The door opened. "Pull your skirt down, woman. Time's up."

"Civil infraction!" she called to him. "Don't forget!"

"I won't forget."

431

Nicci paced as Ishaq bent over the trapdoor in the corner of the room. He had been at it a long time. He had pushed the wardrobe aside to get at the secret place in the floor. Occasionally he muttered under his breath, cursing himself for having made it so difficult to get into.

Nicci hoped that the meager money Richard could have managed to save would be enough to satisfy Protector Muksin. In her head, she was going through a list of people who had offered money to help Richard.

He hurriedly placed the leather purse in her hand. The weight shocked her. The purse filled her palm. It didn't make sense. She realized Richard must have put some metal items in with his savings-that would account for the weight. She pulled open the top and dumped the contents in her palm.

"Dear Creator..." she whispered, her eyes wide. "Where would Richard get all this money?"

"Where would Richard get all this money?"

She felt her frown darkening. "Earned it? How? No one man could earn this much money-not honestly, anyway." She felt her anger building. "Richard stole this gold, didn't he?"

She gritted her teeth. "How did he get this money?"

"Things? What kind of things? Contraband?"

"Nonsense. How would he move it? Carry it on his back?"

:.A wagon!.,

432

Nicci seized the man's collar at his throat. "Take me to this blacksmith."

At that moment, she was not sorry at all for what they were doing to him in the prison. He deserved it all, and more. He was a criminal, cheating honest hardworking people out of gold. She burned with humiliation, knowing she had been deceived by him.

The walls were already up over the openings for the windows on the first floor. In some sections, beams were being laid, spanning the interior walls, to support the next story.

"Why are those poles there?" she asked Ishaq as they marched along the wide cobbled path where people stood and watched the construction, while others knelt and prayed at various horrific scenes depicted on the walls.

Nicci's gaze passed among the rotting corpses hanging at the tops of the poles. "Why would the carvers take part in the revolt? They have work." More than that, they were working on the scenes of the glory of the Order. They, of all people, should have known how their only hope of reward in the next world required suffering in this.

Nicci didn't correct the man. All men were corrupt. There wasn't a man who could not be put to death without it being justified. That included Richard.

433

The blacksmith's shop, up on the side of a hill overlooking the colossal undertaking, was the largest she had ever seen. With a project of this scale, it was understandable. She stood outside while Ishaq hurried in to fetch the blacksmith for her.

Instead, a brawny man stepped out of the shadows into the daylight. He wore no smile, but a menacing glare. At first, she thought he was bald. Then she saw that his full head of hair was simply cropped close to his scalp. Some of her father's men who worked with hot iron did the same. His scowl would have set any other woman back three paces.

"Mrs. Cypher?"

"That's right. I'm Richard's wife."

"Richard has been taken into custody."

"Apparently, for the most base of crimes: cheating people."

"I'm afraid not. He is guilty. I have the evidence."

Ishaq swooped in close, unable to contain himself any longer. "Richard's money. The money he made."

The blacksmith's scowl had returned. "Stole? Who do you think he stole this money from? Who are his accusers? Where are his victims?"

"Me?..

The blacksmith tossed his towel aside and planted his fists on his hips. "Richard

"He cheated you."

"I couldn't! The committee only gives me permission to bring what I bring. I

would be buried in the sky myself if I bring more than I have permission to bring. Everybody at the transport company watches me. They report me to the workers' group if I spit wrong."

The blacksmith frowned at her as if she were daft.

"I charge what the committee on fair pricing tells me! I have no say!"

"No, it's smart. You see, the foundries produce more than they can sell, because they can't get it moved. Their furnaces have to be heated whether they make one ton or ten. They need to make enough iron to make the heat worth it, to pay their workers, and to keep their furnaces going. If they don't buy enough ore, the mines close and then the foundry can't get any ore at all. They can't exist if they can't get raw materials. But the Order won't let Ishaq, and those like him, move as much as the foundries need moved. The Order takes weeks to decide on the simplest request. They consider every imaginable person who they fancy might conceivably be hurt if Ishaq were to move the load. The foundries were desperate. They offered to sell their extra to Richard at less money-"

"No, because Richard takes it, they sell more, so it costs them less to make. They make more money than they would have otherwise. Richard sells it to me for less than I have to pay from the regular transport companies, because he buys it for less."

"What?" Ishaq protested. "I can't get enough people to work, and I can't get enough permits to haul the goods people need. Richard puts no one out of work-he helps create more business for everybody. The foundries he hauls for have each hired more men since they are able to sell through Richard."

"But, you just don't see it," Nicci insisted as she raked back her hair. "He's pulled the wool over your eyes. He's cheating you-milking you dry. You're getting poor because Richard-"

"Richard has made us all rich by doing something that is desperately needed, and doing it better than others can do it. He has kept us all working. Not the Order and their committees, boards, and groupsRichard.

435

"Why, even Brother Narev told Richard to do what needed doing to get me the iron I needed. Richard told him he would. The palace wouldn't be this far along if not for Richard keeping everyone going with what he gets for us, when we need it.

Nicci couldn't make it work in her head. It had to be true; she remembered that Richard had met Brother Narev. How could someone make so much money, help the Order, and have the people he deals with still trust him?

The blacksmith shook his head as if she were a snake among them. " `Profit' is a dirty word only to the leeches of the world. They want it seen as evil, so they can more easily snatch what they did not earn."

"What I want to know, Mrs. Cypher, is why Richard is in some stinking prison being tortured to give a confession, while his wife is standing here acting a fool over him earning money and making us all happy and rich in the process?"

"Until I met you, I never thought Richard ever made a mistake." The man pulled his leather apron off over his head and heaved it at the wall of his shop. "With that kind of money, we can bargain him out sooner. I hope it's soon enough. Ishaq, are you with me?"

"Give me the money," the blacksmith commanded.

"Please, if you can help, I'd be indebted to you."

"Nicci. My a is Nicci."

--]--- Mr. Cascella tossed four gold coins on the table in front of People's Protector Muksin. He had told Nicci and Ishaq that he wanted to hold something in reserve so they could "pump the bellows" if they "needed more heat."

"Richard Cypher. You have him. We're here to pay the fine."

Protector Muksin blinked at the coins like a fat carp that was too full to eat a worm.

"I work out at the new palace," Mr. Cascella said. "Brother Narev keeps me busy. I'm here now, so couldn't we just take care of this matter while we're all here? It would make Brother Narev happy if his head blacksmith didn't have to come all the way over here again tomorrow, when I'm here now."

"I would not wish to inconvenience Brother Narev."

"However, Brother Narev would not want me to overlook my duty to the people."

"Who are you?" the Protector asked Nicci.

He nodded. "I see so many."

The blacksmith slid four more gold marks across the table. The Protector's dark eyes looked unimpressed.

Nicci suspected that the great need was in his pocket, and that he was holding out for more. As if to answer the charge, Protector Muksin slid the eight gold coins-a fortune by any standard of measure-back across the table.

Nicci was surprised that she had been wrong about the man. He was indeed an honest official. This changed the nature of the whole business. Her hopes brightened. Perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult to get Richard released, after all.

"But you make a mistake," the Protector added, "if you think money can buy this man's release. The Order is not concerned with the life of one man, for no man's life is of any real importance. I'm inclined to tell you to keep your money-until we can look into why anyone would have such a large sum. I think this man must be disruptive to civil order if he stirs up this much support. No one man is any better than another. That he can bring so much money to bribe him out of his just punishment proves my suspicion that he has something to confess."

His chair creaked as he leaned back to peer up at them. "It appears you three would think otherwisethink that he is better than any other man."

"The Order is your friend. Those in need are your concern. You have no business caring for one man over another. Such unseemly behaviour is blasphemy."

"If he had a skill, then it might be different. There is great need for contributions to the Order by those with ability. There are many who hold back when they should be doing their best to contribute. It is the duty of those with ability to-"

"But he does have a skill," she blurted out.

Nicci stepped closer. "He is the greatest-"

Mr. Cascella's fists tightened. He started to lean in. If he argued, now, it would render the matter irredeemable. Nicci gave him a stealthy kick with the side of her foot, hoping to convince him to be quiet and let her do the talking before it was too late. Nicci bowed her head as she retreated a step, forcing the blacksmith aside without making it look obvious.

Startled, the Protector said nothing. Nicci had traded in such words for over a hundred years, and knew their value. She had given the man, but a petty official, a standing in the core of the Order-in the fellowship itself-that he could never attain. This sort of man would aspire to wear the mantle of social merit. To a man like this, to be thought to hold such intellectual status was as good as earning it; perception was reality to such men. The perception was what counted, not the actual accomplishment.

Nicci bowed her head again. "Richard Cypher is an undistinguished stone carver, Protector Muksin."

"A stone carver?" the Protector asked, lingering in thought over the words.

The blacksmith quickly recovered and added to her words. "As you may know, many of the carvers at the Retreat were traitors-thank the Creator they were discovered-and so there is much carving to be done for the glory of the Order. Brother Narev can confirm this for you, Protector Muksin."

The Protector's dark eyes shifted among the three. "How much money do you have?"

He scowled his condemnation as he pulled a ledger book close and dipped his pen in a chipped ink bottle. The Protector bent forward and wrote the fine in his book. He next wrote an order on a piece of paper and handed it up to the blacksmith.

Richard deserved it most, Nicci thought bitterly. He had earned it, not those other men. Nicci thought about all the nights he'd worked without sleep, without food. She remembered him wincing as he lay down to sleep, his bask aching from his labor. Richard had earned that money-she knew that, now. Those men who would get it had done nothing for it but to desire it, thus proclaiming their right to it.

Mr. Cascella let out a quiet sigh. Nicci leaned confidentially toward the Protector.

He wheezed an annoyed sigh. "What is it you want?"

Nicci knew that he was thinking that men were more likely to be welcomed into the fellowship when they helped collect great sums for those in need. The matter of the name would only be a gnat bothering his pleasant thoughts. He pulled some papers close and scanned through them, flipping them aside as he searched.

Nicci straightened. "Thank you, Protector Muksin."

The Protector wrote out his sentence for a civil crime as he spoke. "Take the order of fine I gave you to the workers' group at the docks and return here when you have seals to prove that his fine of twenty-two gold marks was paid in full.

--]--- The sun was setting by the time they returned with all the papers and seals. The blacksmith was impressed with the way she had handled the official when the offer

of gold failed to work. Ishaq thanked her a hundred times. It only mattered to her that Richard would be freed.

Better yet, they had done it; she was to have him back.

The guards released Richard with a shove. He stumbled forward. The blacksmith and Ishaq raced to the steps to help him.

He did not yet know what she had done to him.

Nicci was sure that this was the one thing, at last, that would force out the answer she sought, if there really was an answer to be found.

CHAPTER 57

"Don't I know you?" The voice was like stone grating on stone.

"Yes, Brother Narev. I was a laborer hauling iron, at the time. I was bringing a load to the blacksmith one day when I was honored to meet you."

"A laborer, and now a carver?"

"Joyful." Neal, the shadow of the shadow, stepped forward. "You are joyful to carve, are you?"

Richard was joyful that Kahlan was alive. He didn't think about the rest of it. He was a prisoner, and what he had to do to keep Kahlan alive, he would do; that was all there was to it. What was, was.

Brother Narev believed his own words with grim conviction: mankind was evil; only through selfless sacrifice to your fellow man had you any hope to redeem yourself in the afterlife. There was no joy in his faith, simply a ruthless duty to it.

Richard had more than once overheard Neal proclaim with conviction that if he had to order the tongues cut out of a million innocent men, it would be better than

to allow one man to blaspheme against the self-evident, righteous nature of the Order's ways.

Nothing stirred him to anger quicker than the whiff of argument or contradiction, no matter how reasoned. In the heat of his passion, Neal was perfectly willing to destroy any dissension, torture any opposition, kill any number, who failed to bow before the pedestal upon which stood his irrefutably noble ideals.

The other disciples, all, like Neal, wearing hooded brown robes, were an incongruous collection of the cruel, the pompously idealistic, the bitterly greedy, the resentful, the spiteful, the timid, and, most of all, the dangerously deluded. All shared an underlying, caustic, inner loathing for mankind which manifested itself in a conviction that anything pleasurable for the people could only be evil and accordingly only sacrifice could be good.

Neal was alone in that he believed in the divinity of his own words, in addition to Brother Narev's. Every leader had to have a successor. Richard was pretty sure Neal had already decided who would best serve as the next incarnation of the Order.

Richard gestured to the Light he had carved so as to shine down on the wretched men. "This, Brother Narev, is what makes me joyful-being able to show men cowering before the perfection of the Creator's Light. It makes me joyful to show mankind's wickedness for all to see, for in this way they will know their duty to the Order above all else."

"I approve . . . I forgot your name. But then, names are not important. Men are not important. Individually, each man is but a meaningless cog in the great wheel of mankind. How that wheel turns is all that matters, not the cogs."

442

"Yes . . . Richard Cypher. Well, I approve of your carving, Richard Cypher. You seem to understand better than most how man is properly depicted."

The suspicious look was back, but Richard's expression made Brother Narev finally believe the words. Brother Narev, his hands clasped behind his back, glided away to see to other matters. Neal, like a child sticking close to his mother's skirts, scurried to stay close to Brother Narev's robes. He cast a scowl back over his shoulder. Richard almost expected to see Neal stick out his tongue.

Richard went back to chiseling a thick, unbending limb. At least, now, his own limbs worked again. It had been a while, but he was healed. This, though, seemed no less a torture.

Richard could see in the faces of many who came that they had come with some kind of vague, undefinable hope, hungering for some essential answer to a question they could not formulate. The emptiness in their eyes as they left was heartbreaking. They were people being drained of life no less than those bled to death in the dungeons of the Order.

In the two months Richard had worked at carving for the Retreat, he had come to understand the nuance of carving in stone. What he carved was dispiriting, but the act of carving itself helped to make up for it. Richard reveled in the technical aspects of applying steel to stone, guided by intent.

After he accomplished such grace, he would deface it to suit the Order. More often than not, that was when people wept.

443

When the shadows lengthened to dusk and the day was finished, the carvers started putting away their tools into simple wooden boxes before going home for the night. They all would return not long after first light. The master builder provided them with orders for areas and shapes to be covered with carving so they could shape the stones to the correct size. Brother Narev's disciples came by to provide the details of the stories to be told in stone.

It was to be an entrance which set the tone for the entire palace. In the center of the plaza Brother Neal had told Richard that Brother Narev's vision was that there would be the statue dominating the entrance to the palace, and it was to be a work which would strike down any observer with an overpowering sense of their own guilt and shame at mankind's evil nature. The statue, in its horror, was a call to selfless sacrifice, and was to be built into the form of a sundial, showing people cowering under the Light of their Creator.

Richard was the last to leave the site. As he often did, he headed up the hill, along the winding road, to the workshops. Victor was in his shop, banking his coals for the night. With autumn upon them, the days weren't insufferably hot, so the forge wasn't the miserable place it had been in high summer. Winter this far south in the Old World was never harsh, but the forge in winter would be a good place to banish the chill that would come on cold rainy days.

Richard gave his friend a smile and said, "I'd like that."

Richard's fingers, dusty from his work carving stone, reached out to feel the white Cavatura marble. It was slightly different from the stone he carved down at the site. He had the experience, now, to discern the subtle difference. The grain was finer in Victor's stone, harder; it would better take and hold detail.

When he looked up, Victor was standing nearby, smiling wistfully, watching Richard and the stone.

Richard chuckled in answer.

In the failing light, they sat on the threshold, eating thin slices of the heavy delicacy, savoring the cool air coming up the hill.

444

"I never recalled you mentioning your wife. I never knew about her, until she came to me that day. For some reason, I always believed you had a good woman . . . ."

Richard shrugged.

"I don't think you're a terrible person, Victor. Everybody should have the right to think for themselves."

Richard sighed. "Victor, I'm tired. I'd really rather not talk about my wife. Besides, there's nothing-to say. She's my wife. What is, is."

"Yes, I suppose so."

Richard didn't say anything.

"So, she told them that I could carve-to save my life."

Victor waited for more, and finally sighed in resignation when it wasn't forthcoming.

"Good. They work well. I could use a clawed chisel with finer teeth, though."

"What about the steel?"

Richard smiled at the memory of the nervous fellow. "I'm glad Ishaq is buying his charcoal."

There were those who loved liberty, who cried out to live their own lives, to strive, to rise above, to achieve, and those bent on the mindless equality of stagnation brought about through the enforcement of an artificial, arbitrary, gray uniformitythose who wanted to transcend through their own effort, and those who wanted others to think for them and were willing to pay the ultimate price for it.

Kamil and Nabbi both stood and grinned when Richard climbed the steps.

Richard smiled and put an arm around Kamil's shoulders. "Sure. Let's see what you've done today."

"Well, Kamil, it looks pretty good. Yours, too, Nabbi."

"Really, Richard?" Nabbi asked. "You think Kamil and I could be carvers?"

Kamil folded his arms as he frowned in concentration at the face he'd carved. "I don't know."

Ill at ease, Nabbi shrugged. "It doesn't look like a real face. But I can't tell why."

"Well, I think your eyes are a different shape," Kamil said.

"Very good." Richard smoothed some of the dirt where the carrots had been pulled up, and then molded the moist dirt into a mound. He used his finger and thumb to shape a simple face. "See here? By putting the eyes closer, like this, it looks more like a real person."

"I see," Kamil said. "I'll start a new one, and do it better."

"Maybe one day we can be carvers, too," Nabbi said.

Nicci had dinner on the table, waiting for him. A bowl of soup sat next to the glowing lamp. The rest of the room was left to the evening gloom. Nicci, too, sat at the table waiting.

He splashed the soapy water on his face, rinsing off the stone dust.

Nicci rubbed her thumb on the base of the lamp.

Richard wiped his hands. "What choice have I? I can either stand it, or I can end it all. What choice is that? Are you asking me if I am ready to commit suicide, yet?"

He tossed the towel down beside the basin. "Besides, how can I not be grateful for a job you got for me?"

446

"I had no choice, Richard. They would only release you if you had a skill. I had to tell them."

All the effort of the day, moving heavy stone blocks, lifting the hammer countless times, had sapped his strength. His hands tingled with the effect of all those ringing blows. Now, he had begun yet again the battle with Nicci. He sat down, on his pallet as exhaustion took him.

This was a dance with death.

"I want to know something, Nicci."

"Can you tell if Kahlan is alive?"

"And is she still alive, then?"

Richard stared at Nicci for a time. Finally, he withdrew his gaze and lay down in his prison bed. He rolled away from Nicci's gaze, from the dance.

"I'm not hungry."

447

Richard could feel Neal's breath on the back of his neck. The young disciple watched over Richard's shoulder as he tap-tap-tapped the back of the chisel, carving the gaping mouth of a sinner crying out in agony as his body was being torn apart by the Keeper of the Underworld.

Richard rested the wrist of his chisel hand against the stone to help push himself upright. "Thank you, Brother Neal."

"You know, Richard, I don't like you."

"You always have an answer, don't you, Richard?" The young wizard smiled then as he reached under his hood and scratched his closely cropped brown hair. "Do you know why you have this job?"

"No, no," Neal interrupted as he suddenly grew impatient. "I mean do you know why the position was open? Do you know why we needed carvers, enabling you to gain this great opportunity at employment?"

"No, Brother Neal. I was a laborer, at the time."

"Then they must have been traitors to our cause. I'm happy the Order caught them."

"I wouldn't know, Brother Neal. I only know I am able to carve, and I am grateful for the opportunity to do my duty to help my fellow man by contributing my efforts."

"I thought some among them might be deriding the Order with their work. I thought they might be using their carving to mock and ridicule our noble cause."

"That is why you are nobody, and never will be anybody. You are a nothing. Just like all those carvers."

448

The smile was gone, replaced by a fiery scowl. "I ordered them put to deathafter I had confessions tortured out of each one of them."

"1 am grateful, Brother Neal, that you uncovered the traitors in our midst."

"Come with me," the brother commanded in a grave tone as he marched away.

It wouldn't be long before oak floors were laid over some of the rooms below, enclosing them. The roof had to be completed over those sections, first, though, lest rain ruin the flooring. Some of the outer rooms were to have roofs lower than the main section, which was to rise up to a towering height. Richard expected to see those lower rooms capped with slate and lead roofs before the winter rains.

The floor of the plaza was gray-veined white Cavatura marble. The sun on the marble made the plaza, half encircled by the soaring columns, glow with glorious light. The decrepit people in the stone ringing the plaza seemed to be screaming in pain at that light-which was just the effect Brother Narev had wanted.

Richard said nothing. Neal watched him for a moment, then stood in the center and threw his arms up toward the sunlight.

Richard thought that if madness had a champion, it was the Order, and people who thought like them.

Neal's arms swept back down, a conductor concluding a triumphant performance. "You, Richard Cypher, are to carve this statue."

Neal waggled a finger held close to his nose as he grinned with fiendish delight. "I don't think you understand, Richard." He thrust up a commanding hand. "Wait. Wait right there."

It was a small statue. He set it down, where the radiating lines of the marble floor converged at a point in the middle of the plaza. It was a plaster statue of what Brother Neal had just revealed to Richard. If anything, it was even more gruesome than Neal had described it. Richard ached to smash it with his hammer, right on the spot. It would almost be worth dying to destroy such a vile thing.

"This is it," Neal said. "Brother Narev had a master carver do up the model of the sundial to his instructions. Brother Narev's vision is truly remarkable. It's perfect, don't you think?"

"And you are to carve it. Just scale this model up into a great statue in white marble."

The finger waggled again with great delight. "No, no, you don't yet really understand, Richard." He was grinning like a washwoman standing at a fence with basket full of dirty gossip. "You see, I did some checking on you. Brother Narev and I never trusted you, Richard Cypher. No, we never did. Now, we know all about you. I found out your secret."

"You see, I talked to People's Protector Muksin."

Neal displayed a triumphant grin. "The man who sentenced you to work as a carver. He knew your name. He showed me the disposition of the case. You confessed to a civil infraction. He showed me the finetwenty-two gold marks. Quite a sum." Neal waggled the finger again. "That was a miscarriage of justice, Richard, and you know it. No man can get. a fortune like that through a mere civil infraction. Such a gain can only be ill-gotten."

"No," Neal said, "you had to have done something much more serious to have collected a fortune of twenty-two gold marks. You are obviously guilty of a very serious crime."

"Does Brother Narev approve of your showing mercy?"

450

"You mean, I am to carve, here, in the day, at my job, and I am to carve this statue for you on my own time, at night?"

"When am I to sleep?"

Richard took a calming breath. He pointed with his hammer at the thing on the ground.

"That's right. The stone will be purchased by you, and your labor will be contributed by you to the benefit of your fellow man. It will be your gift to the people of the Order in penance for your evil deeds. Men like you, with the ability, must happily contribute their all to help the Order."

"Brother Narev is eager to dedicate the palace. He wishes to hold a great ceremony, this winter, which will be attended by many dignitaries of the Order. The war is progressing; the people need to see that their palace is, too. They need to see results for their sacrifices.

"I am honored, Brother Neal."

"What if I'm not . . . up to the task?"

Brother Neal pointed down at the grotesque model.

--]--- Nicci looked up when she heard Richard's voice. He was talking to Kamil and Nabbi. She heard him say that he was tired and couldn't look at their carving, that he would look tomorrow. Nicci knew they would be disappointed. That was unlike Richard.

She wished she could make something better for him, but after their voluntary contributions were taken out, they had no money. If not for the garden the women of the building had taken to planting in the back of the house, they would be in desperate straits. Nicci had learned how to grow things so she could have food for him.

His shoulders were stooped, his eyes distant. He was carrying something in one hand.

Richard set the thing on the table, beside the oil lamp. It was a small, intricately carved statue of figures cowering in terror. They were partially surrounded by a section of a ring. A tall lightning bolt, a common symbol of retribution by the Creator, came down in the center, piercing a number of obviously evil men and women, pinning them to the ground. It was a staggering representation of the evil nature of mankind, and the Creator's anger at their wanton ways.

Richard slumped down into a chair. His face sank into his hands, his fingers stabbed back into his hair. After a time, he looked up.

"What I wanted?"

"Punishment?"

Nicci glanced down at the small thing on the table. "What is it?"

"I still don't understand. Why is it a sentence? You are a carver. That is your job."

"And why do you see this as what I wanted?"

Without thinking, Nicci reached across the table and put her hand over his. "No, Richard, that's not what I wanted."

Nicci pushed his bowl closer to him. "Eat, Richard. You need your strength."

The spark was gone from his eyes, just as it had left her father's eyes.

Nicci sat at the table, listening to the sputter of the lamp's flame, watching Richard's even breathing as he went to sleep.

There was little left for her to do. Little reason to continue the whole thing. For a moment, she felt the crushing weight of her disappointment; then even that was gone.

Empty and unfeeling, Nicci collected the bowl and spoon and carried them to the wash bucket. She worked quietly, to let him sleep, as she resigned herself to returning to Jagang.

Nicci took out the butcher knife and set it quietly on the table.

It would be for the best.

CHAPTER 59

There was time enough yet before dawn.

After she did it, she wouldn't be able to watch him anymore. He would be gone forever. With the damage the chimes had done to the worlds and their interconnection, she didn't even know if a person's soul could still go to the spirit world. She didn't even know if the underworld still existed and if Richard's spirit would go there, or if he would simply be . . . gone forever-if he and that which was his soul would simply cease to exist.

When she glanced out the window that Richard had had installed with the money he had earned, she noticed that the sky had taken on a the color of a week-old bruise.

Nicci curled her fingers around the wooden handle of the stout knife. She wanted it to be quick. She couldn't bear to think of him suffering. He had suffered enough in life, she didn't want him to suffer in death, too.

Richard abruptly rolled onto his back and then sat up. Nicci froze, still sitting in her chair. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Could she kill him when he was awake? Could she look into those eyes of his as she plunged the knife into his chest?

It was for the best.

"Nicci. What are you doing? Haven't you gone to bed?"

"Oh, well, I-there it is. I need that."

Nicci was dumbfounded. He was suddenly revived. In the lamplight, and the faint dawn coming in the windows, he had that look in his eyes. He looked . . . resolute, determined.

"Yes, all right," she said.

"Where are you-?"

Nicci pulled from the pantry some eggs she had been saving, along with an iron skillet, and hurried out back to the cooking hearth. The coals were still glowing from the cook fires of the evening before, providing a little light. She carefully fed in some small twigs and kindling, then stacked a bed of finger-thick branches on top. She simply set the iron skillet atop the wood as it caught, rather than set up the rack-eggs were quick.

As Nicci stood, using her skirt to hold the hot handle of the skillet, she was surprised to see Richard coming out from behind the broad cooking hearth.

"There are some loose bricks back here. I was just seeing to it before I went to work. I cleaned out the joints. I'll bring some mortar home and fix it later."

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Nicci gestured toward the house. "Well, last night . . . you seemed so . . . defeated."

"Well, yes, I suppose. But now . . . ?"

"And . . . ?"

"What are you talking about?"

"So you are going to carve the statue they want?"

"I have to get the model of the statue and be off to work."

He set the skillet on the table and scooped up the model. "I'll probably be home late. I have to get started on my penance for the Order, if I can. I may have to work all night."

455

--]--- Richard reached the blacksmith's shop shortly after Victor had opened up for the day's work. His men had not yet arrived. Victor wasn't surprised to see him; Richard sometimes came early and the two of them would sit and watch the sun come up over the site.

"And I you, Victor. I need to talk to you."

"That's right," Richard said, a little taken aback. "The statue. You know?"

"What did you hear?"

"From what I hear from people, from Ishaq and others, the Order credits the uprising to the drain of building such a monumental project as the Retreat in addition to waging the war. They have armies of men working for the construction-not just here, but from quarries far and wide, to mines for the gold and silver, to forests where they cut the wood. Even slaves must be fed. The purge of officials, leaders, and skilled workers after the uprising was expensive. With a dedication, I think Brother Narev wants to show people the progress, to inspire them, to involve outlying lands in the celebration, believing this will head off further troubles."

Victor opened the double doors that looked out over the Retreat. "Brother Narev told me that your statue is also to be a sundial, with the Creator's Light shining down on mankind's torment. He told me I am to oversee the making of the gnomon and dial plane for its shadow to fall upon. He said something about a lightning bolt. . ."

"Dear spirits . . ." Victor whispered. "That is grotesque."

Victor nodded. "Brother Narev said as much. He told me how big would be the metal for the dial plane. He wants bronze."

"No." With the backs of his fingers, Victor tapped Richard's arm. "Here is the

good part: few people can cast such a piece. Brother Narev ordered Priska released to do the casting."

Victor nodded. "High people must have not wanted him buried in the sky in case they needed his skills. They had him locked away in a dungeon. The Order knows they need people with ability; they released him to get this done. If he wants to remain alive, and out of the dungeon, he is to cast the bronze, at his own expense, as a gift to the people. They say it is his penance. I am to give him the specifications and see to its assembly and placement on the statue."

The blacksmith's brow slid into an unfriendly frown.

"Narev and Neal found out about my civil fine. They think I got off too lightly. They ordered that I carve their statue-much like Priska is to provide the castingas my penance. I must buy the stone myself, and I must carve it after my work at the site is finished for the day. They want it for this winter's dedication of the Retreat."

"Victor, listen to me."

"Neither will L"

"I can't."

"Victor, sell me your stone. Let me liberate the beauty inside."

"I've thought about it. I have a way. I know I can do it."

"Victor, you know me. Have I ever done anything to betray you? To harm you?"

"Victor, I need this stone. It is the best piece of marble-the way it can take in light and send it back. It has grain that can hold detail. I need the best for this statue. I swear, Victor, if you trust me with it, I will be true to your vision. I won't betray your love of this stone, I swear."

"What if you were to refuse to carve them their statue?"

457

"Maybe I would like to see beauty again before I die."

"Man's nobility-the most sublime form of beauty."

"Victor, I need you to help me. I'm not asking you to give me anything. I'm willing to pay your price. Name it."

"Ten gold marks," he said with bold confidence, knowing Richard had no money.

"Where did you get such money?"

"But they took all your money. Nicci told them how much you had, and they took it all."

Richard knew that the stone was valuable, although not worth ten gold marks, but it was to Victor, so Richard would not argue the price. He would pay whatever the man asked.

"No, Victor. I don't want to take your dream. I want to, in a way, fulfill it. I cannot accept it as a gift. I want to buy it."

"Because I will have to give it to the Order. I don't want you giving this to the Order; I will have to do that. More than that, though, they will no doubt want it destroyed. It must be mine when they do that. I want it to be paid for."

Richard counted out the ten gold marks and then closed the man's big fingers around them.

Victor grinned. "Where do you wish me to deliver it?"

Victor shrugged. "Done."

458

"I also need rasps, in a variety of shapes. And files, too. Straight, curved-a wide selection-the finest smoothing files. I need you to get me pumice stones, the fine white close-grained pumice--ground to the same shapes to match the rasps and files, and a good supply of powdered pumice, too."

"You intend to do flesh in stone?"

"You know how?"

"I've seen it done before, Victor. I've carved before. I've learned how to do it. I've thought about it for months. Ever since I started carving for them, this purpose has kept my mind alive. I've used my work for the Order to practice what I've seen, what I've learned, and what I've thought of on my own. Even before, when they questioned me . . . I thought about this stone, about the statue I know is in it, to keep my mind from what they did to me."

Richard nodded. "I can do it, Victor." He lifted a fist in firm conviction. "Flesh in stone. I only need the proper tools."

Richard clasped forearms with Victor to seal their agreement.

Victor laughed his deep belly laugh. "I must feed you lardo so you may have the strength to carve this noble stone?"

"What is it then?" Victor asked. "What is the favor?"

"No one is to see it until it is done. That includes you. I would like to have a canvas tarp, so I can cover it. I would ask that you not look at it until it is done."

"Because I need it to be mine alone while I carve it. I need solitude with it as I shape it. When I'm finished, then the world can have it, but when I work on it, it is to be my vision and mine alone. I wish no one to see it before it is finished.

Victor shrugged. "If that is your wish, then it shall be so. I will tell the men that the back room is rented, and it is off-limits. I will put a lock on the inner door. I will put a chain on the outer double doors, here, and give you the key."

459

"I need the heavy point to rough it out, first. Can you have it done by tonight? I need to get started. There isn't much time."

"Thank you, Victor."

Victor scratched his head and turned more serious. "Richard, they will want to see your work, won't they? They will want to see how you are doing on their statue."

"But what if a Brother does come, wanting to see it?"

460

Richard touched the length of the point chisel to his forehead, as he had so often touched the Sword of Truth there in much the same way. This was no less a battle. This was life and death.

The chisel had eight sides, so as to provide grip in a sweaty hand. Victor had given it a proper heavy blunt point. He had also put his initials-V C-in small letters on one of the facets, proclaiming the pride of its maker.

Finer points would cause shallower fractures, but remove less material. Even with the finest point punches, Richard knew that he could only approach to within the last half finger of the final layer. The network of spidery cracks left by a point were fractures in the crystalline structure of the marble itself. So damaged, the stone lost its translucence and its ability to take a high polish.

After the heavy point removed much of the waste, then finer-point chisels would allow Richard to get closer, refining the shape. Once he was within as close as a half finger of the final layer, he would turn to the clawed chisels, simply chisels with notches in their edge, to shear away the stone without fracturing the underlying structure of the marble. The coarse claws took off the most stone, leaving rough gouges. He would use chisels with a series of finer and finer teeth to refine the work. Finally, he would use smooth-bladed chisels, some only half as wide as his little finger.

On this statue, Richard would really only begin where the carvings for the Order ended. He would use rasps to define bone, muscle, even veins in the arms. Fine files would remove the marks left by the rasps and refine the most subtle contours. The pumice stones would remove the filing marks, leaving the surface ready to polish with pumice paste held in leather, cloth, and finally straw.

Holding the heavy point chisel to his palm with his thumb, Richard put his hand

to the stone, feeling its cool surface. He knew what was inside-inside not only the stone, but inside himself.

As he so often did, Richard thought of Kahlan. It had been nearly a year since he had looked into her green eyes, touched her cheek, held her in his arms. She would have long ago left the safety of their home for dangers he could vividly imagine. For a moment, he was overwhelmed with the weight of despair, choked by the sadness of how much he missed her, humbled at how much he loved her. Now he knew he must dismiss her from his mind so that he could devote himself entirely to the task he had to do.

Then he set the point at ninety degrees to the face of the stone, and took a powerful swing with the steel club. Stone chips exploded away.

With great violence, Richard attacked the stone.

His ears rang with the sound of steel on steel and steel on stone. It was music. Jagged chips and chunks fell away. They were the fallen enemy. The air boiled with the white dust of battle.

Dust billowed up around him until his dark clothes were white, as if the stone were absorbing him, as he was transforming with it, until they were one. Sharp shards nicked him as they shot away. His bare arms, white as the marble itself, were soon streaked here and there with blood from the battle.

For the first time in nearly a year, Richard felt free. In this, he was in complete control. No one watched him. No one told him what he must do.

What he intended would stand in unyielding opposition to everything the Order represented. He intended to show them life.

Stone chips burst forth with each blow, taking him closer to his goal. He had to stand on a work stool to reach the top of the marble, moving it around the monolith to work all sides, narrowing it down to what would be.

462

Richard would have Victor make him a set of drill bits for a bow drill. With a bow's cord run around the shaft of the drill, it could be twisted and driven through the marble. Richard had thought long and hard about the problem of the flaw. He had resolved to cut out most of it. First, to stop any further cracks from running through more of the stone, he would drill holes through the crack to relieve the stress. With another series of closely spaced holes, he would weaken the stone in a waste area around the flaw and simply remove most of it.

Richard considered it a fortunate flaw, first of all because it had reduced the value of the stone, enabling Victor to purchase it in the first place. To Richard's mind, though, the flaw had been valuable because it had caused him to think about the stone, and how to carve it. That thought had brought him to his design. Without the flaw, he might not have come to the same design.

Several more times he had to open the doors and shovel out the scrap. It was invigorating to see what was once an irregular shaped block, becoming a rough shape. The figures were still completely encased, their arms far from being free, their legs not separate, yet, but they were beginning to emerge. He would have to be careful, drilling holes in the open areas to prevent breaking off the arms.

He stood back and appraised the statue that was now more or less roughly a cone shape. Now, there were only lumps where the arms would extend out from the bodies. He wanted the arms to be free, the bodies to convey grace and movement. Life. What he carved for the Order was never free, always tightly bound to the stone, forever stiff, unable to move, like cadavers.

When he threw open the door, the white dust billowed out. Victor was sitting among the rubble of his stone monolith.

"I guess I have."

463

Victor laughed his belly laugh. "Your face says it all. You must be tired and hungry. Come, sit and rest-have some lardo."

Nicci had seen precious little of Richard in the weeks since he took on the duty of carving the statue for Brother Narev. She couldn't imagine how Richard could endure carving a statue she knew had to be agony for him-not so much because of its size, but because of its nature.

Richard seemed driven. Nicci didn't know how he could do it. He sometimes came home to eat and to take a nap for an hour, and then he would go back. She would urge him to stay and sleep, but he would say that the penance had to be paid or they would put him back in prison. Nicci feared that possibility, so she didn't insist that he stay home to sleep. Losing sleep was preferable to him losing his life.

Nicci heard footsteps passing down the hallway, and the excited voices of Kamil and Nabbi asking questions. She couldn't understand Richard's words, but she easily recognized the timbre of his voice calmly giving the two the answers to their questions.

. Richard came in the door as Nicci stood at the table cutting up carrots and onions

"I came home to get something to eat. I have to go back and work on the statue."

"Is there anything more in it?"

She shook her head. "I only had enough money for the millet today."

Despite how exhausted he looked, there was some remarkable quality in his eyes, some inner passion, that made her pulse race faster. Whatever it was that she had seen in him from the first moment seemed to have only gotten stronger since that night she had almost put the knife through his heart.

She retrieved the cook pot after setting a wooden bowl on the table before him and spooned millet into his bowl until it was full. There was little left, but he needed it more than she. She had spent the morning waiting in line for the millet, and then had spent the afternoon picking all the worms out of it. Some of the women just cooked it until you couldn't tell. Nicci didn't like to feed that to Richard.

He was silent for a moment as he chewed and then swallowed. When he finally did speak, it was with a quiet quality that matched that inexplicable look in his eyes.