better able to predict what her next will be. But, as you say, whether she decides to stand with her people, or leaves them to their fate, we will have the city of Aydindril and the seat of power in the Midlands.”
The emperor stared off. “That bitch has killed hundreds of thousands of my men. She has always managed to stay one step ahead of me, to stay out of my grip, but all the while she was backing toward the wall—this wall.” He looked up in cold rage. “May the Creator grant that I have her at last.” His knuckles were white around the handle of his knife, his voice a deadly oath. “I will have her, and I will settle the score. Personally.”