"Oh. Well then, it wasn't Richard."

"What do you mean it wasn't Richard? It had to be Richard."

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"Did it? Would Richard want to make love to Nicci?"

"Cara-she could make him. Threaten him."

"Do you think Nicci is an honorable person?"

Kahlan frowned. "Nicci? Are you out of your mind?"

"There you go, then. Why must it be Richard? Nicci may have simply found some man she had to have-some handsome farmboy. It could be nothing more than that."

"Really? You think so?"

"You said it didn't seem like Richard. I mean, you were half asleep, and in . . . shock. You said he never. . ."

Kahlan looked away. "No, I suppose not." She looked back at the Mord-Sith in the dim light. "I'm sorry, Cara. Thank you for being here with me. I'd not have liked it if it had been Zedd, or someone else. Thank you."

Cara smiled. "I think we'd best keep this between the two of us."

Kahlan nodded gratefully. "If Zedd ever started in asking all his detailed questions about this, well, I'd die of embarrassment."

Kahlan realized then that Cara was wrapped in a blanket that was open in the front enough to reveal that she was naked underneath. There was a dark mark on the upper half of her breast. There were a few more, but faint. Kahlan had seen Cara naked, and didn't recall there being any such mark on her. In fact, except for her scars, her body was exasperatingly perfect.

Frowning, Kahlan gestured. "Cara, what's that there?"

Cara glanced down and then threw the blanket closed.

"It's, I mean, well, it's . . . just a bruise."

A love bruise-from a man's mouth.

"Is Benjamin over there in your tent with you?"

Cara got to her bare feet. "Mother Confessor, you are still half asleep and having dreams. Go back to sleep."

Kahlan smiled as she watched Cara leave. The smile faded as she lay back in her bed. In the quiet loneliness, her doubts crept back.

She cupped her breasts. Her nipples throbbed and ached. As she moved on the bed a little, she winced as she only then began to realize how much she hurt, and where.

She couldn't believe that, even in her sleep, a part of it had been . . . She felt her face reddening again. She felt an overwhelming sense of shame at what she had done.

No. She had done nothing. She was only sensing something through her link to Nicci. It wasn't real. She hadn't really experienced it-Nicci had. But Kahlan suffered the same injuries.

As she had at various times, Kahlan still felt that connection to Nicci through the link, and an aching sort of caring about the woman. What had happened left Kahlan feeling saddened. She felt that Nicci had so desperately wanted . . . something.

Kahlan slipped her hand down between her legs. She flinched in pain as she touched herself. She brought her fingers up to the candlelight. They glistened with blood. There was a lot of blood.

Despite the burning pain of being torn inside, the confused embarrassment, and the shadow of shame, she most of all felt a sense of relief.

She knew without doubt: Cara was right, it had not been Richard.

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CHAPTER 52

Ann peered among the stand of birch trees crowded in the deep shadows of cliffs for which the place was named. The dense wood was thick with the trees, their peeling white bark covered with dark blotches making it disorienting and difficult to make sense of anything. To become disoriented, here, and wander into the wrong place, uninvited, was the last mistake you would ever make.

It had been in her youth that she'd last come here, to the Healers of Redcliff. She'd promised herself she would never return She'd promised the healers as much, too. In the nearly thousand years since, she hoped they had forgotten.

Few people knew of the place, and even fewer ever came hero--with good reason.

The term "healers" was an odd and highly misleading designation for such a dangerous lot, yet it wasn't entirely without merit. The Healers of Redcliff weren't concerned with human ailments, but with the well-being of things that mattered to them. And very odd things indeed mattered to them. To tell the truth of it, after all this time, she would be surprised to find them still in existence.

As much as she hoped their talents could help, and as desperately as she needed help, she hoped to find that the healers no longer stalked the Redcliff Wood.

"Visitooor. . ." hissed a teasing voice from the dim shadows in the crags of the cliff off behind the trees.

Ann stood still. Cold sweat dotted her brow. Among the confusion of lines and spots made by the trees, she could not make out what it was she saw move. She didn't really need to see them. She had heard the voice. There were no others like theirs. She swallowed, and tried to sound composed.

"Yes, I am a visitor. I'm glad to find you well."

"Only us few left," the voice said, echoing among the rock walls. "The chiiiimes took most."

That was what Ann had feared . . . what she had hoped.

"I'm sorry," she lied.

"Tried," the voice said, moving through the trees. "Could not heal the chiiiimes away."

She wondered if they could still heal at all, and how long they would last.

"Comes sheeee for a healings?" teased a voice from the depths of the jagged clefts to the other side.

"Come to let you look," she said, letting them know she had terms, too. It would not be all their way.

"Costssss, you know."

Ann nodded. "Yes, I know."

She had tried everything else. Nothing had worked. She had no other choice, at

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least none she could think of. She was no longer sure if it mattered to her what happened, if it mattered if she ever came out of the Redcliff Wood.

She was no longer sure if she had ever done any real good in her entire life.

"Well?" she asked into the shadowy silence.

Something flashed back behind the trees, back in the shade under low rock ledges, as if inviting her further along the path, deeper into the twisting cleft in the mountains. Rubbing her knuckles, which still ached from the burns long healed, she followed the path, and the rustle of brush. Shortly, she came to a small gap its the trees. Back through that gap, she could see the craggy opening of a cave.

Eyes watched from that dark maw.

"Comes sheeee in," the voice hissed.

In resignation, Ann let out a sigh as she stepped off the trail, and into a place she had never forgotten, despite how much she had tried.

--]--- Kahlan's hair whipped around, lashing at her face. She gathered it in a fist over the front of her armored shoulder as she made her way through the hectic camp. Thunderstorms collided violently with the mountains at the east side of the valley, throwing off lightning, thunder, and intermittent sheets of rain. Sporadic gusts bent the trees, and their leaves shimmered as if trembling in fright before the onslaught.

Usually, the camp was relatively quiet so as not to give any unwanted information to the enemy. Now, the noise of camp breaking up was jarring by contrast. The noise alone was enough to make her pulse race. If only that were all.

As Kahlan hurried through what to the untrained eye would look like mass confusion, Cara, in her red leather, shoved men out of the way to break a clear path for the Mother Confessor. Kahlan knew better than to try to get the Mord-Sith not to do it. At least it caused no harm. Most of the men, when they saw Kahlan in her leather armor with a D'Haran sword at her hip and the hilt of the Sword of Truth sticking up over her shoulder, moved out of her way without Cam's help.

Horses nearby reared as they were being harnessed to a wagon. Men shouted and cursed as they struggled to get the team under control. The horses bellowed in protest. Other men ran through camp, leaping over fires and gear as they rushed to deliver messages. Men sprang out of the way as wagons sped along, splashing mud and water. A long column of lancers five men wide was already marching off into the threatening gloom. Their supporting archers were scrambling to fall in with them.

The path to the lodge was set with stones so people heading for it would not have to walk in the mud, though one still had to run the gauntlet of mosquitoes. Rain swept in just as Kahlan and Cara made the door. Zedd was there, with Adie, General Meiffert and several of his officers, Verna, and Warren. They were all loosely gathered around the table pulled to the center of the room. Half a dozen maps lay atop one another on the table.

The mood in the room was tense.

"How long ago?" Kahlan asked without any greetings.

"Just now," General Meiffert said. "They're taking their time striking camp. They're not organizing for an attack. They're simply forming up to move out."

Kahlan rubbed her fingertips against her brow. "Any word on the direction?"

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The general shifted his posture, betraying his frustration. "The scouts say that by all indications they're going north, but nothing more specific than that, yet."

"They aren't coming after us?"

"They could always change course, or send an army over here, but right now, it appears they aren't interested in coming in here after us."

"Jagang doesn't need to come after us," Warren said. Kahlan thought he looked a little pale. Small wonder. She imagined they were all a little pale. "Jagang has to know we are going to come at him: He's not going to bother coming in here after us."

Kahlan couldn't dispute his logic. "If he goes north, he has to know we're not going to sit here and wave good-bye."

The emperor had changed his tactics-again. Kahlan had never seen a commander like him. Most military men had their preferred methods. If they had once won a battle in a certain way, they would suffer a dozen losses with the same tactics, thinking it had to work because it once had. Some were limited by their intellect. Those were easy enough to read; they usually waged an artless campaign, content to throw men into a meat grinder, hoping to clog it with sheer numbers. Some leaders were clever, inventing tactics as they went. Those often thought too much of themselves and ended up on the point of a simple pike. Others slavishly went about using textbook tactics, thinking of war as a kind of game, and that each side should oblige the other by following rules.

Jagang was different. He learned to read his enemy. He held to no favored method. After Kahlan had hit him with quick limited attacks driven into the center of his camp, he learned the tactic and, instead of relying on his overpowering numbers, sent the same kind of attack back at the D'Haran army to good effect. Some men could be driven to making foolish mistakes by shaming them. Jagang didn't make the same mistake twice. He reined in his pride and changed his tactics again, not obliging Kahlan with foolhardy counterattacks.

The D'Harans had still managed to carve him up. They had taken out Imperial Order troops in unprecedented numbers. Their own losses, while painful, were remarkably low considering what they had accomplished.

Winter, though, had killed far more of the enemy than anything Kahlan and her men could conceive. The Imperial Order, being from far to the south, was unfamiliar with and ill prepared for winter in the New World. Well over half a million men had frozen to death. Several hundred thousand more had succumbed to fevers and sickness from the harsh life in the field.

The winter alone had cost Jagang nearly three-quarters of a million men. It was almost beyond comprehension.

Kahlan now commanded roughly three hundred thousand troops in the southern reaches of the Midlands. Under ordinary circumstances, that would be a force capable of crushing any enemy.

The men streaming up from the Old World had replaced the enemy losses several times over. Jagang's army was now well over two and a half million men. It grew by the day.

Jagang had been content to sit tight for the winter. Fighting in such conditions was, for the most part, impossible. He had wisely waited out the weather. When spring had come, he still sat. Apparently, he was smart enough to know that warfare in spring mud was a deadly undertaking. In the muddy season, you could lose your supply wagons if they got strung out. Streams became impassable floods. Losing

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wagons was a slow death by starvation. Cavalry were next to useless in the mud. Losses to falls in a cavalry charge cost valuable mounts, to say nothing of the men. Soldiers could make an attack, of course, but without supporting services, it was likely to be a bloodbath for no real gain.

Jagang had sat out the spring mud. His minions had used the time to spread the word about "Jagang the Just." Kahlan was infuriated when she got reports, weeks after the fact, about "envoys of peace" who had shown up in various cities throughout the Midlands, giving speeches about bringing the world together for the good of all mankind. They promised piece and prosperity, if they were welcomed into cities.

Now, with summer finally upon them, Jagang was beginning his campaign anew. He planned his troops to now visit those cities his envoys had been to.

The door burst open. It was not the wind, but Rikka. The Mord-Sith looked like she hadn't slept in days.

Cara went to her side, to be ready to offer assistance if requested, but didn't directly lend a hand for support. A Mord-Sith did not look favorably upon help in front of others.

Rikka stepped up to the table, opposite Kahlan, and tossed two Agiel down atop the map.

Kahlan closed her eyes for a moment, then looked up into Rikka's fierce blue eyes. "What happened?"

"I don't know, Mother Confessor. I found their heads impaled on pikes. Their Agiel were tied to the pikes."

Kahlan held her anger in check. "Are you satisfied, now, Rikka?"

"Galina and Solvig died as Mord-Sith would want to die."

"Galina and Solvig died for nothing, Rikka. After the first four, we knew it wouldn't work. With the dream walker in their minds, the gifted are not vulnerable to Mord-Sith in the way that would otherwise be the case."

"It could have been something else. If we can catch their gifted where the MordSith can get at them, then we might be able to take them out. It's worth the risk. Their gifted can cut down thousands of soldiers with a sweep of their hand."

"I understand the wish, Rikka. Wishing, however, does not make it possible. We have six dead Mord-Sith to show us the reality of what is. We will not throw away the lives of any more because we refuse to recognize the truth of it."

"I still think-"

"Those of us here have important things to decide; I don't have time for this." Kahlan put her fists on the table and leaned toward the woman. "I am the Mother Confessor, and the wife to Lord Rahl. You will do as I say or you will leave. Do you understand?"

Rikka's blue eyes shifted to Cara. Cara stood as expressive as a stone. Rikka looked back at Kahlan and let out a long sigh.

"I wish to remain with our forces and do my duty."

"Fine. Now, go get yourself something to eat while you still have a chance. We need you to be strong."

For a Mord-Sith, Rikka's little nod was about as close to a salute as it came. After she was gone, Kahlan swatted at the plague of mosquitoes and returned her attention to the map.

"So," she said, removing the two Agiel from the map, "who has any suggestions?"

"I'd say we have to keep at their edges," Zedd offered. "Obviously, we can't be

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throwing ourselves in front of them. We can do nothing but to continue to fight them as we have been doing."

"I agree," Verna said.

General Meiffert rubbed his chin as he stared down at the map spread out before them on the table. "What we have to worry about is his size."

"Well, of course we have to worry about the size of the Order,;' Kahlan said. "They have enough men to split up and still be too huge to handle. That's what I'm talking about-what we're going to do when he splits. If I were him, that's what I'd do. He knows how it would complicate our lives."

There was an urgent knock. Warren, over by the window, not bothering to look at the map with the rest of them, opened the door.

Captain Zimmer stepped in, giving a quick salute of his fist to his heart. Panting as he entered, he brought with him a swirling rush of warm air that smelled like a horse. Ignoring the rest of them, Warren returned to his brooding at the window.

"He's splitting his force," Captain Zimmer announced, as if their fear had given birth to the reality.

Most in the room sighed unhappily with the news.

"Any direction, yet?" Kahlan asked.

Captain Zimmer nodded. "From the looks of it, he's sending maybe a third, possibly a little more, up the Callisidrin Valley toward Galea. The main force is heading to the northeast, probably to enter and go north up the Kern Valley."

They all knew the eventual goal.

Zedd made a fist. "There's no joy in being right, but that's just what Kahlan and I talked about. That was our guess."

General Meiffert was still rubbing his chin as he studied the map. "It's an obvious move, but with the size of his force the obvious is not a liability."

No one wanted to broach the issue, so Kahlan settled the matter. "Galea is on its own. We're not sending any troops to help them."

Captain Zimmer finally waggled a finger at the map. "We need to put our forces in front of their main force to slow them down. If we stay on their heels instead, we will only be cleaning up the mess they make."

"I'd have to agree." The general shifted his weight to his other foot. "We have no choice but to try to slow them. We'll have to keep giving ground, but at least we can slow them. Otherwise, they are going to move up through the center of the Midlands with the speed and power of a spring flood."

Zedd was watching the young wizard off by himself at the window. "Warren, what do you think?"

Warren looked up at the sound of his name, as if he hadn't been paying attention. Something about him didn't look well. He took a breath and straightened, his face brightening, making Kahlan think she had been mistaken. Hands clasped behind his back, Warren strode to the table.

He peered at the map from over Verna's shoulder. "Forget Galea-it's a lost cause. We cannot help them. They will suffer the sentence imposed upon them by the Mother Confessor-not because she spoke the words, but because her words were simple truth. Any troops we sent to help would be forfeit."

Zedd cast a sidelong glance at his fellow wizard. "What else?"

Warren finally moved closer to the table, wedging himself between Verna and the general. With authority, he firmly planted his finger on the map, far to the northalmost three-quarters of the way to Aydindril from where they were camped.

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"You have to go there."

General Meiffert frowned. "Up there? Why?"

"Because," Warren said, "you can't stop Jagang's army-his main force. You can only hope to slow them as they move north, up into the Kern Valley. This is where you must make a stand, if you hope to delay them next winter. Once they move through you, they will be upon Aydindril."

"Move through us?" General Meiffert asked in an surly manner.

Warren looked up at him. "Well, do you suppose you are going to be able to stop them? It wouldn't surprise me if by then they have three and a half to four million men."

The general let out an ill-tempered breath. "Then why do you think we should be at that spot-right in their way?"

"You can't stop them, but if you harry them sufficiently as they move north, you can keep them from reaching Aydindril this year. At this spot, they will be running out of time before the weather closes in. With a bit of stiff resistance, you can grind them to a halt for the winter, buying Aydindril one more season of freedom."

Warren looked up into Kahlan's eyes. "The following summer, a year from now, Aydindril will fall. Prepare them for it in whatever way you are able, but make no mistake: the city will fall to the Order."

Kahlan's blood ran cold. To hear him say the words aloud staggered her. She wanted to slap him.

To contemplate the Imperial Order taking their attack into the heart of the Midlands was horrifying. To accept, as foreordained, the Imperial Order seizing the heart of the New World was unthinkable. Kahlan's mental image of Jagang and his bloodthirsty thugs strolling the halls of the Confessors' Palace sickened her.

Warren leaned around the general to look at Zedd. "The Wizard's Keep must be protected-you know that better than 1. It would be the end of all hope if their gifted were to gain the Keep and the dangerous things of magic stored there. I think the time has come to keep that above all else in our thinking. Holding the Keep is vital."

Zedd smoothed back his unruly white hair. "I could hold the Keep by myself, if I had to."

Warren looked away from Zedd's hazel eyes. "You may have to," he said in a quiet voice. "When we get to this place"-he tapped the map again-"then you can do no more with the army, Zedd, and you must go to safeguard the Wizard's Keep and the things of magic kept there."

Kahlan could feel the blood heating her face. "You're talking about this as if it's all settled-as if it has been decided by fate and there is nothing we can do about it. We can't win if we hold such a defeatist attitude."

Warren smiled, his shy manner suddenly surfacing. "I'm sorry, Mother Confessor. I didn't mean to give you that impression. I am only offering my analysis of the facts of the situation. We aren't going to be able to stop them-there's no use deluding ourselves about that. They grow larger by the day. We must also take into account that there are going to be lands, such as Anderith and Galea, which fear the Order and will join them rather than suffer the brutal fate of those who refuse to surrender.

"I lived in the Old World as it fell, bit by bit, to the Imperial Order. I've studied Jagang's methods. I know the man's patience. He methodically conquered the entire Old World when such a feat seemed inconceivable. He spent years building roads

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just to be able to accomplish his plans. He never wavers from his goal. There are times when you can anger or humiliate him into a rash action, but he quickly comes to his senses.

"He quickly comes to his senses because he has a cause that is paramount to him.

"You must understand something important about Jagang. It's the most important thing I can tell you about the man: he believes with all his heart that what he is doing is right. He revels in the glory of conquest and victory, to be sure, but his deepest pleasure is being the one who has brought what he sees as righteousness to those he views as heathens. He believes that mankind can only advance, ethically, if they are all brought under the moral authority of the Order."

"That's just nonsense," Kahlan said.

"You may think so, but he truly believes he is serving the cause of the greater good for mankind. He believes piously in this. It is a sacred moral truth to him and his ilk."

"He believes that murder, rape, and enslavement are just?" General Meiffert asked. "He would have to be out of his mind."

"He was raised at the feet of priests of the Fellowship of Order." Warren lifted a finger to make sure they all noted his point. "He believes that all those things and more are justified. He believes that only the next world matters, because then we will be in the eternal Light of the Creator. The Order believes that you earn that reward in the next world by sacrificing for your fellow man in this world. All those who refuse to see this-that would be us-must either be brought to follow the Order's ways, or die."

"So," General Meiffert said, "it's his sacred duty to crush us. It's not plunder he seeks, primarily, but his bizarre version of the salvation of mankind."

"Exactly."

"All right," Kahlan said with a sigh. "So, what do you think this holy man of justice will do?"

"He basically has two choices, I believe. If he is to conquer the New World and bring all of mankind under the authority of the Order, he must take two important places, or he has not really succeeded: Aydindril, because it is the seat of power in the Midlands, and the People's Palace in D'Hara, because it reigns over the D'Haran people. If those two fall, everything else will crumble. He could have gone for either. Emperor Jagang has now made his choice of which falls first.

"The Imperial Order is going for Aydindril in order to split the Midlands. Why else would they go north? What better way to defeat an enemy than to cleave them in two? After they have Aydindril, they will turn their swords to an isolated D'Hara. What better way to demoralize an enemy than to first go for their heart?

"I am not saying that it is preordained, but merely telling you the way the Order goes about its grisly work. This is the same thing Richard has already figured out. Given that we can't realistically expect to stop them, I think it only wise to face the reality of what is, don't you?"

Kahlan's gaze sank to the map. "I believe that in the darkest hours we must believe in ourselves. I do not intend to surrender the D'Haran Empire to the Imperial Order. We need to wage the best war we can until we can turn it around."

"The Mother Confessor is right," Zedd insisted with quiet authority. "The last great war I fought, in my youth, seemed just as hopeless for a time. We prevailed, and drove the invaders back to the place from where they had come."

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None of the D'Haran officers said anything. It was D'Hara that was that invader. "But things are different, now. That was a war pressed by an evil leader." Zedd met the gaze of General Meiffert, Captain Zimmer, and the other D'Haran officers. "Every side in a war has good people, just as they all have the bad. Richard, as the new Lord Rahl, has given those good people a chance to flourish.

"We must prevail in this. As difficult as it may now be to believe, there are good people in the Old World, too, who would not wish to be under the boot heel of the Order, or to press a war for the Order's reasons. Nonetheless, we must stop them."

"So," Kahlan said, gesturing at the map before Warren, "how do you think Jagang will press the war?"

Warren tapped the map again, to the south of Aydindril. "Knowing Jagang and the way he conquers his opponents, I think he will stick to his grand plan. He has a goal and will doggedly continue to move toward it. There is nothing we have shown him that he has not seen from other opponents for his whole life. With that experience, I'm sure he finds this war unexceptional. I don't mean to discount our efforts-all war has its surprises, and we've given him some nasty ones. I would say, though, that it is going largely as he expected.

"It will take them the summer to advance to this place I've shown you, given his usual pace and the fact that you will be harrying them. Jagang, in general, has always moved slowly, but with unstoppable force. He will simply pour in enough men to crush the opposition. He feels that if he takes time to get to his enemy, it only gives them more time to tremble in fear of him. When he finally arrives, his enemies are often ready to crumble from the agony of the wait.

"If you put your force there, where I showed you, you will be able to protect Aydindril next winter, as Jagang will be content to bide his time. He has learned what a hardship the winters are in the New World. He will not needlessly press a winter campaign. But in the summer, when they move again, like they do now, then Aydindril will fall-whether or not you stand against the weight of their main force. When they move on Aydindril, we must hold the Wizard's Keep. That is all we can do."

The room was silent. The fire was cold, now. Warren and Verna had already packed their things and were ready to go, as was most of the rest of the army. Warren and Verna were losing their home. Kahlan glanced to the side, letting her gaze linger on the curtains she had long ago made for them. Their wedding seemed but a dim memory.

Her own wedding seemed but a distant dream. Every time she woke, Richard seemed almost a ghost to her. Mind-numbing, relentless, never-ending war seemed the only reality. There were occasional fleeting moments when she thought that she might have only dreamed him, that he couldn't possibly have really existed, that their long-ago happy summer home in the mountains never happened. Those moments of doubt terrified her more than Jagang's army.

"Warren," Kahlan asked in a soft voice, "what then? What do you think will happen the following summer, after they have taken Aydindril?"

Warren shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Jagang will be content to digest Aydindril for a while, to establish firm control over the Midlands. He believes it his duty to his Creator to bring all of mankind under the Order. Sooner or later, he will move on D'Hara."

Kahlan finally directed her attention to Captain Zimmer.

"Captain, get your men ready. While we're getting all our supplies and such on

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the way, you might as well go and remind Jagang that we have kept our blades sharp."

The captain grinned and clapped his fist to his heart.

Kahlan swept her gaze across everyone in the room.

"I intend to make the Order shed blood for every inch they take. If that is all I can do, then I will do it until I breathe my last breath."

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CHAPTER 53

The dead-still air was sweltering and reeked of stagnant sewage. Richard wiped sweat from his brow. At least as long as his sturdy wagon was rolling through the streets he could enjoy a little breeze.

Distracted out of his concern over knowing Kahlan and Cara had to have long since left the safety of their mountain home, he noticed an unusual amount of activity for the middle of the night. Shadowy figures hurried down the dark streets to dart into dim buildings. Slashes of light briefly fell to the street until doors could be pulled shut. The moon was out, and in the darker alleys he thought he saw people watching him, waiting until he passed before they went on their way. Over the rumble of his wagon's wheels he couldn't hear anything they might be saying.

As he turned onto the road that would take him out to the charcoal maker, he had to pull his team up short as men with long pole weapons stepped out and blocked his way. A guard seized the horses' bits. Other of the city guard swept out of the side street to point lances up at him.

"What are you doing out here?" one of the voices asked from the side of the wagon.

Richard calmly yanked up on the lever to set the brake.

"I have a special pass to move goods at night. It's for the emperor's palace."

The words "emperor's palace" were usually enough to have him on his way.

The guard waggled his fingers. "If you have a special pass, then let's see it."

This night, the guards wanted more. Richard pulled a folded piece of paper from a protective leather sleeve inside his shirt and held it down to the guard. Metal squeaked as the guard slid open a tiny door on his shielded lantern, letting a narrow slit of light fall across the paper. Several heads bent in to read the words and inspect the official seals. They were all genuine. They should be-they had cost Richard a small fortune.

"Here you go." The guard handed the paper back to Richard. "Have you seen anything unusual as you have gone through the city?"

"Unusual? What do you mean?"

The guard grunted. "If you had seen anything, you wouldn't have to ask." He waved his hand. "On your way."

Richard made no effort to leave. "Should I be worried?" He made a show of looking around. "Are there highwaymen about? Am I in danger? Is it safe for a citizen to be out? I'll take the wagon back if it's dangerous."

The man chuckled derisively. "You've got nothing to be afraid of. It's just some foolish people making trouble because they've nothing better to do."

"That's all it is? Are you sure?"

"You have work to do for the palace. Get to it."

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"Yes, sir." Richard clicked his tongue and flicked the reins. The heavy wagon lurched ahead.

He didn't know what was going on, but suspected the guards were out to catch some more insurgents for questioning. They probably wanted to get back to their post, so anyone they got their hands on was likely to end up being an insurgent. A man from Ishaq's place had been arrested several days before. He had been drunk on homemade liquor and left a meeting early. He never made it home. A few days later, Ishaq had received word that the man had confessed to crimes against the Order. The man's wife and daughter were arrested. The wife was released after receiving a specified number of lashes for confessing to speaking ill of the Order and having hateful thoughts about her neighbors. The daughter had not yet been released. No one even knew where she was being held.

Eventually he reached the edge of the city where it gave way to open fields. Richard took a deep breath of the agreeable aroma of freshly turned earth. Lights from occasional farms glimmered like lonely stars. In the moonlight Richard could finally see the rough skyline of forest. As he rolled into the charcoal maker's place, the charcoal maker, a nervous man named Faval, scurried up to the side of the wagon.

"Richard Cypher! There you are. I was worried about you coming."

"Why?"

The man let out a high-pitched titter. Faval frequently giggled at things that weren't funny. Richard understood that it was just his way. He was a jumpy fellow and his laugh was not meant as disrespect, but was rather something he couldn't help. A lot of people, though, avoided Faval because of his strange laugh, fearing he might be crazy-a punishment, they believed, imposed on sinners by the Creator. Others got angry at him because they thought he was laughing at them. That only made Faval more nervous, which made him laugh all the more. Faval was missing his front teeth and his nose was crooked from being broken a number of times. Richard knew the man couldn't really help it, and so never gave him trouble about it. Faval had taken a liking to him.

"I don't know, I just thought you might not come."

Faval's big eyes blinked in the moonlight. Richard's face wrinkled in a puzzlement.

"Faval, I said I was coming. Why would you think I might not?"

Faval's fingers worried at his earlobe. "No reason."

Richard climbed down. "The city guards stopped me-"

"No!" Faval's titter rippled out through the darkness. "What did they want? Did they ask you anything?"

"They wanted to know if I'd seen anything unusual."

"But you didn't." He giggled. "They let you go. You saw nothing."

"Well," Richard drawled, "I did see that fellow with the two heads."

Crickets chirped in the silence. Faval blinked in astonishment. In the moonlight, Richard could see his mouth hanging open.

"You saw a man with two heads?"

This time, it was Richard who laughed. "No, Faval, I didn't. It was just a joke."

"It was? But it wasn't funny."

Richard sighed. "I suppose not. Have you got the load of charcoal ready? I've got a long night ahead of me. Victor needs a load of steel, and Priska needs charcoal or he said he would have to close down. He said you didn't send your last order."

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Faval giggled. "I couldn't! I wanted to, Richard Cypher. I need the money. I owe the loggers for the trees I made into this charcoal. They told me they were going to quit bringing me wood if I didn't pay them."

Faval lived at the edge of a forest, so his source of wood was handy, but he wasn't allowed to cut the wood. All resources belonged to the Order. Trees were cut when the loggers, who had permits, needed work, not when someone needed wood. Most of the wood lay on the ground and rotted. Anyone caught picking up wood was liable to be arrested for stealing from the Order.

Faval held his hands up as if to implore Richard's understanding. "I tried to get the charcoal transported to Priska, but the committee denied me permission to transport it. They said I don't need the money. Don't need the money! Can you imagine?" He laughed painfully. "They told me that I was a rich man, because I had a business, and that I had to wait while they saw to the needs of the common people, first. I am only trying to live."

"I know, Faval. I told Priska that it wasn't your fault. He understands-he has troubles like that of his own. He's just desperate because he needs the charcoal. You know Priska; he gets hot at those who have nothing to do with the problem. I told him I would bring a load of charcoal tonight, and another two tomorrow night. Can I count on you for two more loads tomorrow?"

Richard held out the silver coins for the load of charcoal.

Faval clapped his hands together prayerfully. "Oh, thank you, Richard Cypher. You are a savior. Those loggers are a nasty lot. Yes, yes, and two tomorrow. I have them cooling now. You are as good as a ,son to me, Richard Cypher." He motioned off into the darkness as he tittered. "They are there, cooking. You will have them."

Richard could see the dozens and dozens of mounds, like little haystacks, that were the earthen ovens. Small pieces of split wood were tightly stacked around in a circle, with tinder stuffed in the center, building them up into a rounded pile which was then covered over with fern leaves and broom and then plastered over with firm earth. Fire was put in at the bottom, then that opening was closed over. Moisture and smoke escaped from small vents in the top for six to eight days. When the smoke ceased, the vents were sealed to kill the fire. After it cooled, the earthen ovens could be opened and the charcoal removed. It was a labor-intensive occupation, but rather simple work.

"Let me help you load your wagon," Faval said.

Richard caught the man's shirt at his shoulder as he started away. "Faval, what's going on?"

Faval put a finger to his lower lip as he laughed. It almost sounded like it was painful for him to laugh. He hesitated, but finally whispered his answer.

"The revolt. It has started."

Richard had suspected as much. "What do you know about it, Faval?"

"Nothing! I know nothing!"

"Faval, it's me, Richard. I'm not going to turn you in."

Faval laughed. This time it sounded more like relief. "Of course not. Of course not. Forgive me, Richard Cypher. I get so nervous, I wasn't thinking."

"So, what about this revolt?"

Faval turned up his hands in a helpless gesture. "The Order, they strangle people. We can't live. If not for you, Richard Cypher, I would be . . . well, I don't want to think about it. But others, they are not so fortunate. They starve. The Order takes

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the food they grow. People have loved ones who have been arrested. They confess to things they did not do.

"Did you know that, Richard Cypher? That they confess to things they did not do? I never believed it myself I thought that if they confessed, then they were guilty. Why confess if you are innocent?" He giggled. "Why? I thought they were terrible people wanting to hurt the Order. I thought it served them right, and I was glad they were arrested and punished."

"So what changed your mind?"

"My brother." Faval's chuckles suddenly were sobs. "He helped me make charcoal. We made it together. We supported our families making charcoal. We worked from sunup until sundown. We slept in the same house, there. That one there. One room. We were together all the time.

"Last year, at a meeting where we all had to stand up and tell how the Order made our lives better, as we were leaving, they arrested him. Someone gave his name as maybe an insurgent. I was not worried. My brother was not guilty of anything. He makes charcoal."

Richard waited in the darkness, sweat trickling down his neck, as Faval stared off into the dark visions.

"For a week, I went every day to the barracks to tell them that he would not do anything against the Order. We loved the Order. The Order wishes all people to be fed and cared for.

"The guards said my brother finally confessed. High crimes, they called itplotting to overthrow the Order. They said he confessed it to them.

"The next day, I was going to go to see more people, the officials at the barracks-I was so angry-to tell them that they were cruel animals. My wife, she cried and begged me not to go back to the barracks yet again, for fear they would arrest me, too. For her sake, and the children, I did not go. It would do no good, anyway. They had my brother's confession. No one who confesses is innocent. Everyone knows that.

"They put my brother to death. His wife and children live with us, still. We can hardly. . ." Faval giggled as he bit down on his knuckle.

Richard put a hand on the man's shoulder. "I understand, Faval. There was nothing you could have done."

Faval wiped at his eyes. "Now I am guilty of thinking hateful thoughts. That is

a crime, you know. I am guilty of it. I think about life without the Order. I dream

of having a cart of my own just a cart-and my sons and nephew could deliver

the charcoal we make. Wouldn't that be wonderful, Richard Cypher? I could

buy. . ." His voice trailed off.

He looked up in confusion. "But the Order says such thoughts are a crime because I am putting my wants before the needs of others. Why are their needs more important than mine? Why?

"I went to ask for a permit to buy a cart. They say I cannot have one because it would put the cart drivers out of work. They said I was greedy for wanting to put people out of work. They called me selfish for having such thoughts."

"That's wrong," Richard said in quiet assurance. "Your thoughts are not a crime, nor are they evil. It's your life, Faval-you should be able to live it as you see fit. You should be able to buy your cart and work hard and make the best of your life for you and your family."

Faval chortled. "You sound like a revolutionary, Richard Cypher."

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Richard sighed, thinking about how useless the whole thing was. "No, Faval."

Faval appraised him in the moonlight for a time. "It has already started, Richard Cypher. The revolt. It has begun."

"I have charcoal to deliver." Richard went around the back of the wagon and hoisted a basket up onto the wagon bed.

Faval helped with the next basket. "You should join them, Richard Cypher. You are a smart man. They could use your help."

"Why?" Richard wondered if he dared get his hopes up. "What do they have planned? What are they going to do with this revolt?"

Faval giggled. "Why, they are marching in the streets, tomorrow. They are going to demand changes."

"What changes?"

"Well, I think they want to be able to work. They are going to demand they be allowed to do what they want." He giggled. "Maybe, I can get a cart? Do you think, Richard Cypher? Do you think that when they have this revolt I can get a cart and deliver my charcoal? I could make more charcoal, then."

"But what do they plan to do? How are they going to change anything if the Order says no?-Which they will."

"Do? Why, I think they will be very angry if the Order tells them no. They may not go back to their jobs. Some say they will break into the stores and take the bread."

Richard's hopes faded back into the shadows.

The man clutched at Richard's sleeve. "What should I do, Richard Cypher? Should I join the revolt? Tell me."

"Faval, you should not ask anyone else what you should do about something like this. How can you endanger your life, the lives of your family, on what a man with a wagon says?"

"But you are a smart man, Richard Cypher. I am not so smart as you."

Richard tapped his finger against the man's forehead. "Faval, in here, in your head, you are smart enough to know what you must do. You have already told me why the Order can never help people have better lives by telling them how they must live. You figured that out all on your own. You, Faval the charcoal maker, are smarter than the Order."

Faval beamed. "You think so, Richard Cypher? No one ever told me before that I was smart."

"You're smart enough to decide for yourself how much it means to you and what you want to do about it."

"I fear for my wife, and my brother's wife, and all our children. I don't want the Order, but I'm afraid for them if I am arrested. How would they live?"

Richard heaved another basket into the wagon. "Faval, listen to me. Revolt is the kind of thing you must be sure of. It's dangerous business. If you are going to join a revolt, you have to be sure enough of what you want to do to be ready to lay down your life for your freedom."

"Really? You think so, Richard Cypher?"

The spark of hope was gone.

"Faval, you stay here and make charcoal. Priska needs charcoal. The Order will arrest those people, and then that will be the end of it. You're a good man. I don't want to see you arrested."

Faval grinned. "All right, Richard Cypher. If you say so, I will stay here and make charcoal."

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"Good. I'll be back tomorrow night. But Faval, if there is still trouble, I may not make it tomorrow night. If there is still marching going on and the streets and roads are blocked, I may not be able to make it out here."

"I understand. You will be back as soon as you can. I trust you, Richard Cypher. You never let me down."

Richard smiled. "Look, if they are having a revolt tomorrow, and I can't make it out here right away, here's the money for the next load." He handed the man another silver mark. "I don't want those loggers to stop getting wood for you. The foundries need charcoal."

Faval giggled in genuine delight. He kissed the silver mark and slipped it down his boot. "The charcoal will be ready. Now, let me help you load your wagon."

Faval was only one of the charcoal makers with whom Richard dealt. He had a whole string of them he kept going so the foundries could have charcoal. They were all humble people just trying to get along in life. They did the best they could under the yoke of the Order.

Richard made a little profit selling the charcoal to the foundries, but he made more selling iron and steel he bought from them. Charcoal was just a small sideline to help fill his nights, as long as he was out with his wagon. What he made from the charcoal covered the bribes, mostly. He made a good bit more hauling the odd load of ore, clay, lead, quicksilver, antimony, salt, molding powders, and a variety of other things the foundries needed but couldn't get permits for or get transported when they needed them. There was as much of that business as Richard could want. It paid for the care of his team with some profit left over. The iron and steel was pure profit.

By the time he made it to the foundry with the load of charcoal, Priska, the hulking foundry master, was pacing. His powerful hands grabbed the side of the wagon. He peered in.

"About time."

"I had to wait for an hour after I came from Faval's while the city guards inspected the load."

Priska waved his beefy arms. "Those bastards!"

"It's all right-calm down. They didn't take any. I have it all."

The man sighed. "I tell you, Richard, it's a wonder I've kept my furnaces going."

Richard ventured a dangerous question. "You're not involved with the . . . trouble, in the city, are you?"

In the light coming from his office window-really no more than a hut-Priska appraised Richard for a time. "Richard, change is coming. Change for the better."

"What change?"

"A revolt has begun."

Richard felt the spark of hope grow anew, but stronger this time-not so much for himself, his chains held him too tenaciously, but for the people who yearned to be free. Faval was a kind man, a hardworking man, but he was not the clever man, the resourceful man, that Priska was. Priska was a man who knew more than it would seem possible for him to know. Priska had given Richard the names of all the officials who could be bribed for papers, and advised him how much to offer.

"A revolt?" Richard asked "A revolt for what?"

"For us-for the people who want to be able to live our lives as we wish. The new beginning is starting. Tonight. In fact, it has already begun." He turned to his

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building and pulled open the doors. "When you get to Victor's, you must wait for him, Richard. He must speak with you."

"About what?"

Priska waved dismissively. "Come, give me my charcoal and then load your steel. Victor will bite my head off if I keep you."

Richard pulled the first basket out of the wagon and carried it to the side, where Priska added another.

"What have these people who starting the revolt done? What are their plans?"

Priska leaned close as Richard dragged another basket to the rear of the wagon. "They have captured a number of officials of the Order. High officials."

"Have they killed them, yet?"

"Killed them! Are you crazy? They aren't going to harm them. They will be held until they agree to loosen the rules, satisfy the demands of the people."

Richard gaped at the man. "Loosen the rules? What are they demanding?"

"Things must change. People want to be allowed more say in their businesses, their lives, their work." He lifted a basket of charcoal. "Less meetings. They are demanding to have their needs taken more into consideration."

This time, the spark of Richard's hopes didn't dim, rather, it plunged into icy waters.

He didn't much pay attention to Priska as they unloaded the wagon and then loaded the steel. He didn't really want to listen to the plans for the revolt. He couldn't help getting the gist of it, anyway.

The revolutionaries had it all figured out. They wanted public trials for those people the Order arrested. They wanted to be allowed to see prisoners. They wanted to have the Order give them a list of what had happened to a number of people who had been arrested, but never heard from. There were other details and demands but Richard's mind wandered to other things.

As Richard was climbing up into his wagon to leave, Priska seized his arm in a iron grip. "The time has come, Richard, for men who care to join the revolt."

The two of them shared a long look. "Victor is waiting."

Priska released Richard's arm and grinned. "So he is. I'll see you later, Richard. Perhaps the next trip you make here will be after the Order meets the demands, and you will be able to come in the day, without papers."

"That would be grand, Priska."

--]--- By the time he arrived at Victor's, Richard had a headache. He felt sick over what he'd heard, and what he feared yet to hear.

Victor was there, waiting for him. It was a little early, yet, for the man to be there; usually, he didn't arrive until closer to dawn. The blacksmith threw open the doors to his outer stockroom. He set a lantern on a shelf so Richard could see to back his wagon close.

Victor was wearing a wolfish grin as Richard climbed down.

"Come, Richard, unload your wagon, then we will have some lardo, and talk."

Richard went methodically about his task, not really wanting to talk. He had a good idea what Victor wanted to talk about. Victor, as was his way, left Richard to unload. He was the man buying the steel, and enjoyed the service of having it

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delivered where he wanted it. It was a service he could rarely get from a transport company, despite the higher price.

Richard didn't mind being left alone. Summer this far south in the Old World was miserable. The humidity was oppressive, with the nights rarely better than the days.

As he worked, he thought about the sparkling bright days spent with Kahlan beside the brook at their mountain home. It seemed a lifetime ago. His hopes of ever seeing her again were difficult to keep alive, but his worry for her, now that summer was here, never ceased. Sometimes, it hurt so much to think about her, to miss her, to worry, that he had to put her from his mind. At other times, thoughts of her were all that kept him going.

By the time he had finished, the sky was tuning lighter. He found Victor in the far room, the doors open wide so that dawn's light lit Victor's marble monolith. The blacksmith was gazing at the beauty in his stone, at the statue still inside that only he saw.

It was a long moment before he noticed Richard standing not far away.

"Richard, come have lardo with me."

They sat on the threshold looking out over the site of the Retreat, watching the miles of stone walls tun pink in the hazy dawn. Even from the distance, Richard could see along the top of one wall the vile figures representing the evil of mankind.

Victor handed Richard a pure white slice of lardo. "Richard, the revolt I told you about has started. But you probably already know that."

"No it hasn't," Richard said.

Victor stared, dumbfounded. "But it has."

"A lot of trouble has started. It is not the revolt you and I spoke of."

"It will be. You will see. Many men will be marching today." Victor gestured expansively. "Richard, we want you to lead us."

Richard had been expecting the question. "No."

"I know, I know, you think the men don't know you, and they won't follow you, but you are wrong, Richard. Many do know you. More than you think. I have told many of them about you. Priska and others have spoken of you. You can do it, Richard."

Richard stared out at the walls, at the carvings of cowering men.

"No."

Victor was taken aback, this time. "But why not?"

"Because a lot of men are going to die."

Victor chuckled. "No, Richard, no. You misunderstand. This will not be that kind of revolt. This will be a revolt of men of goodwill. This is a revolt for the betterment of mankind. That is what the Order always preaches. We are the people. They say they are for the people, and now, when we put the demands of the people to them, they will have to listen and give in."

Richard shook his head sadly to himself.

"You want me to lead you?"

"Yes."

"Then I want you to do something for me, Victor."

"Of course, Richard. Name it."

"You stay far away from anything to do with this uprising. Those are my orders to you as your leader. You stay here and work today. You stay out of it."

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Victor looked as if he thought Richard might be making a joke. After a moment, he saw that Richard was not joking.

"But why? Don't you want things to get better? Do you wish to live like this all your life? Don't you want things to improve?"

"Are you willing to kill those men of the Order that have been captured?"

"Kill them? Richard, why do you want to talk about killing? This is about life. About things being better."

"Victor, listen to me. These men you go up against are not going to play by your rules."

"But they will want-"

"You stay here and work, or you will die along with a lot of other men. The Order will crush this uprising within a day or two, and then they will go after everyone they even suspect had a hand in it. A lot of people are going to die."

"But if you were-to lead us, you could present our demands. That is why we want you to lead us-to prevent that kind of trouble. You know how to convince people. You know how to get things done-just look at how you help all the people in Altur'Rang: Faval, Priska, me, and all the others. We need you, Richard. We need you to give people a reason to follow the revolt."

"If they don't know what they stand for and what they want, then no one can give them a reason. They will only.succeed when they burn for freedom, and are not only willing to kill for it, but to die for it." Richard stood and brushed the dirt from his pants. "Stay out of it, Victor, or you will die with them."

Victor followed him to his wagon. In the distance, men were arriving to work on the emperor's palace. The blacksmith picked at the wood on the wagon's side, apparently wanting to say more.

"Richard, I know how you feel. I really do. I, too, think these men are not burning with the kind of hunger for freedom that I have, but they are not from Cavatura, as I am, so perhaps they do not know what true freedom is, but for now, this is all we can do. Won't you give it a try, Richard?

"Richard Rahl, of the D'Haran Empire to the north, understands our passion for freedom, and would try."

Richard climbed up into his wagon seat. He wondered where people heard such things, and marveled at how the spark of such ideas could travel so far. After he took up the reins and whip, Richard shared a long look with the sober blacksmith, a man intoxicated with the whiff of freedom in the air.

"Victor, would you try to hammer cold steel into a tool?"

"Of course not. The steel must be white-hot before it can become something."

"So must men, Victor. These men are cold steel. Spare your hammer. I'm sure this Richard Rahl would tell you the same thing."

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CHAPTER 54

The uprising lasted a day. Richard stayed home. He asked Nicci to stay home, too. He told her that he'd heard rumors of possible trouble and said he didn't want her to get hurt.

The purge of the insurrectionists by the Order, on the other hand, lasted a week. Men who had participated in the marching had been slaughtered in the streets, or captured by the city guard. Those who were captured were questioned until they eventually confessed the names of others. People questioned by the Order always confessed.

The ripples of arrest, confession, and further arrest spread through the city and went on for days. Hundreds of men were buried in the sky. Eventually, the fires of unrest were snuffed out. The ash of regret covered every tongue as people wanted to forget the whole thing. The marches were rarely even mentioned, as if it had never happened.

Richard finally went back to work at the transport company, rather than risk having his wagon out at night. Jori had nothing to say as they rolled through the city, past the poles holding up rotting corpses buried in the sky.

Jori and Richard made trips out to the mines to pick up ore for the foundries. They made one trip to a sandstone quarry a little ways to the east of the city. That took the whole day there and back. The next day they delivered the stone to the west side of Retreat, where it was needed for a buttress. There were a number of poles, maybe fifty or sixty, on the other side of the walls, over near the carving area. Apparently, some of the workers had been purged, too.

On the way out, they went up the road past the blacksmith's shop. Richard

jumped down off the wagon and told Jori that he would go up the hill and join him

after the wagon made its way around the twists in the road. He said he had to report

to the blacksmith about their next delivery. Inside the dark workshop, Victor was hammering a long piece of steel, bending the red-hot metal over the horn of an anvil. He looked up and, when he saw it was Richard, thrust the hot metal in the liquid beside this anvil, where it bubbled and hissed.

"Richard! I'm glad to see you."

Richard noticed several of Victor's men were missing. "Sick?"

Victor grimly shook his head.

Richard acknowledged the news with a single nod. "I'm glad to see you well, Victor. I just wanted to stop and make sure you were all right."

"Richard, I'm fine." He hung his head. "Thanks to your advice. I could be buried in the sky, now." He gestured toward the Retreat. "Did you see? Many of the carvers . . . all hanging from the poles down there."

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Richard had seen the bodies, but hadn't realized it was many of the stone carvers. He knew how some had felt about the things they carved-how they hated to create scenes of death.

"Priska?"

Victor gave a desolate shake of his head, too choked up to say it.

"Faval?"

"Saw him yesterday." Victor took a purging breath. "He said you told him to stay home and make charcoal. I think he is going to rename one of his children after you."

"If Priska . . . What about your special steel?"

Victor gestured with the bar he held in tongs. "His head man is going to carry on. Can you make a run for iron? I haven't had a supply since before the trouble. Brother Narev is in a foul mood; he wants some iron supports for the piers. He suggested that a blacksmith loyal to the Order and the Creator would get them made."

Richard nodded. "I think it's calmed down enough. When?"

"I could really use it now, but I can make do until the day after tomorrow. I have some of these fussy chisels to make, for the detail work, and I'm short men, so it can wait that long."

"Day after tomorrow, then. It should be safe enough by then."

The sun had set as Richard was walking up the street to his room with Nicci, but the twilight let him see his way well enough. He was thinking about Victor when half a dozen men stepped out from behind a building.

"Richard Cypher?"

They weren't dressed like regular city guards, but that didn't mean a whole lot, lately. There were a number of special men, not in uniform, who, it was said, hunted down troublemakers.

"That's right. What is it you wish?"

He saw the men each had swords under their light capes. They each had a hand on a long knife at their belts.

"As sworn officers of the Imperial Order, it is our duty to place you under arrest for suspicion of insurrection."

--]--- When Nicci woke, Richard still wasn't home. She growled unhappily. She rolled onto her back and saw that light was coming in through the curtains. By the angle of the sunlight, it looked like it must be shortly past dawn.

She yawned and stretched in her bed, letting her arms drop back as she stared at the ceiling, the clean, whitewashed ceiling. She felt her anger building. It was upsetting when he wasn't there at night, but it made her feel a fraud if she berated him for working so hard. Her intent had been to make him see how hard ordinary people had to work to get along in life, to make him see how the Order was the only hope of improving the lives of the common people.

She had warned him not to become involved in the recent uprising. She was pleased he didn't try to argue with her about it. If anything, he seemed opposed to them. It surprised her that he had even stayed home from work while the marches took place. He warned Kamil and Nabbi, in the strongest terms, to keep away from the insurrection.

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Now that the rebellion had been crushed, and the authorities had arrested many of the troublemakers, it was safe again, so Richard had finally been able to return to work. The rebellion had been a shock. The Order needed to do more to make people understand their duty to help make the lives of those less fortunate more tolerable. Then there wouldn't be any trouble in the streets. To that end, many of the officials had been purged for not doing enough to further the cause of the Order. At least there was that much good out of it.

Nicci splashed water on her face from the basin Richard had brought home one day. The flowers around the edges matched the salmon-colored walls, and the rug he had been able to purchase from savings. He was certainly industrious, managing to save from his meager wage.

She pulled off her sweaty nightshirt and bathed herself as best she could with a wet washcloth. It felt refreshing. She hated to look sweaty and dirty in front of Richard.

She saw that the bowl of stew she'd made for his dinner the night before was still sitting on the table. He hadn't told her that he had to work at night, but sometimes he didn't have time to come home for dinner first. When he worked at night, he usually came home shortly after dawn, so she expected to see him at any moment.

He would likely be hungry. Maybe she would make him eggs. Richard liked eggs. She realized she was smiling. She had been angry when she first woke, and now, thinking about what Richard liked, she was smiling. She combed her fingers through her hair, already eagerly looking forward to seeing him walk in, to asking if he would like her to make him eggs. He would say yes, and she would have the pleasure of doing something she knew he wanted.

She loathed doing things she knew he didn't like.

It had been several months since that awful night with Gadi. That had been a mistake. She knew that afterward. At first, she had enjoyed it, not because she wanted to have sex with that repulsive thug, but because she had been so humiliated by Richard refusing to make love to her that she wanted to get back at him. She had in the beginning of it reveled in what Gadi did to her, reveled in how he hurt her, because it was hurting Kahlan, too. Nicci enjoyed it only in the sense that it was punishment for what he had done to her. Nothing hurt Richard like hurting Kahlan.

Gadi hated Richard. Having Nicci, he thought, got back at Richard and made Gadi a king again. As much as he wanted her, he wanted to get back at Richard more. Richard had taken Gadi's kingdom and made it his own. Nicci was only too happy to let the little bully be king again. Every sincere cry, she knew, Richard -Heard, and would know that Kahlan felt the same pain.

But as Gadi went at her with wild abandon, doing his best to degrade Richard by what he did to her, Richard's words-"Nicci, please don't do this. You're only hurting yourself'-began to haunt her.

As Gadi took her, she tried to make believe it was Richard, tried to have Richard if even by proxy. But she couldn't make herself believe it, not even for the pleasure of such a fantasy. Richard, she knew, would never humiliate and hurt a woman in that way. She couldn't even pretend for a second that it was Richard.

More, though, Nicci began to comprehend that Richard's words were not a plea to spare Kahlan pain, but to spare Nicci the pain. As much as he must hate her, Richard had expressed concern for her. As much as he must hate her, he didn't want to see her hurt.

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Nothing else Richard could have said would have cut deeper into her heart. That kindness was the cruelest thing he could have done to her.

The pain afterward was her punishment. Nicci was so ashamed of what she had done that she pretended to Richard that she hadn't suffered in the incident. She wanted to spare him the distress of knowing what Kahlan was suffering along with her. The next morning, she told Richard that she had made a mistake. She didn't expect his forgiveness; she wanted him to know she knew she had been wrong, and that she was sorry.

Richard said nothing; he only watched her with those gray eyes of his as he listened before leaving for work.

She bled for three days.

Gadi had bragged to his friends about having her. To her further humiliation, he revealed all the details. To Gadi's surprise, Kamil and Nabbi had been furious at him. They were intent on dripping hot wax in his eyes and doing some other things-what, Nicci wasn't sure, but could imagine. The threat was so deadly serious that Gadi had gone off and joined the Imperial Order army that very same day. He had joined just in time to leave with a new troop on their way north to the war. Gadi had sneered to Kamil and Nabbi that day, telling them that he was going off to be a hero.

Nicci heard footsteps coming down the hall. She smiled and pulled three eggs out of the cupboard. Instead of Richard opening the door, as she was expecting, someone knocked.

Nicci stepped to the middle of the room. "Who is it?"

"Nicci, it's me, Kamil."

The urgency in his voice made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.

"I'm decent. Come in."

The young man burst in, panting. His face was white, as were his knuckles around the doorknob. Tears stained his cheeks.

"They've arrested Richard. Last night. They have him."

Nicci was only dimly aware of the eggs hitting the floor.

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CHAPTER 55

With Kamil at her side, Nicci ascended the dozen stone steps up into the city guard barracks. It was a huge fortress, its high walls stretching off down the entire block. Nicci hadn't asked Kamil to go with her. She doubted that anything short of death would have stopped him. She couldn't really decipher precisely how Richard managed to inspire such reactions in people.

As they had left, Nicci was in a state of frantic shock, but she had noticed that the entire building of people seemed tense and alert. Faces peered from windows as she and Kamil had rushed out the building and down the road. People had come out of other buildings to watch her go. They all wore grim expressions.

What was it that made people care so much about this one man?

What was it that made her care?

The inside of the filthy barracks was crowded with people. Hollow-cheeked, unshaven, old men stood as if in a daze, staring off at nothing. Plump-cheeked women with scarves covering their heads wept as wailing children clung to their skirts. Other women stood around without expression, as if they were expecting to buy bread or millet. One small child, with only a shirt and nothing from the waist down, stood forlorn, his tiny fists at his mouth as he bawled.

The room felt like a death watch.

City guards, mostly large young men with indifferent expressions, pushed through the throng as they passed on into dark halls guarded by their fellows. A short, roughly constructed wooden wall held back all the people, confining the pandemonium to half the room. Beyond the short wall, more of the guards casually talked among themselves. Others brought reports to men at a simple table, joked, or picked up orders on their way through.

Nicci cut right through the crowd, forcing her way to the short wall where cowering women pressed close, hoping to be called, hoping for word, hoping for the miracle of intercession by the Creator Himself. Pressing up against the rough boards, they received splinters, instead.

Nicci seized the sleeve of a passing guard. He halted in midstride. His glare rose from her hand to her eyes. She reminded herself that she was without her power and released his sleeve.

"May I ask, please, who is in charge?"

He looked her up and down, a woman he appeared to judge was about to be without a husband and available. His face slid into an affected smile. He gestured.

"There. At the table. People's Protector Muksin."

The older man sat ensconced behind his sovereign stacks of papers. Beneath a chin that sank down toward his chest, his spreading body looked as if it were melting

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in the summer heat. His loose white shirt bore big dark rings of sweat, adding its bit of stink to the stench of the sultry room.

Guards leaned down to speak into his ear while his dull gaze roamed, never settling. Others behind the table to either side of him were busily engaged in work at stacks of their own papers, or speaking among themselves, or dealing with the other stream of officials and guards that was ebbing and flowing through the room.

Protector Muksin, the shiny top of his head concealed about as well as an aged turtle napping beneath a few blades of grass, watched the room. His dark eyes never stopped moving, gliding past the guards, the officials, the milling crowd. When they glided over Nicci's face, they registered no more interest than in any of the other people. All were citizens of the Order, equal pieces, each unimportant in and of itself.

"Could I see him?" Nicci asked. "It's important."

The guard's smile turned to mockery. "I'm sure it is." He waved a finger at the clump of people to the side. "End of the line. Wait your turn."

Nicci and Kamil had no choice but to wait. Nicci knew enough about such petty officials to know better than to make a scene. They lived for the times when someone made a scene. She leaned her shoulder against the plastered wall dark with oily stains of countless other shoulders. Kamil took up station behind her.

The line wasn't moving because the officials weren't seeing anyone. Nicci didn't know if they only saw citizens at certain times. There was no choice but to keep their place in the line. The morning dragged on without the line in front of her changing. It grew more crowded in back.

"Kamil," she said in a low voice after several hours, "you don't need to wait with me. You can go home."

His eyes were red and swollen. "I wish to wait." He sounded surprisingly distrustful. "I care about Richard," he added in a tone that sounded like an accusation.

"I care about him, too. Why do you think I'm here?"

"I only came to get you because I was so afraid for Richard, and I didn't know what else to do. Everyone else was off to work, or to buy bread." Kamil turned and leaned his back against the wall. "I don't believe that you care for him, but I didn't know what else to do."

Nicci swiped a sweaty strand of hair off her forehead. "You don't like me, do you?"

Still he didn't look at her. "No."

"Might I ask why?"

Kamil's gaze snuck a glance around to see if anyone was listening. They were all concerned with their own problems.

"You are Richard's wife, yet you betrayed him. You took Gadi to your room. You are a whore."

Nicci blinked in surprise at his words. Kamil glanced around again before he went on.

"We don't know why a man like Richard would be with you. Every woman without a husband in the house, and the other houses nearby, told me she would be his wife and never lie with another man as long as she lived. They all say they don't understand why you would do that to Richard. Everyone was sad for him, but he would not listen to us tell him."

Nicci turned away. Suddenly, she couldn't bear the shame of looking at a young man who had just called her a vile name, and had been right.

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"You don't understand the situation," she whispered.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Kamil shrug. "You are right. I don't understand. I don't understand how anyone could do such a hurtful thing to a husband like Richard, who works hard and takes such good care of you. To do such a thing, you must be a bad person who does not care about your husband."

She felt tears join the sweat on her face. "I care about Richard more than you could ever know."

He didn't answer. She turned to look at him. He was bouncing his shoulders gently against the wall. He was too ashamed of her, or angry at her, to look her in the eye.

"Kamil, do you remember when we first came to live in the room in your building?"

He nodded, still not looking at her.

"Do you remember how cruel you and Nabbi treated Richard, all the mean things you said to him? All the hurtful names you called him? How you threatened him with your knives?"

"I made a mistake," he said, and sounded as if he meant it.

"Kamil, I made a mistake, too." She didn't bother trying to hide her tears-half the women in the room were weeping. "I can't explain it to you, but Richard and I were having an argument. I was angry with him. I wanted to hurt him. I was wrong. It was a foolish thing for me to do. I made a terrible mistake."

She sniffled and dabbed her nose on a small handkerchief. Kamil watched her from the corner of his eye.

"I admit it's not the same kind of mistake that you and Nabbi made when you were acting tough when you first met Richard, but it was a mistake. I was acting tough, too."

"You don't desire Gadi?"

"Gadi turns my stomach. I only used him because I was angry with Richard."

"And you are sorry?"

Nicci's chin trembled. "Of course I'm sorry."

"You are not going to get angry and do it again? With some other man?"

"No. I told Richard I made a mistake, I was sorry, and I would never do such a thing to him again. I meant what I said."

Kamil thought it over as he watched a woman shake a child by the arm. The child wouldn't stop crying, because it wanted to be picked up. She said something under her breath and the child leaned against her leg and pouted, but didn't cry anymore.

"If Richard can forgive you, then I should not be angry at you. He is your husband. It is for the two of you to settle, not for me." He touched her arm. "You made a foolish mistake. It is over. Don't cry for that anymore? There are more important things, now."

Nicci smiled through her tears and nodded.

He smiled a little bit. "Nabbi and I told Gadi we were going to cut off-we told him we would cut him for what he had done to Richard. Gadi showed us his knife, so we would let him pass. Gadi loves his knife. He has cut men with it, before. Cut them bad. He told us to let him pass to go to join the army, that he was going to use his knife to slice the guts out of the enemy, to be a war hero, and to have many women better than Richard's wife."

"I'm sure I will not be the only woman to be sorry they ever met Gadi."

In the late afternoon, People's Protector Muksin began seeing people. Nicci's

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back ached, but it was nothing to compare to her fear for Richard. The people were taken one at a time by a pair of guards to stand before Protector Muksin.

The line moved fairly rapidly because the Protector tolerated no long conversations. At most, he would riffle through some of his papers before telling the supplicant something. What with all the wailing and weeping in the room, Nicci couldn't hear any of it.

When it was her turn, one of the guards shoved Kamil back. "Only one citizen may speak with the Protector."

Nicci tilted her head to signal Kamil to stand back and not make a scene. The guards each grabbed an arm and fairly carried her to the spot in front of the Protector. Nicci was indignant at being treated so roughly-like some common . . . citizen.

She had always enjoyed a kind of authority, sometimes spoken, sometimes unspoken, and had never really given it much thought. She wanted to have Richard see what it was like to live as the common working people. Richard seemed to flourish:

The two guards stood close at her shoulders, in case she caused any trouble. They must have seen it enough. She felt her face flushing at her treatment.

"Protector Muksin, my husband was-"

"Name." His dark-eyed gaze was skipping over the people remaining in line, no doubt measuring how far off dinner was.

"Richard."

He looked up sharply. "Full name."

"His name is Richard Cypher. He was taken in last evening."

Nicci didn't want to say the word "arrested," fearing to lend weight to a serious charge.

He shuffled through papers, not at all seeming to be interested in looking at her. Nicci found it slightly confounding when the man didn't look at her in that calculating way men had of measuring her dimensions in their mind, imagining what they couldn't see, as if she didn't know what they were doing. The two guards, though, were looking down the front of her dress.

"Ah." Protector Muksin waved a paper. "You are lucky."

"He has been released, then?"

He looked up as if she were daft. "We have him. His name is on this paper. There are many places people are taken. The Protectors of the people can't be expected to know where they all are."

"Thank you," Nicci said without knowing what she was thanking him for. "Why is he being held? What are the charges?"

The man frowned. "How would we know the charges. He has not yet confessed."

Nicci felt dizzy. A number of the other women fainted when they spoke to the Protector. The guard's hands on her arms tightened. The Protector's hand started to lift to signal them to remove her. Before he could, Nicci spoke in as calm a voice as she could muster.

"Please, Protector Muksin, my husband is no troublemaker. He never does anything but work. He never speaks ill of anyone. He is a good man. He always does as he is told."

For one fraction of a second, as she watched sweat roll down the man's cheeks, he seemed to be considering something.

"Has he a skill?"

"He is a good laborer for the Order. He loads wagons."

She knew the answer was a mistake before she had completed it. The hand lifted,

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flicked, dismissing her like a gnat. With a mighty jerk, the guards lifted her from her feet and whisked her from the important man's presence.

"But my husband is a good man! Please, Protector Muksin! Richard did not cause any of the trouble! He was home!"

Her words were sincere, and much the same as those spoken by the women before her. She was furious that she could not convince him that she was different-that Richard was different. The others, she knew now, had all tried to do the same.

Kamil ran behind as the guards carried her down a short, dark hall to a side door out of the stone fortress. Evening light stole in when they opened the door. They shoved her. Nicci stumbled down the steps. Kamil was shoved out right behind her. He fell facedown in the dirt. Nicci knelt to help him up.

From her knees, she looked up to the doorway. "What about my husband?" she pressed.

"You can come back another day," one guard said. "When he confesses, the Protector can tell you the charges."

Nicci knew he would never confess. He would die, first.

That was not a problem, as far as these men were concerned.

"Can I see him?" Nicci folded her hands prayerfully as she knelt beside Kamil. "Please, can I at least see him?"

One of the guards whispered to the other.

"Have you any money?" he asked her.

"No," she said in a mournful cry.

They started to go back in.

"Wait!" Kamil cried out.

When they paused, he ran up the steps. He lifted his pant leg and pulled off a boot. Upending it, a coin fell into his palm. Without reservation, he handed the silver coin to the guard.

The man made a sour face when he looked at the coin. "This isn't enough for a visit."

Kamil seized the big man's wrist as he started to turn. "I have another at home. Please, let me go get it. I can run. I can be back in an hour."

The man shook his head. "Not tonight. Visits for those who can pay the fee are the day after tomorrow, at sunset. But only one visitor is allowed."

Kamil waved his hand at Nicci. "His wife. She will visit him."

The guard swept an appraising look over Nicci, smirking, as if to consider what more she might have to give to see her husband.

"Just be sure to bring the fee."

The door slammed shut.

Kamil raced down the steps and seized her arm, his big eyes brimming with tears. "What are we going to do? That's two more days they will have him. Two more days!"

He was starting to choke on his panic. He hadn't said it, but she knew what he meant. That was two more days to torture a confession out of him. Then they would bury Richard in the sky.

Nicci took a firm grip on the boy's arm and walked him away. "Kamil, listen to me. Richard is strong. He will be all right. He's been through a lot before. He's strong. You know he's strong?"

Kamil was nodding as he bit his lower lip and wept, reduced to a child by his fear for his friend.

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--]--- Nicci stared at the ceiling the entire night. The next day, she went to stand in line for bread. She realized, as she stood with the other women, that she must have the same hollow look as they. She was in a daze. She didn't know what to do. Everything seemed to be disintegrating.

That night, she slept only a few hours. She was in a state of restless anxiety, counting the minutes until the sun would come up. When it did, she sat at the table, clutching the loaf of bread she would take to Richard, waiting the eternity it took for the day to drag by. The neighbor lady, Mrs. Sha'Rim, brought Nicci a bowl of cabbage soup. She stood over Nicci, smiling sympathetically, while she waited to make sure Nicci ate the soup. Nicci thanked Mrs. Sha'Rim, and said the soup was delicious. She had no idea what the soup tasted like.

In the early afternoon, Nicci decided to go wait at the stronghold until she was allowed in. She didn't want to be late. Kamil was sitting on the steps, waiting for her. A small crowd of people milled about.

Kamil shot to his feet. "I have the silver mark."

Nicci wanted to tell him that he didn't have to pay it, that she would, but she didn't have a silver mark. She had only a few silver pennies.

"Thank you, Kamil. I will find the money to pay you back."

"I don't want it back. It is for Richard. It is what I choose to do for Richard. It is worth it to me."

Nicci nodded. She knew she would rot before anyone came up with a penny for her, yet she had devoted her entire life to helping others. Her mother told her once that it was wrong to expect thanks, that she owed help to those people because she was able to give it.

As Nicci walked down the steps, people came up and offered their best wishes. They asked her to tell Richard to be strong, and not to give in. They asked her to tell them if there was anything they could do, or if she needed money.

They'd had Richard for days. Nicci didn't even know if he was still alive. The silent walk to the prison stronghold was terror. She feared to find he had been put to death, or to see him, and know he would die a lingering, suffering agony from his questioning. Nicci knew very well how the Order questioned people.

At the side door, a half-dozen other women along with a few older men stood in the sweltering sun. All the women had sacks of food. None of the people spoke. They were all bent under the weight of the same dread.

Nicci stared at the door as the sun slowly sank. In the gathering dusk, Kamil hung his waterskin on Nicci's shoulder.

"Richard will probably want something to drink with his bread and chicken."

"Thank you," she whispered.

The ironbound door squeaked open. Everyone looked up at the guard standing in the door, signaling for everyone to approach. He glanced down at a piece of paper. As the first woman raced up the stairs, he stopped her and asked her name. When she told him, he checked it against his list, then let her pass. The second woman he turned away. She cried out, saying she had paid for the visit. He told her that her husband had confessed to crimes of treason and was allowed no visitors.

She wailed as she fell to the ground. Everyone else watched in horror, fearing the same fate. Another woman gave her name and was sent in. Another went in, then the next was told that her husband had died.

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Nicci, in a daze, started up the stairs. Kamil grabbed her arm. He put a coin in her hand.

"Thank you, Karnil."

He nodded. "Tell Richard I said . . . Just tell him to come home."

"Richard Cypher," she answered the guard, her heart hammering.

He looked at the paper briefly, then waved her in. "That man will take you to him.

Relief flooded through her. He was still alive.

Inside the dark hall, another soldier waited. He tilted his head in command. "Follow me." He moved into the darkness, a lamp swinging from each hand. She stayed close behind as he descended two long flights of narrow stairs into the damp dark underground.

In a small room with a hissing torch, People's Protector Muksin sat on a bench, sweating, as he talked to two men-minor officials, judging by their deferential treatment of the rotund Protector.

The Protector stood after briefly inspecting the paper the guard handed him. "You have the fee?"

"Yes, Protector Muksin." Nicci handed over the coin.

He glanced at it before pocketing the silver. "Fines for civil violations are steep," he said cryptically as his dark eyes halted to measure her reaction.

Nicci licked her lips, her hopes suddenly buoyant. She had passed the first test by paying the fee. The greedy bastard was now demanding money for Richard's life.

Nicci spoke cautiously, fearing to make a mistake. "If I knew the fine, Protector, I believe I could raise the money."

The Protector peered at her with an intensity that made sweat break out across her brow. "A man needs to prove his repentance. A fine that cuts to the bone is a sure way to show remorse for a civil infraction. Less, and we will know the penance insincere. Day after tomorrow, at this time, those who have confessed to such infractions and have someone who can pay the price of the fine, are brought before me for disposition."

He had named the price: everything. He had told her what Richard had to do. She wanted to tear out the man's fat throat.

"Thank you for your kind understanding of my husband's civil indiscretion. If I could see him, I will see that he hurts to the bone in remorse."

He smiled a thin sweaty smile. "See that you do, young lady. Men left too long down here with their guilt end up confessing to the most terrible things."

Nicci swallowed. "I understand, Protector Muksin."

The torture would not stop until the man had the price.

The guard seized her arm abruptly and yanked her off down a pitch-black corridor, holding his two lanterns in his other hand. They went down another flight of stairs, down to the very bottom of the stronghold. The narrow passageway burrowed its crooked way through the stone of the foundation, past rooms purpose-built to hold criminals. Being not far from the river, water seeped into the place, leaving it forever slimy, wet, and reeking of rot. She saw things skitter away into the blackness.

The sound of their feet splashing through ankle-deep water echoed back from the distance. Decomposing carcasses of huge rats bobbed on the waves caused by their passing footsteps. The place reminded Nicci of her childhood nightmares of the

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underworld, a fate her mother had promised awaited all those who failed in their duty to their fellow man.

The short doors to the sides each had a small opening about the size of a hand-so that the guards could look in, she supposed. There was no light at all but what the guards brought, so there was nothing for those inside to look out at. In several of those doors, fingers gripped the edge of the opening. As the lamplight passed, Nicci saw wide eyes peering out from the black holes. From many of the openings came weeping of anguish, or agony.

The guard stopped. "Here it is."

Her heart beating wildly, Nicci waited. Instead of opening the door, the guard turned to her and grabbed her breasts. She stood motionless, fearing to move. He fondled her, as if he were testing melons in the market. She was too afraid to say anything, lest he not let her see Richard. He pressed closer to her and pushed his meaty hand down inside the top of her dress, fingering her nipples.

Nicci knew that men like this were necessary if the Order was to bring their teachings to all. You had to accept that the nature of mankind was perverted. There had to be sacrifices. Brutes were necessary to enforce morality on the masses. She stifled a yelp as he pinched her tender flesh.

The guard chuckled, pleased with his grope, and turned to the door. After some difficulty with the rusty lock, he finally got the key to turn. He grasped the door through the opening and gave a mighty tug. The door slowly grated open just enough to get by. The guard hung a lantern just inside on the wall.

"After I've seen to some other matters, I'll be back and your visit will be over." He chortled again. "Don't waste any time getting your skirts up for him-if he's in any condition for it."

He shoved her in the room. "Here you go, Cypher. I got her nice and randy for you." The door shut with a clang that echoed up and down the crooked passageway. Nicci heard the key turn and the guard's sloshing footsteps as he departed.

The square room was so tiny she could have stretched her arms and touched the walls to each side at the same time. The ceiling brushed the top of her head. She was overwhelmed by the terrifying closeness of it. She wanted out.

She feared the body crumpled at her feet was dead.

"Richard?"

She heard a little groan. His arms were behind his back, locked in some kind of wooden binders. She feared he might drown.

Tears stung her eyes. She sank to her knees. The slimy water that had sloshed into her boots now soaked up through her dress.

"Richard?"

She pulled at his shoulder to turn him over. He cried out and shrank away from her hand.

When she saw him, she covered her mouth with both hands to stifle her scream. She felt the tears flooding down her face as she gasped to get her breath.

"Oh, Richard."

Nicci stood and tore off a strip of her shift from under her dress. Kneeling once more, she used the cloth to gently wipe the blood from his face.

"Richard, can you hear me? It's Nicci."

He nodded. "Nicci."

One eye was swollen shut. His hair was matted with mud and slime from the

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water he lay in. His clothes were torn open. In the harsh light from the small lamp, she could see puffy red wounds crisscrossing his flesh.

He saw her staring at his wounds. "I'm afraid you'll never be able to patch this shirt."

She offered a feeble smile at his grim humor. Her fingers trembled as she wiped his face. She didn't know why she would react this way. She had seen worse than this.

Richard pulled his head back away from her ministrations.

"Am I hurting you?"

"Yes."

"Sorry. I have some water."

He nodded eagerly. Nicci poured water into his mouth from the waterskin. He drank greedily.

While he caught his breath, she said, "Kamil came up with the money for the fee to get me in to see you."

Richard only smiled.

"Kamil wants you out of here."

"I want me out of here." He didn't sound like himself. His voice was hoarse and almost gone.

"Richard, the Protector-"

"Who?"

"The official in charge of this, this prison. He told me that there is a way to get you out. He said you must plead guilty to a civil infraction, and pay a fine."

Richard was nodding. "I figured as much. He asked if I had money. I told him I did."

"You do? You've saved money?"

He nodded. "I have money."

Nicci's fingers desperately gathered his collar into her fist. "Richard, I can't pay the fine to get you out for two more days. Can you hold on? Please, can you hold on until then?"

He smiled in the dim lamplight. "I'm not going anywhere."

Nicci remembered then, and pulled the bread out of the sack. "I brought food. Bread, and some roasted chicken."

"Chicken. Bread won't sustain me long. They don't feed me."

She tore at the chicken with her fingers. She held a piece up to his mouth for him. She couldn't stand to see Richard helpless. It angered her. It made her sick.

"Eat, Richard," she urged when his head sank forward. He shook his head, as if to banish sleep. "Here, have some more."

She watched him chew. "Can you sleep in this water?"

"They don't let you sleep. They-"

She pushed a long chunk of chicken in his mouth. She knew too many of the details of the Order's methods. She didn't want to know which technique they had chosen for him.

"I'll get you out, Richard. Don't give up. I'll get you out."

He shrugged as if to say it didn't matter.

"Why? Covetous of your prisoner? Jealous to see others abuse me in your place? Fear they might destroy me before you can?"

Richard, that's not-"

"I am just a man. Only the greater good matters. That I'm innocent is immaterial,

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because no one man's life has value. If I must suffer and die this way to help drive others to the ways of your Creator and your Order, who are you to deny them that virtuous end? What do your wishes matter? How can you put your life, or mine, above the good of others?"

How many times had she lectured him with that same moral doctrine? How contemptuous, how venomous, how treacherous it sounded from his lips.

She hated herself at that moment. He somehow put the lie to everything the Order stood for, to everything she had devoted her life to. He somehow made doing good seem . . . evil. That was why he was so dangerous. That he even existed threatened everything for which they stood.

She was so close. So close to knowing what she needed to understand. The very fact that there were tears running down her face told her that there really was something that made the whole ordeal worthwhile-made it essential. The indefinable spark she had seen in his eyes from the first instant was real.

If she could just reach that little bit more, then she could finally do what was best. It would be better for him. What kind of life could he ever have? How much suffering could he endure? She hated that she was condemned to serving the Creator in such a way.

"Look around, Nicci. You wanted to show me the better way of the Order. Look around. Isn't it glorious?"

She hated to see) one of his beautiful eyes swollen shut.

"Richard, I need the money you saved. If I'm to get you out of here, I'll need it all. The official told me it had to be all of what you had."

A hoarse whisper was all he had left. "It's in our room."

"Our room? Where? Tell me where."

He shook his head. "You could never get it out. You have to know the trick to open it. Go to Ishaq."

"Ishaq? At the transport company? Why?"

"It was his parlor, once. There's a hidden compartment in the floor. Tell him why you need the money. He will open it for you."

She held more chicken up to his mouth. "All right. I'll go to Ishaq." She hesitated while she watched him chew. "I'm sorry that you have to give up what you've managed to save. I know how hard you work. It's not right for them to take it."