He stirred his spoon around in his bowl. "Please, Nicci, will you grant me this? Let me finish it, then you will see it."
"You aren't carving what they told you to carve, are you?"
"No, I'm not. I'm carving what I need to carve, what people need to see."
Nicci nodded, having to look away from those gray eyes of his. "I'll wait until it's ready."
In more ways than one, this was a matter of life and death.
"I am."
The next day, Nicci got an early start to buy bread. She wanted Richard to have bread with the stew she was cooking. Kamil offered to go for her, but she wanted to get out of the house. She asked him to keep an eye on Richard's stew as it simmered on the banked coals.
There were crowds of needy people in the street, many come to Altur'Rang for
work, no doubt, although there were few people at the workers' group hall. The lines at the bakeries were long. At least the Order saw to it that people got bread, even if it was gray, tough bread. You had to go early, though, before they ran out. With more people all the time, the shops ran out earlier every week.
Nicci had spent a hundred and eighty years trying to help people, and people seemed no better off now than they ever were. Those in the New World were prosperous enough, though. Someday, when the Order ruled the world, and those with the means were made to contribute their fair share to their fellow man, then everything would finally fall into place and all of mankind could at last live with the dignity they deserved. The Order would see to it.
Her eyes went wide as she straightened. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. What was she doing in Altur'Rang?
Nicci flipped her dark shawl up over her head of blond hair and tied it snug under her chin. She sank back behind a wide woman and hugged the wall as she peeked out between the people in line.
Nicci knew who Alessandra was hunting.
Nicci sank back against the rough clapboards, staying low behind the people ahead of her, until Sister Alessandra had vanished into the vast sea of people crowding the street.
CHAPTER 61
She took a last look before cresting the hill, to see the splendor of the Confessors' Palace on the distant rise. It made her ache with the sense of home whenever she saw the soaring white marble columns and rows of tall windows. Other people were stricken with awe or fear at the sight of the palace, but Kahlan's heart was always warmed by it. She had grown up there, and it was a place of many happy memories for her.
Kahlan glanced over at Verna. "No, it won't."
"Besides," Verna said, offering a smile, "we will be denying the Imperial Order the people, and that is what they are really after. The rest is just stone and wood. What matters stone and wood, if the people are safe?"
"Don't worry, Mother Confessor," Cara said, "Berdine and the rest of the MordSith, along with the troops, will watch over the people and see them safely to D'Hara."
The season of war was drawing to an end. If the summer with Richard in their mountain home had been a wonderful dream, then the summer of endless warfare had been a nightmare.
Against the seemingly indomitable millions of the Imperial Order, the forces of the D'Haran Empire had managed to slow the enemy enough to keep them from taking Aydindril this year. With thousands of lives lost in the fighting, they had
bought the hundreds of thousands of people of Aydindril and other cities that lay along the path of the Order the time they needed to escape.
Just as Warren had forecast, Aydindril was more than Jagang's army could take in this season of war. Jagang, once again, had proven his prudent patience; he had chosen to preserve the viability of his army so he would be able to press on successfully when conditions allowed. In the short run, it gave Kahlan and her forces breathing room, but in the long run, it would spell their doom.
Some people, she knew, would refuse to leave. In cities along the Order's march up the Midlands, some people put their faith in "Jagang the Just." Some people believed that the good spirits, or the Creator, would watch over them no matter what. Kahlan knew they couldn't save everyone from themselves. Those who wished to live, and were willing to see reason, stood a chance. Those who saw only what they wished to see, would, at the least, fall under the pall of the Order's domination.
The fighting was often so intense, the fear so palpable, that there were timesdays at a stretch-when she never thought of him. Sometimes, she had to devote all her physical and mental effort to just staying alive one more day.
Galea had fallen. That there was no word from any city in Galea probably said it all.
Kahlan tried not to think too long on everything that had gone wrong, lest she give up. They had saved a good many people-gotten them out of the way of the Order. At least for the time being. It was the best they could do.
Kahlan recalled the things Richard had told her, that they could not win, that the New World was going to fall to the Order, and if they resisted, it would only cause greater bloodshed. She was reluctantly coming to understand that hopeless outlook.
She feared she was only getting people killed to no good end. Yet giving up still was out of the question for her.
--]--- Zedd would have to go there; they could not stop the Imperial Order from having Aydindril, but they dared not let them have the Keep.
"I wonder what this is all about," Verna said with a scowl. "I'll not like it if Jagang spoils my dinner."
Kahlan couldn't remember what color cloth would be used to mark the command tents. She had lost track of the exact number of days she had been gone. It had been somewhat over a month. She took the arm of an officer among the men who had swept in around her.
He pointed with his sword. "Down that way, Mother Confessor."
"No, Mother Confessor. The alarm sounded. As a Sister rushed past, I heard her say it was genuine."
"I've seen Sisters running around everywhere, Prelate. I've not seen Wizard Warren."
Horses with D'Haran riders flashed past, headed out on patrol. Foot soldiers raced out of camp to scout. No one seemed to know what the threat was, but that wasn't unusual. Besides being frequent and varied, attacks were usually confusing, in addition to being frightening.
"This is a foolish way to go about it," Kahlan muttered. She found her tent, with Spirit standing on the little table, and tossed her saddlebags inside, along with her armor. "Let's just wait here so people can find us."
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"Tell any Sisters you see," Verna added. "And if you see Warren or Zedd, tell them, too, that we've returned."
"I don't like this," Cara muttered.
Cara stood guard, along with a small army of men, as Kahlan took off her fur mantle and slipped on her leather armor. It had saved her from taking wounds often enough that she was not shy about wearing it. All it would take was one man to slip up close and thrust a sword into her, and that might well be the end. If she got lucky, and they ran it through a leg, or even her belly, she had a chance of being healed by a Sister, but if it was in some other place-heart, head, some major artery so that the loss of blood was too fast-then even the gifted wouldn't be able to heal her.
Kahlan knew better than to risk her life needlessly. She was more valuable to their cause in her capacity as a leader than as a combatant. Still, while she rarely went directly into combat, the fighting had often enough come to her.
"Assassins" was all he said.
"How many casualties?" Kahlan asked.
"What about the assassin?" Verna asked.
Verna let out a worried breath. "A Sister might be able help the captain."
It was then that Kahlan spotted Zedd approaching. The front of his robes was wet and darkundoubtedly with blood. Tears ran down his face. Gooseflesh tingled up Kahlan's arms and legs.
Zedd seized Verna's hand. "Hurry" was all he said.
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The roll call was needed because the assassins were in D'Haran uniforms so they could sneak up close to their quarry. It was necessary to account for every man in order to single out those who didn't belong. It was tedious and difficult, but essential.
Verna's composure was frayed with panic. Zedd stopped her, holding her by her arms. His voice was choked with his emotion.
Kahlan stood in a stupor, her heart in her throat. Zedd's hand on her back urged her to move quickly. She followed Verna, ducking into the tent.
Warren lay on his back on a pallet on the ground. Sister Philippa was on the far side of him, her tall frame bent over the youthful wizard, holding his hand. Sister Phoebe was on the near side, holding his other hand. Both women turned tearstained faces up to see Verna above them.
The two Sisters quickly moved out of the way for Verna and Kahlan to take their places. They covered their mouths to hold in their cries as they fled the tent.
"Warren," Verna moaned. "Oh, Warren."
"Yes, my love." Verna kissed his hand a dozen times.
"I had to hold on. Till you both came back. To tell you both."
"Kahlan . . ." he whispered.
"Listen to me."
"Richard is right. His vision. I had to tell you."
A smile came to his ashen face. "Verna. . ."
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Verna could hardly get her words past her choking tears. "Warren, don't die. Don't die. Please don't die."
Verna bent over him and met his lips with hers, giving him a gentle, loving kiss as her tears dripped onto his face.
"What are we doing?" she cried. "What's it all for? What good is any of it? We're losing everything."
The minutes dragged on. Kahlan forced herself to be strong, to be the Mother Confessor. She couldn't let the men see her giving up.
When General Meiffert materialized out of the darkness, the relief on Cara's face was evident. He rushed up close to Cara, but didn't touch her.
Kahlan couldn't speak.
The general nodded sorrowfully. "We caught the man who did it."
Without hesitation the general hurried off to retrieve the assassin. When Kahlan gestured, Cara went with him.
Kahlan took a purging breath. "He said, `Richard is right.' "
"He said the same to me," Zedd whispered tearfully.
Zedd wiped a finger across his cheek. "He was walking past, just as the man seized and stabbed Holly. Perhaps the assassin couldn't find his target, or maybe he became lost and confused, or he could have just panicked and decided to stab someone and Holly was handy at that moment."
"That could be. Warren doesn't really know. It all happened in an instant. Warren was right there, and just reacted. I asked, but he didn't know why he didn't use his power. Perhaps in that terrible flash of the knife, he feared to kill Holly in the
process, since the man had her and was stabbing her. His instinct to save her just caused him to snatch for the knife. It was a fatal mistake."
Zedd shrugged painfully. "A split-second hesitation has been the end of a lot of wizards."
"Don't try to fix the past, dear one-it can't be done."
Zedd's gaze sought hers. "Meaning?"
"Are you suggesting he knew he would die here?"
"I'm a wizard, not a prophet."
"I don't know. I was just arriving to talk to Warren. It had just happened. Soldiers were jumping the man. Warren yelled orders for them not to kill him. I guess he was thinking the assassin might have valuable information. I saw Holly, bleeding from her wounds, in shock. I immediately had Warren brought in here and started to work on him. Sisters rushed in and took Holly to another tent."
Kahlan enclosed his shoulders protectively in her arm. "It was out of your hands from the first, Zedd."
Men made way for the returning General Meiffert and Cara. Behind them, two burly soldiers had a wiry young man-little more than a boy, really. He was muscular, but no match for the men who had him. His hair tumbled down across a forehead above dark contemptuous eyes. He wore a proud sneer.
"Make him kneel before the Mother Confessor," General Meiffert said with quiet command.
"So, you're the big important whore I've heard so much about. Too bad you weren't around-I'd have loved to have cut you. I guess I showed some people I'm pretty good with a knife."
"Just for practice. I'd have cut a lot more people if these big dumb oxen wouldn't have lucked into jumping me. But I still did my duty to the Order and the Creator."
It was the bravado of someone who knew he was about to pay the ultimate price for his actions. He was trying to convince himself that he had fulfilled a valuable service. He wanted to die a hero, and then go straight to the Creator for his reward in the afterlife.
Verna stopped when she saw the young man on his knees.
Kahlan put her other hand tenderly to Verna's back, silently offering support.
"That's right." The lad sneered up at Verna. "I'm the one who knifed the enemy wizard. I'm a hero. The Order will bring relief and justice to the people, and I helped do it. Your kind is always trying to keep us down."
"Those who are born with all the luck and advantages-they never want to share. I waited, but no one ever gave me a chance in life until the Order did. I'm a hero of downtrodden people everywhere. I've struck a blow against the oppressors of mankind. I've helped bring justice to those who are never given a chance. I killed an evil man. I'm a hero!"
The man on his knees grinned at Verna. "The Creator will give me my reward in the next life. I'm not afraid to die. I've earned eternity in his everlasting Light."
"I don't care what you do to him," she said, "but I want to hear his screams the entire night. I want this camp to hear his screams the entire night. I want the Order's scouts to hear his screams. That will be my tribute to Warren."
"That isn't fair!" the young assassin shouted in protest.
"He died quick. I should have the same consideration! This isn't fair!"
"You wish to trade your life for the one you have taken? You wish to die in a cause you foolishly believe to be noble? You shall have your wish, young man. But before you die, you shall fully understand what it is you have surrendered, how precious is your life, and how utterly wasted. You shall come to regret your mother's act of creation as much as do we."
Cara took a step forward. "Let me do it, then." Her grim face held no hint of relish. "I would be best at carrying out your wish as you intend it, Verna."
The lad laughed hysterically. "A woman? You all think you're going to have some big blond bitch try to teach me a lesson? You're all as crazy as I've heard."
"I promise you," Cara said softly to Verna, "that even though this night will seem forever to you in your grief, it will be infinitely longer for him."
After Verna had walked off into the darkness, Cara turned to Kahlan. "I would ask to use a tent. No one should have to see what I do to him. His screams will be knowledge enough."
"Mother Confessor!" The young man struggled frantically, but the soldiers had him in a firm grip. "If you're so good as you claim, then show me mercy!"
"But I have," Kahlan said. "I am allowing you to suffer the sentence Verna has named, and not the one I would impose."
"The others we captured?" the general asked Kahlan.
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Kwan sat up when she realized that she didn't hear the distant screams any longer. It was still hours till dawn. Maybe his heart had stopped unexpectedly.
As she had lain fully dressed in her bed, listening to the bloodcurdling screams, aching for Verna, missing Warren, sweat had occasionally beaded her brow whenever she thought about how Richard had once been the one under a Mord-Sith's Agiel.
Richard had chosen this view of life over the terrible bitterness he could have fallen into. Clinging to such bitterness would only have robbed him of his ability to experience happiness.
Gritting her teeth, Cara shoved him. He fell to the dirt at Kahlan's feet.
The look in Cara's eyes revealed a woman at the edge of a feral fury, at the edge of control, at the far-distant reaches of what it was to even be human. She was treading the soil of another world: madness.
"Tell her," Cara growled.
Kahlan frowned down at the terrified young man. "You know who?"
Kahlan felt as if the world crashed down around her. The weight of that world sank her to her knees before Cara's charge.
"Gadi! I'm Gadi!"
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"I know. I'm just making sure he wants to talk to us."
The Mord-Sith pulled him upright again. Red bubbles grew around his broken nose. When the light caught Cara just right, Kahlan could see blood glistening on the red leather.
He was nodding as he wept and before Cara had even completed the command.
"Nicci," Kahlan corrected.
He fell to such blubbering that he couldn't finish. Kahlan seized his jaw, slick with blood, and shook his face.
"I don't know what to say, what you want," he sobbed.
"Tell her the rest of it," Cara said in his ear as she pulled him to his feet.
"Richard started to get people to fix up the place. He works for Ishaq, at the transport company. When he came home at night, he would fix things. He showed Kamil and Nabbi how to fix things.
"You hated him because he made things better?"
"I found out Richard was working at night. He was hauling extra loads for greedy people. He was making money he shouldn't be allowed to make.
"I gave it to her good just the way she wanted it. I gave it to the whore good. I
With all her strength, Kahlan rammed her knee into his groin. Gadi doubled over, unable to draw his breath. His eyes rolled up in his head and he went down hard.
Kahlan wiped the tears from her cheeks. "It wasn't Richard. I knew it wasn't Richard. It was this pig."
Kahlan kicked him in the ribs as he started coming around. He let out a cry. She wagged her fingers impatiently. Cara seized him by the hair and yanked him to his feet.
He coughed and gagged and drooled. Cara had to steady him on his feet. She held his arms behind his back so he couldn't comfort his groin. The pain was clearly evident in his contorted face.
"Please! I was telling you when you stopped me."
He nodded frantically. "When I was done with the whor-when I left Nicci, Kamil and Nabbi were crazy."
"They were crazy angry because I was with Richard's wife. They like Richard, so they were crazy angry with me. They were going to do things to me. Hurt me. So, I decided to go into the army to fight for the Order against the heathens, and. . ."
"And then I turned in Richard's name!"
"I turned in his name before I left. I told the city guards at Protector Muksin's office that Richard was doing criminal things, that he was stealing work from working people-that he was making more than his fair share."
Gadi was trembling in terror. He clearly didn't want to answer. Cara pressed her Agiel against his side. Blood oozed down his sweat-soaked shirt. He tried, but couldn't draw a breath. His ashen face began to turn purple.
Gadi gasped in a breath when she released the pressure. "They will arrest him. They will . . . make him . . . confess."
Gadi nodded reluctantly. "They will torture a confession out of him, most likely. They might even hang his body from a pole and let the birds pick his bones if he confesses to something bad."
She kicked over the map basket and pawed through the maps until she found the one she wanted. She pulled a pen and an ink bottle out of their box, set the statue of Spirit on the ground, and spread the small map across the table.
Kahlan pointed at the map. "We are here. Show me where you traveled with the Order."
Kahlan pointed to the Old World. "Now, I want you to mark the place where you lived."
"Altur'Rang. That's it, there."
"Now," she said, "mark the roads you came up in the Old World-including any cities or towns you went through."
When he'd finished, Gadi looked up.
Gadi immediately set to drawing the map for her. When he was finished, he looked up again.
Gadi marked the map to indicate the place. "But I don't know if he will be there. Lots of people turn in the names of people suspected of wrongdoing against their fellow man. If they take the name and they arrest him . . . the Brothers may order penance, or they could even question him and then order him put to death."
Gadi nodded. "Brother Narev and his disciples. They are the head of the Fellowship of Order. Brother Narev is our spiritual guide. He and the brothers are the heart of the Order."
"The brothers wear dark brown robes, with hoods. They are simple men who have given up the luxuries of life to serve the wishes of the Creator and the needs of mankind. Brother Narev is closer to the Creator than any man alive. He is mankind's savior."
Gadi shook in the silence after he had finished. Kahlan wasn't watching him, but staring off.
"Yes. He's big and strong. Foolish people like him."
"Get him out of here," she told Cara.
"You have a job to finish," Kahlan said to Cara.
Tears filled the girl's eyes as she stretched out her arms pleadingly. Kahlan knelt beside the girl and bent over to hug her. Holly started crying.
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Sister Dulcinia smiled her agreement and then grunted with the effort of struggling to her feet in the low tent. In the distance, on the far side of the camp, Kahlan could hear Gadi's bloodcurdling screams.
"Oh, Mother Confessor, it was awful. Wizard Warren got hurt. I saw it."
"Is it all right? Is he healed like they healed me?"
Her brow bunched up with her misery. "He shouldn't have tried to save me. It's my fault he's dead."
"Do you really think so?"
"He danced with me at his wedding. I thought he was the most handsome groom ever."
Kahlan started to rise, but Holly hugged her all the tighter, so Kahlan lay down beside her. She stroked Holly's brow, and kissed her cheek.
"For a while, sweetheart."
After she had finally decided what she must do, Kahlan slipped silently out of the tent to go pack her things.
A light snow was just beginning to fall, announcing to the muted camp that winter had arrived in the northern Midlands.
The Order would have it all. Sooner or later, they would have her and kill her, along with those who fought with her. It was only a matter of time until they enslaved all of the New World. They already had much of the Midlands. Some lands
had fallen willingly. There was no way to resist a force of their overwhelming size, the terror of their threats, or the seduction of their promises.
She had thought she could make a difference. She had thought she could drive back the advancing hordes-by the sheer weight of her will, if need be. It was arrogance on her part. The forces of freedom were lost.
What was left to her? Running. Retreat. Terror. Death.
She was going to go to the heart of the Order.
Kahlan spun around to see Cara frowning at her.
Cara gave a single nod. "Good. I, too, think it is time. I won't be long getting my things together. You get the horses, and I'll meet-"
Cara stroked her long blond braid laying over the front of her shoulder. "Why are you going?"
Cara smiled. "And you think I want to stay here?"
"I'm sorry, Mother Confessor," Cara said tenderly, "but I can't follow such orders. I am Mord-Sith. My life is sworn to protecting Lord Rahl. I promised Lord Rahl I would protect you, not stay and kiss Benjamin."
"It's my life. If this is the end, all there is to be, then I will do with the rest of my life as I wish. It's my life to live, not yours to live for me. I'm going, and that is final."
"You're right, Cara; it is your life. But when we get down into the Old World, you're going to have to wear something to disguise who you are. Red leather in the Old World will be the end of us."
Kahlan smiled at last. "I believe you would, Cara."
"I'm sorry I tried to leave without you, Cara. I shouldn't have done it that way. You're a sister of the Agiel. I should have talked it over with you. That's the proper way to treat someone you respect."
"We might not ever come back from this."
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"I'm not quarreling."
Kahlan steeled herself and asked, "Cara, do you really believe Richard is still alive?"
And then she did: the Agiel would only work if the Lord Rahl to whom she was sworn was alive.
"He died as Verna wished it. She showed him no pity."
--]--- It was not long after dawn when Kahlan made it to Zedd's tent. Cara had gone to get horses and supplies. When Kahlan called, Zedd asked her to enter. He rose from the bench beside Adie, the old sorceress.
"I've come to bid you good-bye."
"There are no tomorrows left. Winter is upon us again. If I am going to do as I must, I don't have a day to waste."
"And maybe Warren meant that Richard was right-that we are going to lose the New World to the Order, so what is there to stay for? Maybe it was Warren's way of trying to tell me to go to Richard before I'm dead, or he's dead, and then it's too late to even try."
"I'll find out when I get there."
"Even if Warren hadn't said it, I've come to realize-no matter how much I wish it was otherwise-that Richard is right. The Order will only be pinned down for the winter while we help the people escape Aydindril. In the spring, the enemy will flood into my city. Then they will turn to D'Hara. There will be nowhere to run. Though they escape for the moment, the Order will subjugate those people.
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Kahlan threw her arms around him. "Oh, Zedd, I love you."
No-that wasn't true. Kahlan pulled back.
He nodded with great reluctance, great sadness. "I know."
A beautiful smile came to the woman's weathered face. "Well, I . . ." She looked up. "Zedd?"
Kahlan smacked his leg. "Stop cursing in front of ladies-and stop being so sour. I'd like to know you're not going to be lonely up there."
Adie scowled in turn. "How do you know that, old man? You never asked my approval. Why, I have a mind-"
"I can fuss if I want to," Zedd protested.
Kahlan smiled through her tears. "Of course you can. It's just that, after Warren . . . it reminds me of how much I hate to see people waste their lives on things that don't matter."
"That be right," Adie said. "Fussing keeps you sharp. When you get old, you need to stay sharp."
Kahlan silenced him with a hug that Adie joined.
"I am. I'm going to take my sword into the belly of the Order."
"If you're to go, then ride hard and strike harder."
Kahlan thought Cara's blue eyes looked a little more liquid than usual. "Are you all right, Cara?"
"Nothing," Kahlan said.
"If we leave now, we should be able to escape winter's grip. We have the map, so we can stay away from the routes the Order's troops use, and the heaviest popula
tion centers. There are good roads, and open country down there. Riding hard, I think that we can make it in a few weeks. A month at most."
"I have a better way." Cara flashed a sly smile. "We'll go where I know the country-D' Hara. We will go east from here and cross over the mountains, then go south down through D'Hara-through mostly wide-open country were we can make good time-down through the Azrith Plains, to eventually join the Kern River far to the south. After the river valley clears the mountains, we will cut southeast into the heart of the Old World."
"When will you go to the Keep?"
"That would be best," Kahlan agreed. "It will get our men out of harm's way for now."
At least for a while. The words hung in the air, unspoken.
Kahlan embraced Zedd fiercely one last time.
Kahlan nodded against his shoulder, and told him a bold lie.
Kahlan stepped out into the early light of winter's first breath. Everything was dusted with snow, making it look as if the world were carvedfrom white marble.
CHAPTER 63
The file held hundreds of ridges, row upon row of tiny blades of hardened steel, which did the work of cutting away and shaping the noble stone. These were blades he wielded with the same commitment with which he wielded any blade. He blindly reached back and set the file down on the wooden bench, careful to put it on the wood and not to let it clang against other steel, lest he dull it prematurely. He exchanged the file for another, with even finer teeth, and took out the roughness left by the correction accomplished with the one before.
It had taken him several months to arrive at this final layer. It was exhilarating to be so close to the flesh. The days had passed, one upon another, in an endless procession of work, carving death in the day down at the site, and life in the night. Carving for the Order was balanced by carving for himself-slavery and freedom in opposition.
Stressing the word "penance" helped to direct their thoughts to that issue and away from the statue itself. The brothers were invariably much more satisfied with his weariness from his toil at his work of contrition that they were interested in yet another dreary stone carving. There were carvings everywhere; this was but one more manifestation of the irredeemable inadequacy of mankind. Just as no one man in their cosmos was important, no one work mattered. It was the sheer number of carvings which was to be the Order's overpowering argument for man's impotence. The carvings were merely background props for the stage upon which the brothers moralized on sacrifice and salvation.
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Richard switched to a smaller file, one bent in a decreasing radius curve, and worked the muscle where it narrowed into sinew, showing the tension in the arm which revealed the underlying structure. During the day he observed other men as they worked, in order to study the complex shapes of muscle as it moved with life. At night, he referred to his own arms held up to the lamplight so that he might accurately depict veins and tendons standing proud on the surface. He referred to a small mirror at times. The surface of the skin he carved was a rich landscape stretched over bone and muscle, creased in corners, drawn smooth as it swept over curves.
He wanted this work to show the capacity for movement, for intent, for accomplishment. The posture of the figures displayed awareness. The expression of the faces, especially the eyes, would show that most sublime human characteristic: thought.
He wanted this to show the raw power of volition.
To his great annoyance, Richard noticed that light was coming in the window above the statue, taking over from the lamps that had burned all night. All night; he had done it again.
As he draw-filed the curve of the man's shoulder muscle, there was a knock at the door. "Richard?"
Richard pulled the red cloth tied around his neck down away from his nose and mouth, where it kept him from breathing all the marble dust. It was a little trick Victor had told him about, used by the marble carvers from his homeland of Cavatura.
Just before he flung the cover over the statue, he got the full view of the figures. The floor, shelves, and tools were covered in a fine layer of marble dust. But against the black walls, the marble stood out in the glory of light from above.
"You look a ghost," Victor announced with a lopsided grin.
"Did you see in the shop last night?"
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Around the other side of the blacksmith's shop, in the stock room, the bronze sat in a number of pieces. It was too big for Priska to cast as one piece, so he had made several that Victor would join and mount. The pedestal for the partial ring that would be the dial plane was massive. Knowing it was for a statue Richard was carving, Priska had done a job to be proud oŁ
"Isn't it, though? I've seen him do fine work before, but this time Priska has outdone himself."
Richard sighed. "Priska has a tongue as smooth as his castings."
The sun was already well up. Richard stretched his neck and peered down at the site.
Victor grabbed the other end and together they lugged the bronze casting around the shop. When Richard opened the double doors, Victor saw the statue for the first time, even if it was covered in a tarp that revealed only the round bulges that were the two heads. Even so, Victor's eyes feasted. It was apparent in those eyes how his vivid imagination was filling in some of it with his fondest hopes.
Richard was overcome with a blissful smile. "Ali, Victor, you will see for yourself soon enough. The dedication is only a couple weeks off. I will be ready. It will be something to bring a song to our hearts . . . before they kill me, anyway."
Richard held out no such illusion. He remembered then, and reached into a pocket to pull out a piece of paper. He handed it to the blacksmith.
Victor took the paper and unfolded it. His grin melted away. He looked up at Richard with an open look of surprise.
Richard shrugged. "They can only kill me once."
"The Order binds my arms, now, Victor. As I work down there, as I see the death around me, I am bleeding from a thousand cuts. The vultures of the Order are already feasting on my flesh." With grim resolve, Richard held Victor's gaze. "Will you do it?"
Victor glanced down at the paper again. He took a deep breath and then let it slowly out as he studied the paper in his hand. "Treason though these words be, I like them. I will do it."
Richard lifted the tarp enough to uncover the base. "I've carved you a flat face tilted at the proper angle. I didn't know where the holes in the casting would be, so I left it for you to drill the holes and fill them with lead for the pins. Once you attach the pedestal, then I can calculate the angle of the hole I'll need to drill for the gnomon."
"Good. And a round rasp to do final fitting in the hole?"
Richard chuckled. "Victor, I know you want more than anything to see the nobility of this statue when it is finally finished. You would not spoil that experience for yourself for anything."
Richard hardly heard Victor. He was staring at what he knew so well. Even though it was covered from his eyes, it was not hidden from his soul.
--]--- Her head bent, her scarf protecting her from the chill winter wind, Nicci hurried down the narrow alleyway. A man coming the other way bumped against her shoulder, not because he was rushing, but because he simply didn't seem to care where he was going. Nicci threw a fiery scowl at his empty eyes. Her fierce look fell away down a bottomless well of indifference.
Nicci wanted to get to the bread shop. She had been told they might have butter today. She wanted to get butter for Richard's bread. He would be home for dinnerhe had promised. She wanted to make him a good meal. He needed to eat. He had lost some weight, though it only added distracting definition to his muscular build. He was like a statue in the flesh-like the statues she used to see, long ago.
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He seemed almost like a man who had accepted his imminent execution.
Nicci was slowed to a halt by the clink-clink-clink of pebbles rattling in a cup. The sound was the unmistakable rattle of her chains. She had been a servant to need her whole life, and as much as she tried, there it was, the cup of some poor beggar, still rattling for her help.
Tears filled her eyes. She had so wanted to serve Richard butter with his bread. But she had only one silver penny, and this beggar had nothing. She at least had some bread and some sunflower seeds. How could she want butter for Richard's bread and cakes, when this man had nothing?
Nicci could almost see her mother slowly shaking her head in bitter disappointment that the penny was still in Nicci's fist, and not helping the man in need.
Nicci turned slowly and dropped her silver penny in the beggar's cup.
She looked at him, then, and recoiled at the sight of the hideous man swathed in filthy rags. She pulled back more when she saw lice hopping through his thatch of greasy hair. He peered out at her through a slit in the rags draped around his face.
The man's grimy fingers, like a claw, curled around her arm. "Nicci," he hissed in startled triumph, drawing her close.
"Kadar Kardeef."
She said nothing else, but her eyes must have said that she thought he was dead; for he answered her unspoken question.
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"Oh, I wanted to die. I never knew a person could have that much pain and still live. As much as I wanted to die, I lived, because I want you to die even more. You did this to me. I want the Keeper to sink his fangs into your soul."
"No, not for that. For making me beg, where my men could hear it. For allowing other people to hear me beg for my life. It was for that reason they saved me-and their hatred of you. It is for that that I seek revenge-for not allowing me to die, for condemning me to this life of a freak where passing women toss pennies in my cup."
He released her arm as if it had burned his fingers. His imagination gave her powers she didn't have.
"Kill me, then, you filthy witch. Strike me dead."
He wisely backed away. He wanted to die, yet he feared it.
Kadar Kardeef laughed. "You'd have liked that, wouldn't you? To see me living off the scraps of Jagang's table? You would love to sit at his side, the Slave Queen, and have him see me fallen to this, to watch as you two tossed me your crumbs."
He snatched her wrist again. "I died a hero to Jagang. I would not want him to know I begged like any of the weak fools we have crushed beneath our boots."
"Kill me, then, Nicci." He opened his arms. "Finish it, like you should have. You never left a job incomplete before. Strike me dead, like I should have been long ago."
"Was I that repulsive to you, Nicci? Was I that cruel to you?"
Nicci turned and rushed off down the alleyway.
Nicci wanted only to go-home and scrub the lice out of her hair. She could feel them burrowing into her scalp.
CHAPTER 64
Yet, when he saw the luster of the stone, the character of the high polish, the way the marble glowed, taking light deep into the stone and returning it, he felt only exhilaration.
lines of the toothed chisels used in opposing directions to shear off thin layers of stone were still evident on the lower calves, where the legs emerged he wanted the statue to bear testimony to the hand of man and the figures' origin in stone.
The curved section of the sundial had been placed by Victor and his men several days before, when Richard had been working down at his job at the site of the emperor's palace. They had left the tarp over the statue as they worked. After the ring had been set, Richard had placed the pole that served as the gnomon, and finished the hand holding it. The base of the pole was fixed with a gold ball.
As Richard stared at the figures, only the light from the window above entered the darkened room. He had been given the day from work down at the site in order to prepare the statue to be moved to the plaza that evening. In the rooms beyond the shop door, the hammers of the blacksmiths rang ceaselessly as Victor's men worked on orders for the palace.
The figures of the man and woman seemed as if they might draw a breath at any moment and step out of the stone base. They had bone and muscle, sinew and flesh.
There was only one thing missing-one thing left to do.
When he looked up at the finished statues, there were moments when he could almost believe, as Kahlan insisted, that he used magic to carve, yet he knew better. This was a conscious act of human intellect, and nothing more.
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For this singular moment in time, it was complete, and it was his alone.
Richard went to one knee before the figures. He laid the cold steel of the chisel to his forehead and closed his eyes as he concentrated on what he had left to do.
He pulled the red cloth tied at his throat up over his nose so not to have to breathe the stone dust, then set the chisel to the marks in the fiat place he had already prepared just above the heart of the flaw. Richard brought the mallet down, and began to carve the title of the statue in the base for all to see.
Men were working all over the hillside at a variety of shops. Tradesmen from leather workers to goldsmiths contributed to a constant din of saws, grinding, and hammering. The ceaseless uproar of the labor was nerve-racking. While many of the men coming and going gave Nicci a good look-see, her glare warned them off.
Still, she felt uneasy. She didn't know why, but she felt almost as if she would be invading a sacred site. Richard hadn't invited her to see his statue. He had asked her to wait until it was done. Since it was done, she would wait no longer.
She reached the door without anyone accosting her, or even paying her any mind. She looked around in the bright, hazy midafternoon light, but saw only men attending to their work. She opened the door and slipped inside.
Once in place, her pulse pounding, she turned.
This was what was in Richard's eyes, brought into existence in glowing white marble. To see it fully realized was like being struck by lightning.
thing she had ever seen, heard, or done, seemed to come together in one flash of emotional violence. Nicci cried out in pain at the beauty of it, and more so at the beauty of what it represented.
LIFE
. . . In pure joy.
CHAPTER 65
Ishaq, knowing such business well, had brought along greased wooden runners, which were placed before the hefty wooden rails supporting the wooden platform under the statue so that the teams of horses could more easily pull the heavy load across the ground. After the statue was dragged onto the second set of greased runners, the men brought the ones left behind to the front, leapfrogging the statue as it was moved along.
Ishaq waved his red hat in his fist, yelling orders, warnings, and prayers as they had moved along. Richard knew that his statue could be in no better hands. The men who helped seemed to pick up Ishaq's nervous tension. They sensed this was something important, and, though the work was difficult, they seemed more pleased to be a part of it than they were about their everyday labor at the site. It took until late afternoon to move the statue the distance from the shop to the foot of the steps leading up to the plaza.
Richard could hardly stand to watch. If anything went wrong, all his work would tumble back and shatter. The flaw would destroy it all. He smiled to himself, realizing how silly it was to worry that the evidence of his crime against the Order might be ruined.
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Ishaq stood beside Richard when it was over, mopping his brow with his red hat. The entire statue and sundial was shrouded in its white linen cover, with line securing it, so Ishaq couldn't see what it was. Still, he sensed something of importance stood before him.
Richard knew what he meant. "I guess I'm not sure. Brother Narev is to dedicate the palace to the Creator tomorrow, before all the officials who have traveled to see how the money they've looted from the people is being spent. I guess that tomorrow the officials, along with everyone who comes to the ceremony, are to see the statue along with the rest of the palace. It's just another display of the Order's view of man's place-I don't think they intend any unveiling or anything like that."
To that end, it was also important to inspire the officials: the minions of the Order's tyranny. Richard imagined that with scenes of man's depravity carved into thousands of feet of stone wall, the flock of far-flung officials of the Order were going to be given guided tours, by the brothers, of all mankind's failings, and thus coerced into their duty of turning over money they had already confiscated at the point of a blade-a blade they wielded under the moral sanction of the brothers through the Fellowship of Order. Such petty officials were allowed a slice for their service to the Order, but the brothers no doubt wanted to forcefully dissuade them from any grander notions.
That was why Richard had known he couldn't lead: he could not bludgeon people into understanding that bludgeoning was wrong because their lives were of great value, whereas the Order could have them bludgeoned into obedience by first making people believe that their lives were of no value. Free people were not ruled. Freedom had first to be valued before its existence could be demanded.
Richard looked around at the site as the workers trudged back to their regular jobs.
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That meant the brothers would all be busy-too busy to come out to the site for the trivial task of checking a statue one of their slaves had carved. In the scheme of things, Richard's statue was insignificant. It was only the starting point of the stately tour of the miles of walls displaying extensive scenes depicting the grand cause of the Order, as dictated by the brothers, under Narev's leadership.
Guards kept people at a respectful distance, and out of the labyrinth of rooms and hallways inside, now enclosed by upper floors, and in some places, roofs. Now that the statue was set in place, those guards moved in to clear the plaza entrance.
Victor appeared out of the long shadows. Some workers were leaving, but others would still be at it for several more hours. Richard hadn't even realized that it had taken the better part of the day to move the statue. With the heat of the work over, his sweat-soaked shirt felt like ice against his flesh.
Richard thanked his friend before devouring the lardo. His head was pounding. He had done all he could do to show people what they needed to see. With the work done, though, Richard felt suddenly lost. He realized only then how much he hated having finished, to be without the noble work. It had been his reason to go on.
Ishaq clapped Richard on the back. "Come, you can ride in the back. I'm sure Jori would not mind. At least he can save you part of your walk. I must stay here and see to the teams and wagons."
"Tomorrow, then," Victor said with his sly laugh. "I don't think I will sleep tonight," he called after Richard.
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Only then could she face him.
Twining her fingers together, she wondered how to proceed-what should be first. Then it came to her. She had gone to him before. He had helped Richard. He was Richard's friend. Nicci rushed across the sprawling site of the palace and up the hill.
"Mr. Cascella! I need you."
"No. Nothing like that." She grabbed his meaty hand and tugged at him. It was like tugging on a boulder. "Please. Come with me. It's important."
She yanked again on his hand. She felt tears stinging her eyes. "Please! This is important!"
Nicci felt a little foolish pulling the burly blacksmith along by the hand as she raced down the hill. He asked where they were going, but she didn't answer. She wanted to get down there before the light was gone.
"Nicci! What is it? You look a frightful-"
Victor's scowl grew. "It will be unveiled tomorrow when Richard-"
They both fell silent. Ishaq leaned close as he gestured covertly.
"I can." Nicci angrily wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her voice regained the quality of grave authority she had wielded so often, that dark intonation that had passed judgment on countless lives, and sent people to their death. "Wait here."
Nicci straightened her back. She lifted her chin. She was a Sister of the Dark.
She was Death's Mistress.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed.
"What are we doing here?" one asked. "We're guarding the emperor's palace, that's what we're doing-"
"Well . . . I don't think I-"
All dozen men straightened. She saw their eyes take in the black dress again, then her long blond hair, her blue eyes. By their reaction to what they saw, it was obvious to Nicci that her reputation preceded her. Before they could say another word, she spoke again.
"The emperor. . ." several mumbled together in shock.
The guards' eyes widened. "But . . . no one told us. Where is he coming in? We haven't been informed-"
All the men bowed urgently.
"He's arriving from the north."
Nicci planted her fists on her hips. "Do you suppose His Excellency is going to announce his route beforehand? And to the likes of you? If only one road was guarded, then any assassin would know where to expect the emperor, now wouldn't they? All the roads are to be guarded! And here you stand, instead!"
Nicci gritted her teeth and leaned toward the sergeant. "Get your men out to one of the north roads. Now. That is you duty. All the roads are to be guarded. Pick one!"
As they vanished out of the plaza, Nicci turned to the two startled men. They climbed the stairs, now unhindered by guards. Some of the people treading the cobblestone paths, come to look at the carvings on the walls, had heard yelling and turned to watch what she was doing. Women on their knees, praying up at the carvings in stone of the Light shining down on depraved people, looked over their shoulders.
Both men stopped in their tracks.