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through, Richard saw many carvings on buildings, and many more freestanding
in public squares, or in front of entrances. They depicted horrors: people
being whipped by a grinning Keeper of the underworld; people stabbing out
their own eyes; suffering people twisted, deformed, and crippled; people
like packs of dogs, running on all fours, attacking women and children;
people reduced to walking skeletons or covered in sores; woeful people
throwing themselves into graves. In most such scenes the pitiful people were
watched over by the Light of the all-perfect Creator represented by the
flame.
The Old World was a celebration of misery.
Along the way south, they had stopped in a number of cities when
Richard could find menial work temporary enough not to require waiting on
lists. He and Nicci went for stretches eating cabbage soup that was mostly
water. Sometimes they had rice or lentils or buckwheat mush, and, on
occasion, the luxury of salt pork. Sometimes, Richard was able to catch
fish, birds, or the odd hare. Living off the land in the Old World, though,
was difficult. A lot of other people had the same idea. They both had gotten
thinner on their long march. Richard began to understand the carvings of the
skeletal people.
Nicci had set their destination, but dictated little else, leaving most
decisions to him, complying without complaint. Week in and week out, they
walked, occasionally paying a few copper pennies to ride in wagons headed
their way. They crossed rivers straddled by cities large enough to have
numbers of stone bridges, and went through town after town. There were vast
fields of wheat, millet, sunflower, and any number of other crops, though
much of the land lay fallow. They saw flocks of sheep and herds of cattle.
Farmers sold the travelers goat cheese and milk. Ever since the gift
had awakened in him, Richard was able to eat meat only when not doing any
fighting. He thought it might be part of the requirement to balance his need
to sometimes take life. Since he wasn't doing any fighting, he could eat
meat without it making him sick. Unfortunately, they could rarely afford
meat. Cheese, which he had once loved, he could hardly stomach since his
gift had come to life in him. Unfortunately, it was often eat cheese, or
starve.
But it was the size of the Old World, and in particular its population,
that most unsettled him. Richard had naively thought that the New and the
Old Worlds must be somewhat alike. They were not. The New World was but a
flea on the back of the Old.
From time to time on their journey south, vast columns of men at arms
moved past them on their way north to the Midlands. Several times, it had
taken days for all the soldiers to march past. Whenever he saw the rank upon
rank of troops, he felt a wave of relief that Kahlan was trapped in their
mountain home. He would hate to think of her fighting in an army facing as
many men as he saw going to the war.
By spring, when she could finally get out of the mountain home, and all
those Imperial Order troops could truly begin their siege of the New World,
whatever resistance the D'Haran Empire put up would be crushed. Richard
hoped General Reibisch chose not to go up against the Order. He hated to
think of all those brave men being slaughtered under the weight of the
coming onslaught.
At one small city, Nicci had gone to a stream to wash their clothes
while Richard worked the day mucking out stalls at a large stable. A number
of officials had come to town and there were more horses than the
stablemaster could handle. Richard had been at the right place at the right
time to get the job. Not long after the officials arrived and took all the
rooms at the inns, a large unit of the Imperial Order troops marched in
behind them and set up camp at the city limits.
Fortunately, Nicci was on the other side of the city doing their
washing. Unfortunately, a squad of men passing through the city, and doing
some drinking, decided to accept volunteers. Richard kept his head down as
he carried water to the horses, but the sergeant saw him. At the wrong place
at the wrong time, Richard was "volunteered" into the Imperial Order. The
new volunteers were quartered in the center of the immense encampment.
That night, after it was dark and most of the men were asleep, Richard
unvolunteered himself. It took him until three hours before sunrise to
extract himself from his service to the Imperial Order. Nicci had gone to
the stable and found out what had happened to him. Richard found her at
their camp, pacing in the darkness. They quickly collected their things and
marched south for the rest of the night. They went cross country, since the
moon was out, rather than on the roads, in case a patrol came looking for
him. From then on, whenever Richard saw soldiers he did his best to become
invisible.
In general, though, it wasn't a serious concern. Hordes of youths,
lusting after the promise of plunder, were only too eager to join the army.
They often had to wait weeks or months to be accepted into training, so many
were the numbers joining. Richard had seen crowds of them in the cities,
playing games, gambling, drinking, fighting-young men dreaming of the glory
of killing the evil foes of the great empire of the Order. They enjoyed the
adoration of the populace when they joined the army to go off and fight the
frightful wickedness and sin that was said to infect the New World.
Richard was horrified to see the numbers of people living in the Old
World, because it meant that the Order's army already in the New World was
hardly a drain on the populace-and only the beginning. He had thought that
perhaps the Order might lose their enthusiasm for a war conducted so far
from their homeland, or that the people of the Old World would tire of the
hardship necessary to conduct such a war. He now knew that thought had been
but a feeble daydream.
It didn't take a wizard, or a prophet, to know that the armies the New
World
could raise, even given wildly optimistic conditions, had no hope
whatsoever of prevailing against the millions upon millions of soldiers
Richard had seen pouring north, to say nothing of the ones he hadn't seen
who would be taking other routes. The Midlands was doomed.
Ever since the people of Anderith chose the Order over freedom, he had
known in his heart that the New World was going to fall to the Order. He
felt no satisfaction in realizing how right he had been. Seeing the size of
the enemy, he realized that freedom was lost, and resisting the Order was
but suicide.
The course of events seemed irrevocable, the world lost to the Order.
The future for him and Kahlan seemed no less hopeless.
By far the strangest place he and Nicci had visited in their journey
southeast, a place she never spoke of afterward, had been less than a week
south of Tanimura. Richard had still been in a dismal mood thinking about
the carvings he had seen, when Nicci took an old, seldom-used track off the
main road. It led back toward the hills, to a rather small city beside a
quiet river.
Most of the businesses had been abandoned. The wind, at will, carried
dust through the broken windows of warehouses. Many of the homes had fallen
to ruin, their roofs caved in, weeds and vines doing their best to bring
down crooked walls. Only the homes on the outskirts were still occupied,
mostly by people raising animals and farming the surrounding land.
On the northern side of the city, one small store remained to sell
staples to surrounding farmers. There was also a leather shop, a
fortune-teller, and a lonely inn. In the center of town stood the bones of
buildings, long since picked clean by scavengers. Several of the buildings
still stood, but most had long ago collapsed. Richard and Nicci walked
through the center of town watched only by a fitful wind.
At the southern edge, they arrived at the remains of what had once been
a large brick building. Without a word, Nicci turned off the road and
marched deliberately into the forlorn site. The wood beams and roof had been
consumed by fire. A thick mat of weeds and brush were devouring the wood
floor. The brick walls were all that was left, really, and they were mostly
fallen to rubble, with only a portion of the east wall still tall enough to
contain a lone window frame.
The wind ruffled Nicci's sunlit hair as she looked down the length of
the skeletal remains of the building. Her arms languid at her sides, her
back not quite as straight as it usually was, she stood vulnerable where
once a roof would have sheltered her.
For nearly an hour, she was lost among the ghosts.
Richard stood off to the side, leaning a hip against the charred
remains of part of a workbench, one of the only things left inside the brick
frame.
"Do you know this place?" he finally asked her.
She blinked at his question. She stared into his eyes for a long time,
as if he, too, were a ghost. She stepped close to him then, her blue eyes
finally looking away to let her fingers reminisce as they glided lightly
over the remains of the workbench.
"I grew up in this town," she answered in a distant voice.
"Oh." Richard gestured around them. "And this place?"
"They made armor here," she whispered.
He couldn't imagine why she would want to see such a place. "Armor?"
"The best armor in all the land. Double-proofed standard. Kings and
noblemen came here to buy armor."
Richard gazed around at the ruins of the place, wondering what more
there must be to the story.
"Did you know the man who made the armor?"
Her blue eyes seeing ghosts again, she shook her head.
"No," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, but I never knew him."
A tear ran down her cheek to drip off her smooth jaw. She seemed very
much a child at that moment, alone in the world, and frightened.
Had he not known what he knew about her, Richard would have put his
arms around this forlorn frail child and comforted her.
Ncci was tired, cold, and impatient. She wanted a room.
Her purpose in guiding Richard to the center of the empire in
Altur'Rang was to bring him face-toface with the righteous cause of the
Order. She knew Richard to be a man of profound moral integrity, and she
wanted to see how he would react when confronted by the undeniable virtue of
his enemy's intentions.
She wanted Richard to learn how difficult it was for ordinary people to
live, to get along in the world. She was curious as to how he would fare in
the same circumstances-she wanted to throw him into the fire and see how he
reacted to the heat, as it were. She had expected him to be agitated and
frustrated by now. He remained cool and unruffled.
She thought he would be furious at learning what he had to do to get a
job. He was not. He had listened to that Mr. Gudgeons fellow explaining the
near impossible task that faced anyone wanting work. Nicci had expected him
to punch the pompous official; instead, Richard had cheerfully thanked him.
It was as if the things he so naively stood for, so selfishly defended when
she had known him before, no longer mattered to him.
At the Palace of the Prophets when she had been his teacher, every time
she thought she knew how he would react, he did something she would never
have anticipated. He did that now, too, but in a subtly different way. What
before had been, in a manner of speaking, unorganized youthful rebellion had
turned to the dangerous scrutiny of a predator. Only the chains around his
heart kept him from turning his claws on her.
When Nicci had first captured Richard, she had briefly seen, standing
in the window of his house, a carving of a proud woman. Nicci had known, as
sure as she knew night followed day, that Richard had carved it; it betrayed
his unique vision, which she recognized. The statue was tangible evidence of
a hidden side to his gift; it was a form of balance to his ability for war,
yet she detected no magic in it.
Knowing that Richard had carved it, Nicci expected that he would have
been interested in the carving job offered him back in Tanimura. He turned
it down. He became moody and hardly spoke for several days afterward.
Whenever they went through a new city, she saw him taking in the
statues and relief carvings. Since he, too, carved, she expected him to find
such creations fascinating. He did not. She couldn't understand it. None
were as finely executed as what he had carved, to be sure, but still, they
were carvings and she thought he would be at least interested in them. She
was baffled by his grim mood whenever he saw them.
One time, she had taken the two of them out of their way for no reason
but to
show him a famous city square and the heroic work of art proudly
displayed there. It was her thought to bring him a bit of cheer at seeing
such a widely heralded work. He was not cheered. Surprised, she had asked
him why he appeared to so dislike the sculpture, called Tormented Vision.
"It's death," he had said with distant revulsion as he turned away from
the widely worshiped work.
It was a grand scene of a group of men, some gouging out their eyes
after having seen the perfect Light of the Creator. Other of the men at the
base of the statue, who'd not blinded themselves, were being mauled by
underworld beasts. The Keeper's minions shrank from the blinded men wailing
at what they had seen before taking their own sight.
"No," Nicci said, trying not to laugh and thereby humiliate him for his
unenlightened view. She sought instead to gently rectify his perception of
the famous work by explaining it to him.
"It's a portrayal of the unworthy nature of mankind. It shows men who
have just witnessed His perfect Light, and in so doing have thus been able
to see the hopeless nature of man's depravity. That they would cut out their
own eyes shows how perfect the Creator is that they could no longer bear to
look upon themselves.
"These men in the statue are heroes for showing us that we must not
arrogantly endeavor to rise above our corrupt essence, for that would be
sinfully comparing ourselves to the Creator. It shows that we are but
faceless, insignificant parts of a greater whole of mankind, which He
created, and thus no single life can hold any importance. This work teaches
us that only the society as a whole can be worthwhile. Those at the bottom,
here, who failed to join in with their fellow man and blind themselves, are
suffering their grim eternal fate at the Keeper's hands.
"Do you see, now? It honors mankind as the flawed creature he is, in
order that we may see that each of us must devote ourselves to the
betterment of our fellow man because that is our only means of doing good
and honoring the Creator's creation-us. So, you see, it's not about death at
all, but about the true nature of life."
Nicci had been taught that the statue was uplifting for the people,
since it confirmed everything they knew to be true.
In the whole of her life, no one had ever given her a look that made
her feel smaller than the look Richard gave her.
Nicci swallowed in horror at that look in his eyes-it was the complete
opposite of that elusive thing she sought from him. Without saying a word,
he had made her want nothing so much at that moment as to crawl under a rock
and die.
She couldn't fathom how, but he made her feel unworthy to live. In some
bewildering way, that look made her feel as blind as the men in the statue.
He hadn't said one word, but it was days before she could bring herself to
look him in the eye again.
Sometimes, Richard seemed meek when she expected fierceness, and
intense when she expected indifference. She was beginning to wonder if she
had been mistaken in thinking there was something special about him.
Once, she had even given in to despair of there really being anything
in him worth discovering. Watching him sleep, dejected that she had dared
hope to uncover some meaning to life beyond what her mother had taught her,
she had sadly resolved that the next day, after visiting the place she had
grown up, she would end the whole senseless undertaking and return to
Jagang.
After they went to her father's business, though, she had seen again
that quality in his gray eyes, and knew beyond doubt that she had not been
mistaken.
This dance had only begun.
As they marched down the dim hallway of a rooming house, she gestured
for Richard to stand aside. Nicci wanted this room. She wanted to lie down
where it was dry and go to sleep. She resolutely rapped her knuckles on a
door that looked as if it might come apart if she wasn't careful.
She peered down at the register she had and then stuffed it in her pack
as she waited for the door to be answered. The lodging house, like all the
others they had been to, was supposed to let rooms to those new to the city.
The emperor needed workers.
In her mind, she imagined that this would be the place. She stared at
the stain on the sickly green plaster. She imagined seeing the tea-colored
stain, in the shape of a horse's rump with its tail flicked up, every day as
she went about her life. She imagined Richard walking past the stain every
day when he went to a job, and every night when he came home. Just like
everyone else had to do.
Richard was watching the stairway beyond the door where Nicci again
knocked. The stairs faced away. She couldn't understand why he watched all
the things he watched, but she didn't discount his instincts. By the look on
his face, he wasn't pleased about the shadowed stairway. Being a Sister of
the Dark, she was hardly frightened by the simple things that frightened
other people. She knocked again.
A voice inside told them to go away.
"We need a room," Nicci declared to the door in a tone that said she
meant to have it. She knocked harder. "You're on the register. We want the
room."
"It's a mistake," came the muffled voice from inside. "No room."
"Now look here," Nicci called out heatedly, "it's getting late-"
Three youths she hadn't seen sitting on the stairs swaggered around the
newel post. The three were without shirts, showing off their muscles as
young men were wont to do. All three had knives.
"Well, well," one of the youths said with a cocky grin as his eyes took
her in with lewd intent. "What have we here? Two little drowned rats?"
"I like the fancy tail on the little blond rat," a second chortled.
Richard seized her arm and without a word shepherded her out the front
door, back out into the rain. Nicci dragged her heels, protesting in a
whisper the whole way. She couldn't believe that Lord Rahl himself, the
Seeker of Truth, and the bringer of death would be intimidated by three
men-boys, really.
As they descended the rickety front stoop, Richard lifted an eyebrow at
her while tipping his head close. "You have no power, remember? We don't
want this kind of trouble. I'd not like to get knifed over a room. This
fight isn't worth it. Knowing when not to fight is just as important as
knowing how."
Nicci wanted the room, but she finally conceded that Richard was
probably right. The three sneering youths slouched at the door and watched,
laughing, calling Richard names. So far, they weren't interested in going
out in the rain. She had seen young men like them before. This latest crop
was no different from any of the others-arrogant, aggressive, and often
dangerous. At least they made good soldiers for Jagang's army.
Richard hurried her along the street. He cut through some of the narrow
passageways, taking several turns at random just to be sure they wouldn't be
followed.
The city of Altur'Rang seemed endless. In the overcast and rain,
visibility was
limited. The haphazard streets and byways were a confusing maze. It had
been many years since she had been here last. With all the Order's efforts,
the place still had fallen on hard times. She feared to think of what it
would have been like had the Order not been here to help.
When they emerged on a wider street, they found shelter under a small
overhanging roof along with a small group of others trying to stay out of
the rain. Nicci hugged herself against the cold. Richard, along with the
others huddled under the roof, watched the occasional wagon making its way
past on the muddy street. She didn't know how Richard could keep warm in
such weather. She appreciated his warmth, though, when the small crowd
pressed her up against him. Richard glanced down at her, seeing her shiver,
but he couldn't bring himself to put an arm around her to help keep her
warns. She didn't ask.
Nicci sighed; the Old World didn't stay cold for long. In another day
or two it would again be warm and muggy.
When she had been at the crumbled remains of her father's business,
just before they left, Richard had looked as if he almost wanted to put his
arms around her and comfort her. As much as he hated her, as much as he
wanted to get away from her, he had been moved to sympathy.
Standing in the ruins, Nicci had let the memories wash through her, and
had reveled in the exquisite anguish.
Richard's eyes were fixed on something. She followed his gaze and saw
that a wagon not far down the street was moving with an odd wiggle. Almost
as soon as she noticed it, the wheel broke with a loud crack.
With the strain imposed by the wagon slipping and being twisted in the
ruts, the spokes had snapped under the heavy load. The side of the wagon bed
dropped with a splash. People on the walkway were splattered with mud. They
cursed the two men in the wagon. The four-horse team struggled to a halt as
the uneven load broke the axle, causing the good rear wheel to snap its
spokes, too. The whole rear of the wagon collapsed into the mud.
The two men climbed down to assess the damage. The rawboned driver
cursed and kicked at the broken wheel lying at a lopsided angle. The other
man, shorter and stoutly built, calmly checked the rest of the wagon and its
load.
With a frown of curiosity, Richard nudged Nicci ahead of him as he
moved down the street toward the wagon. She went reluctantly, unhappy to be
out from under the roof.
"We have to," the husky man said with calm resolve. "It's only a short
distance."
The other cursed again. "It's not my job, Ishaq, and you know it. I'll
not do it!"
Then Ishaq threw up his hands in a helpless gesture as his headstrong
partner went to the front of the wagon and urged the team on, managing to
drag the wagon to the side of the road and out of the way of the other
wagons that were beginning to back up down the street. Once he had the wagon
to the side, he started unhitching the team.
The man at the back of the wagon turned and peered around at the people
watching.
"I need some help," Ishaq called to the sparse crowd.
"Doing what?" a nearby man asked.
"I've got to get this load of iron to the warehouse." He stretched his
thick neck and pointed. "Just there-in the brick building with the faded red
paint on the side."
"How much will you pay?" the bystander asked.
Ishaq was getting frustrated as he glanced over his shoulder and saw
his partner leading the horses away. "I'm not authorized to pay anything,
not without approval, but I'm sure that if you came round tomorrow-"
The people watching laughed with knowing disgust and went on their way.
The man stood in the downpour, ankle deep in mud, alone. He sighed and
turned to his wagon, pulling back the tarp to reveal iron bar stock.
Richard stepped out into the street. Nicci wanted to check some more
rooms on the list before it got dark. She snatched at his sleeve, but he
only gave her a scolding look. She huffed her displeasure but followed
anyway as he made his way through the mud to the man struggling to pull a
long bar from the wagon bed.
"Ishaq, is it?" Richard asked.
The man turned and gave Richard a nod. "That's right."
"If I help you, Ishaq," Richard asked, "will I really get paid
tomorrow? The truth, now."
Ishaq, a stocky fellow with a curious red hat with a narrow brim all
around, finally shook his head in resignation.
"Well," Richard said, "if I help you get this load into your warehouse,
then would you allow me and my wife to sleep in there where we could get out
of the rain for the night?"
The man scratched his neck. "I'm not allowed to let anyone in there.
What if something happened? What if things came up missing? I'd be out of
work"-he snapped his fingers-"quick as that."
"Just until tomorrow. I only want to get her out of the rain before she
comes down sick. I have no use for iron. Besides, I don't rob people."
The man scratched his neck again as he gazed back at the wagon over his
shoulder. He glanced at Nicci. She was shivering and it was not an act. He
peered at Richard.
"Sleeping in the warehouse for one night is not a fair price for
lugging all this in there. It will take hours."
"If you agree to it, and I agree to it," Richard said over the sound of
the rain, "then it's a fair price. I asked for no more, and I'm willing to
do it for that price."
The man stared at Richard as if he might be crazy. He pulled off his
red hat and scratched his head of dark hair. He swept his wet hair back and
replaced the hat.
"You would have to clear out when I come first thing in the morning
with a new wagon. I could get in trouble-"
"I'll not let you get in trouble over me. If I should get caught, I'll
say I broke in."
The man thought about it for a moment, looking surprised at the last
term Richard had thrown in an effort to close the deal. The man took another
look over his shoulder at the load, then nodded his consent.
Ishaq hoisted a long bar of steel and put his shoulder under it.
Richard lifted two and extended his arm forward to steady it, resting the
heavy steel on the bunched muscles of his shoulder.
"Come on," he said to Nicci. "Let's get you inside where you can start
to dry out and get warm."
She tried to lift a steel bar to help, but it was beyond her strength.
There were times when Nicci missed her power. She could at least feel it
through the link to the Mother Confessor. It took more effort, but even at
this great of a distance she was still able to maintain the link. She walked
beside Richard as they followed the man to the dry room Richard had just won
for her.
--]----
The next day dawned clear. Rainwater still dripped from the eaves,
though. The night before, as Richard helped Ishaq lug the load into the
warehouse, Nicci had used a light rope Richard had in his pack, stringing it
between racks so she could hang up their wet things. By morning, most of
their clothes were reasonably dry.
They'd slept on wooden pallets, the only other choice being the dirt.
Everything smelled of iron dust, and was covered with a fine black film.
There was nothing in the warehouse to keep them warm, other than a single
lantern Ishaq had left them, over which Nicci could at least warm her hands.
They slept as best they could in their wet clothes. By morning, those, too,
were reasonably dry.
Much of the night, Nicci hadn't slept, but, by the light of that
lantern warning her hands, had watched Richard sleep as she thought about
his gray eyes. It had been a shock to see those eyes in her father's
business. It brought back a flood of memories.
Richard opened the warehouse door just enough to squeeze through and
carried their things out into the breaking dawn. The sky over the city
looked as if it were rusting. He left her to watch their things while he
went back in to lock the door from inside. She could hear him climbing the
racks in the warehouse to get up to a window. He had to jump to the ground.
When Ishaq finally came up the street with the fresh wagon, Richard and
Nicci were sitting on a short wall on the entrance road to the warehouse
doors. When the wagon rolled past them into the yard outside the building
and came to a halt before the double doors, Nicci saw that the driver who
had abandoned Ishaq the night before was at the reins.
The lanky driver set the brake as he eyed them suspiciously.
"What's this?" he asked Richard.
"I'm sorry to bother you," Richard said, "but I just wanted to get here
before you opened up so I could inquire if there might be any work
available."
Ishaq glanced at Nicci, seeing that she was dried out. He eyed the
locked door and realized Richard had kept his word, and kept him from the
possibility of getting in trouble for letting someone sleep in the
warehouse.
"We can't hire people," the driver said. "You have to go to the office
and put your name on the list."
Richard sighed. "I see. Well, thank you, gentlemen. I'll give it a try.
A good day to you both."
Nicci had learned to recognize in Richard's voice when he was up to
something. He gazed up the street, and then down the street, as if he were
lost. He was up to something, now. He seemed to be giving Ishaq an
opportunity to offer more than he had paid for the help. Ishaq had let
Richard carry twice as much of the load the night before. Richard had done
so without a word of protest.
Ishaq cleared his throat. "Hold on there." He climbed down from the
wagon to unlock the door, but paused before Richard. "I'm the load master.
We need another man. You look to have a strong back." Using the toe of his
boot, he drew a little map in the mud. "You go to the office"-he lifted his
thumb over his shoulder"down this street, here, to the third turn, then
right, past six more streets." He made an X in the mud. "There's the office.
You get your name on the list."
Richard smiled and bowed his head. "I'll do that, sir."
Nicci knew that Richard remembered Ishaq's name, but he was playing
like he
didn't for the sake of the driver, whom Richard didn't trust, after the
man had abandoned his fellow the night before. What Richard didn't
understand was that the driver had only done what he was supposed to do. It
was not permitted for one man to take the work that belonged to others. That
was stealing. The load was the responsibility of the load man, not the
driver.
"You go enlist first in the load workers' group," Ishaq told Richard.
"Pay your dues. They have an office in the same building. Then you go put
your name on the list for the job. I'm in the citizen workers' group that
goes before the review assembly to consider new applicants. You just sit
tight and wait outside. When we meet, later on, I'll vouch for you."
The driver leaned out and spat over the far side of the wagon. "Why you
want to go and do that, Ishaq? You don't even know this fellow."
Ishaq scowled up at the driver. "Did you see anyone at the hall who was
as big as this fellow? We need another loader for the warehouse. We just
lost a man and need a replacement. You want me to get stuck with some skinny
old man so as I'll have to do all the work?"
The driver chuckled. "Suppose not."
Ishaq gestured toward Nicci. "Besides, look at his young wife. She
needs some meat on her bones, don't you think? Looks like a nice young
couple."
The driver spat over the side of the wagon again. "I suppose."
Ishaq casually flicked a hand at Richard on his way to unlock the door
to the warehouse. "You be there."
"I'll be there."
Ishaq paused and turned back. "Almost forgot-what's your name?"
"Richard Cypher."
Ishaq gave him a nod and turned back to the door. "I'm Ishaq. See you
tonight, Richard Cypher. Don't you let me down-you hear? You turn out to be
lazy and let me down, and I'll throw your sorry hide in the river with an
iron bar tied around your neck."
"I won't let you down, Ishaq." Richard smiled. "I'm a good swimmer, but
not that good."
As they trudged though the muddy streets on their way to find some food
before they went to the offices to get on the list for work, Richard asked,
"What's wrong?"
Nicci shook her head in disgust. "Ordinary people don't have your luck,
Richard. Ordinary people suffer and struggle while your luck gets you into a
job."
"If it was luck," Richard asked, "then how come my back hurts from
lugging that load of iron bars into the warehouse?"
When Richard had finished unloading the last wagon of iron, he leaned
forward and placed his hands on the pile, hanging his head as he panted. The
muscles in his arms and shoulders throbbed. It was always easier having two
men to handle the bars, one in the wagon, and one on the ground, but the man
who was supposed to help with the load had quit several days back, saying he
hadn't been treated properly. Richard didn't really miss him all that much;
even when the man got up off his backside, his assistance was more trouble
than it was worth.
The light coming in the high windows was fading, leaving the sky in the
west a deep purple. Sweat ran down his neck, making trails through the black
iron dust. He wished he could jump in a cool mountain lake. That thought, in
and of itself, was refreshing. He let his mind go there as he caught his
breath.
Ishaq came down the aisle with the lantern. "You work too hard,
Richard."
"I thought I was hired to work."
Ishaq peered at Richard for a moment, one eye catching the harsh yellow
light of the lantern he was holding. "'fake my advice. You work too hard,
it's only going to get you into trouble."
Richard had been working at the warehouse for three weeks, unloading
wagons and loading others. He'd come to know a number of the other men. He
had a good idea of what Ishaq meant.
"But I'm still worried about trying to swim with an iron bar wrapped
around my neck."
Ishaq gave up on his scowl and grunted a laugh. "I was just spouting
for Jori's sake, that day."
Jori was the driver who had refused to help unload the wagon when it
broke down. Richard yawned. "I know, Ishaq."
"This isn't no farm, like where you came from. This is different,
living under the ways of the Order. You got to take the needs of others in
mind if you hope to get along. It's just the way the world is."
Richard caught the thread of caution in Ishaq's voice, and the meaning
of the gentle warning.
"You're right, Ishaq. Thanks. I'll try to remember."
Ishaq gestured with his lantern toward the door. "Workers' group
meeting tonight. Best be on your way."
Richard groaned. "I don't know. It's late and I'm tired. I'd really
rather-"
"You don't want your name to start going around. You don't want people
to start talking that you're not civic-minded."
Richard smirked. "I thought the meetings were voluntary."
Ishaq barked a laugh again. Richard collected his pack from a shelf in
the back corner and then ran to the door so Ishaq could lock it.
Outside, in the gathering darkness, Richard could just make out Nicci's
curvaceous form sitting on the wall at the warehouse entrance. Her curves
often put him in mind of nothing so much as a snake. They had no room, yet,
so she often came by the warehouse after she'd spent much of the day waiting
in lines to buy bread and other necessities. They would walk together back
to their shelter in a quiet alley about a mile away. Richard had paid a
small price to some of the boys there to guard their place and make sure no
one else took it. The boys were young enough to be thankful for the small
price and old enough to be diligent about their job.
"Get any bread?" Richard asked as he approached.
Nicci hopped down off the wall. "No bread today-they were out. But I
got us some cabbage. I'll make us a soup."
Richard's stomach was growling. He'd been hoping for bread so he could
eat a piece right then. Soup would take time.
"Where's your pack? And if you bought cabbage, where is it?"
She smiled and produced something small. She held it out before them as
they walked so as to silhouette it against the deep violet of dusk. It was a
key.
"A room? We got a place?"
"I checked the lodging office this afternoon. Our name finally came up.
They assigned a room to us. Mr. and Mrs. Cypher. We can sleep inside
tonight. Good thing, too; it looks like it will rain tonight. I already put
my things in our room."
Richard rubbed his sore shoulders. He felt a wave of revulsion at the
sham she was putting him through . . . putting Kahlan through. There were
times when he felt a hint of something profoundly important about her and
what she was doing, but most of the time he was merely overwhelmed by the
lunacy of it all.
"Where is this room?" He was hoping it wasn't clear over on the other
side of the city.
"It's one we were at before-not too far from here. The one with the
stain on the wall just inside the door."
"Nicci, they all had stains on the walls."
"The stain that looked like a horse's rear end with its tail flicked
up. You'll see it soon."
Richard was starving. "I have to go to a workers' group meeting again
tonight."
"Oh," Nicci said. "Workers' group meetings are important. They help
keep a person's mind on what's proper and on everyone's duty to his fellow
man."
The meetings were torture. Nothing worthwhile ever came about at the
meetings. They sometimes lasted hours. There were people, though, who lived
for the meetings so they could stand up in front of others and talk about
the glory of the Order. It was their shining hour, their time to be
somebody, to be important.
Those who didn't show up for the meetings were used as examples of
people who weren't properly committed to the cause of the Order. If the
absent person didn't mend his ways, it was possible he could end up being
suspected of subversion. The lack of truth to the suspicion was irrelevant.
Stating the charge made some people feel more important in a land where
equality was held as the highest ideal.
Subversion seemed to be a dark cloud hovering constantly over the Old
World. It wasn't at all unusual to see the city guard taking people into
custody on suspicion of subversion. Torture produced confessions, which
proved the veracity of the ac-
cuser. The people who spoke at length at the meetings had, by this
logic, accurately pointed a finger at a number of insurrectionists, as
evidenced by their confessions.
The undercurrent of tension in Altur'Rang left many worried over the
constant scourge of insurrection-coming from the New World, it was said.
Officials of the Order wasted no time in stamping it out whenever it was
discovered. Other people were so consumed with fear that the finger would
turn toward them that the speakers at the workers' group meetings were
assured of having a large number of zealous supporters.
In many a public square, as a constant reminder of what would happen
should you fall into the wrong company, the bodies of subversives were left
to hang from high poles until the birds picked their bones clean. The
running joke, if an incautious person said anything that sounded at all out
of line, was "You looking to be buried in the sky?"
Richard yawned again as they turned down the street toward the meeting
hall. "I don't remember the stain that looks like a horse's rear end."
Rocks crunched beneath their boots as they walked down the side of the
dark street. Off ahead of them, in the distance, he could see Ishaq's
lantern swinging as the man hurried to the meeting.
"You were paying attention to something else at the time. It's the room
where those three live."
"Three what?"
A number of other people, some he knew, most he didn't, hastened along
the street on their way to the meeting.
Richard remembered then. He stopped.
"You mean the place where those three bullies live-the three with the
knives?"
He could just barely see her nod in the dim light. "That's the place."
"Great." Richard wiped a hand across his face as they started out
again. "Did you ask if we could have a different room?"
"New people in the city are fortunate to get rooms. Rooms are assigned
as your name comes up. If you turn it down, you go back to the bottom of the
list."
"Did you have to give the landlord any money, yet?"
She shrugged. "Just what I had."
Richard ground his teeth as he walked. "That's all we have for the rest
of the week."
"I can stretch the soup."
Richard didn't trust her. She probably somehow saw to it that they got
that particular room. He suspected that she wanted to see what he would do
about the three young men, now that he was forced into the situation. She
was always doing little things, asking odd questions, making bold
statements, just to see what his reaction would be, how he would handle
matters. He couldn't imagine what it was she wanted from him.
He began to worry about the three. He remembered quite clearly how
Cara's Agiel had caused Kahlan to suffer the same pain as Nicci. If those
three abused Nicci, Kahlan would suffer it, too. That thought made him go
cold and sweaty with worry.
At the workers' group meeting, Richard and Nicci sat on benches at the
rear of a smoky room while people up front spoke about the glory of the
Order, and how it helped all people to live a moral life. Richard's mind
drifted to the brook behind the
house he had built, to the sunlit summer afternoons watching Kahlan
dangle her feet in the water. He ached with longing as his mind's eye traced
the curve of her legs. There were speeches about every worker's duty to
their fellow man. Many of the discourses were given in a droning monotone,
having been repeated so often that it was clear that the words were
meaningless, and that only the act of saying them mattered. Richard recalled
Kahlan laughing as he caught the fish he'd put in jars for her. Many of the
people, the group leaders, or citizen spokesmen, delivered with passion and
fire their praise for the ways of the Order. A few people stood up and
talked about those who weren't there, giving their names, saying what poor
attitudes they had toward the welfare of their fellow workers. Whispers
passed among the crowd.
After the speeches were given, some of the workers' wives stood up and
explained that they had extra need of late because they had just had new
children, or their husbands were laid up, or the relatives they cared for
were ill. After each spoke, there was a show of hands. If you agreed to do
the right thing and have the group help them, then you raised your hand.
The names of these who didn't raise their hand were noted. Ishaq had
explained to Richard that you were allowed not to raise your hand, if you
didn't agree, but if you did it very often, you were put on a watch list.
Richard didn't know what a watch list was, but it was easy enough to
surmise, and Ishaq had told Richard that he didn't want to be on one, and to
see to it that he raised his hand more often than not.
Richard raised it every time. He didn't really care what happened. He
had no interest in taking part, no interest in trying to make things better,
and no interest in how well or poorly people's lives went. Most seemed to
want the comfort of the Order running their lives, relieving them of the
burden of thinking on their own. Just like Anderith. Nicci seemed surprised,
and occasionally even disappointed, to see his hand go up every time, but
didn't object or question.
He was hardly even aware of his hand going up. He was smiling inwardly
as he recalled the wonder in Kahlan's expression, the astonishment in her
green eyes, when she saw Spirit for the first time. Richard would have
carved a mountain for her, just to see her tearful joy in seeing something
she admired, something she cherished, something she valued.
Another man spoke, complaining about the conditions, how unfair they
were, and how he had been forced to quit rather than subject himself to such
abuse by the transport company. He was the man who had quit and left Richard
to handle the loads by himself. Richard raised his hand along with all the
others to grant the man full wages for six months in recompense.
After the show of hands, and some whispering and scratching on paper as
all the obligations were figured up, the healthy working members were
assessed their just share to help those in need. Those who were able,
Richard had been told, had a duty to produce with all their effort in order
in public squares, or in front of entrances. They depicted horrors: people
being whipped by a grinning Keeper of the underworld; people stabbing out
their own eyes; suffering people twisted, deformed, and crippled; people
like packs of dogs, running on all fours, attacking women and children;
people reduced to walking skeletons or covered in sores; woeful people
throwing themselves into graves. In most such scenes the pitiful people were
watched over by the Light of the all-perfect Creator represented by the
flame.
The Old World was a celebration of misery.
Along the way south, they had stopped in a number of cities when
Richard could find menial work temporary enough not to require waiting on
lists. He and Nicci went for stretches eating cabbage soup that was mostly
water. Sometimes they had rice or lentils or buckwheat mush, and, on
occasion, the luxury of salt pork. Sometimes, Richard was able to catch
fish, birds, or the odd hare. Living off the land in the Old World, though,
was difficult. A lot of other people had the same idea. They both had gotten
thinner on their long march. Richard began to understand the carvings of the
skeletal people.
Nicci had set their destination, but dictated little else, leaving most
decisions to him, complying without complaint. Week in and week out, they
walked, occasionally paying a few copper pennies to ride in wagons headed
their way. They crossed rivers straddled by cities large enough to have
numbers of stone bridges, and went through town after town. There were vast
fields of wheat, millet, sunflower, and any number of other crops, though
much of the land lay fallow. They saw flocks of sheep and herds of cattle.
Farmers sold the travelers goat cheese and milk. Ever since the gift
had awakened in him, Richard was able to eat meat only when not doing any
fighting. He thought it might be part of the requirement to balance his need
to sometimes take life. Since he wasn't doing any fighting, he could eat
meat without it making him sick. Unfortunately, they could rarely afford
meat. Cheese, which he had once loved, he could hardly stomach since his
gift had come to life in him. Unfortunately, it was often eat cheese, or
starve.
But it was the size of the Old World, and in particular its population,
that most unsettled him. Richard had naively thought that the New and the
Old Worlds must be somewhat alike. They were not. The New World was but a
flea on the back of the Old.
From time to time on their journey south, vast columns of men at arms
moved past them on their way north to the Midlands. Several times, it had
taken days for all the soldiers to march past. Whenever he saw the rank upon
rank of troops, he felt a wave of relief that Kahlan was trapped in their
mountain home. He would hate to think of her fighting in an army facing as
many men as he saw going to the war.
By spring, when she could finally get out of the mountain home, and all
those Imperial Order troops could truly begin their siege of the New World,
whatever resistance the D'Haran Empire put up would be crushed. Richard
hoped General Reibisch chose not to go up against the Order. He hated to
think of all those brave men being slaughtered under the weight of the
coming onslaught.
At one small city, Nicci had gone to a stream to wash their clothes
while Richard worked the day mucking out stalls at a large stable. A number
of officials had come to town and there were more horses than the
stablemaster could handle. Richard had been at the right place at the right
time to get the job. Not long after the officials arrived and took all the
rooms at the inns, a large unit of the Imperial Order troops marched in
behind them and set up camp at the city limits.
Fortunately, Nicci was on the other side of the city doing their
washing. Unfortunately, a squad of men passing through the city, and doing
some drinking, decided to accept volunteers. Richard kept his head down as
he carried water to the horses, but the sergeant saw him. At the wrong place
at the wrong time, Richard was "volunteered" into the Imperial Order. The
new volunteers were quartered in the center of the immense encampment.
That night, after it was dark and most of the men were asleep, Richard
unvolunteered himself. It took him until three hours before sunrise to
extract himself from his service to the Imperial Order. Nicci had gone to
the stable and found out what had happened to him. Richard found her at
their camp, pacing in the darkness. They quickly collected their things and
marched south for the rest of the night. They went cross country, since the
moon was out, rather than on the roads, in case a patrol came looking for
him. From then on, whenever Richard saw soldiers he did his best to become
invisible.
In general, though, it wasn't a serious concern. Hordes of youths,
lusting after the promise of plunder, were only too eager to join the army.
They often had to wait weeks or months to be accepted into training, so many
were the numbers joining. Richard had seen crowds of them in the cities,
playing games, gambling, drinking, fighting-young men dreaming of the glory
of killing the evil foes of the great empire of the Order. They enjoyed the
adoration of the populace when they joined the army to go off and fight the
frightful wickedness and sin that was said to infect the New World.
Richard was horrified to see the numbers of people living in the Old
World, because it meant that the Order's army already in the New World was
hardly a drain on the populace-and only the beginning. He had thought that
perhaps the Order might lose their enthusiasm for a war conducted so far
from their homeland, or that the people of the Old World would tire of the
hardship necessary to conduct such a war. He now knew that thought had been
but a feeble daydream.
It didn't take a wizard, or a prophet, to know that the armies the New
World
could raise, even given wildly optimistic conditions, had no hope
whatsoever of prevailing against the millions upon millions of soldiers
Richard had seen pouring north, to say nothing of the ones he hadn't seen
who would be taking other routes. The Midlands was doomed.
Ever since the people of Anderith chose the Order over freedom, he had
known in his heart that the New World was going to fall to the Order. He
felt no satisfaction in realizing how right he had been. Seeing the size of
the enemy, he realized that freedom was lost, and resisting the Order was
but suicide.
The course of events seemed irrevocable, the world lost to the Order.
The future for him and Kahlan seemed no less hopeless.
By far the strangest place he and Nicci had visited in their journey
southeast, a place she never spoke of afterward, had been less than a week
south of Tanimura. Richard had still been in a dismal mood thinking about
the carvings he had seen, when Nicci took an old, seldom-used track off the
main road. It led back toward the hills, to a rather small city beside a
quiet river.
Most of the businesses had been abandoned. The wind, at will, carried
dust through the broken windows of warehouses. Many of the homes had fallen
to ruin, their roofs caved in, weeds and vines doing their best to bring
down crooked walls. Only the homes on the outskirts were still occupied,
mostly by people raising animals and farming the surrounding land.
On the northern side of the city, one small store remained to sell
staples to surrounding farmers. There was also a leather shop, a
fortune-teller, and a lonely inn. In the center of town stood the bones of
buildings, long since picked clean by scavengers. Several of the buildings
still stood, but most had long ago collapsed. Richard and Nicci walked
through the center of town watched only by a fitful wind.
At the southern edge, they arrived at the remains of what had once been
a large brick building. Without a word, Nicci turned off the road and
marched deliberately into the forlorn site. The wood beams and roof had been
consumed by fire. A thick mat of weeds and brush were devouring the wood
floor. The brick walls were all that was left, really, and they were mostly
fallen to rubble, with only a portion of the east wall still tall enough to
contain a lone window frame.
The wind ruffled Nicci's sunlit hair as she looked down the length of
the skeletal remains of the building. Her arms languid at her sides, her
back not quite as straight as it usually was, she stood vulnerable where
once a roof would have sheltered her.
For nearly an hour, she was lost among the ghosts.
Richard stood off to the side, leaning a hip against the charred
remains of part of a workbench, one of the only things left inside the brick
frame.
"Do you know this place?" he finally asked her.
She blinked at his question. She stared into his eyes for a long time,
as if he, too, were a ghost. She stepped close to him then, her blue eyes
finally looking away to let her fingers reminisce as they glided lightly
over the remains of the workbench.
"I grew up in this town," she answered in a distant voice.
"Oh." Richard gestured around them. "And this place?"
"They made armor here," she whispered.
He couldn't imagine why she would want to see such a place. "Armor?"
"The best armor in all the land. Double-proofed standard. Kings and
noblemen came here to buy armor."
Richard gazed around at the ruins of the place, wondering what more
there must be to the story.
"Did you know the man who made the armor?"
Her blue eyes seeing ghosts again, she shook her head.
"No," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, but I never knew him."
A tear ran down her cheek to drip off her smooth jaw. She seemed very
much a child at that moment, alone in the world, and frightened.
Had he not known what he knew about her, Richard would have put his
arms around this forlorn frail child and comforted her.
Ncci was tired, cold, and impatient. She wanted a room.
Her purpose in guiding Richard to the center of the empire in
Altur'Rang was to bring him face-toface with the righteous cause of the
Order. She knew Richard to be a man of profound moral integrity, and she
wanted to see how he would react when confronted by the undeniable virtue of
his enemy's intentions.
She wanted Richard to learn how difficult it was for ordinary people to
live, to get along in the world. She was curious as to how he would fare in
the same circumstances-she wanted to throw him into the fire and see how he
reacted to the heat, as it were. She had expected him to be agitated and
frustrated by now. He remained cool and unruffled.
She thought he would be furious at learning what he had to do to get a
job. He was not. He had listened to that Mr. Gudgeons fellow explaining the
near impossible task that faced anyone wanting work. Nicci had expected him
to punch the pompous official; instead, Richard had cheerfully thanked him.
It was as if the things he so naively stood for, so selfishly defended when
she had known him before, no longer mattered to him.
At the Palace of the Prophets when she had been his teacher, every time
she thought she knew how he would react, he did something she would never
have anticipated. He did that now, too, but in a subtly different way. What
before had been, in a manner of speaking, unorganized youthful rebellion had
turned to the dangerous scrutiny of a predator. Only the chains around his
heart kept him from turning his claws on her.
When Nicci had first captured Richard, she had briefly seen, standing
in the window of his house, a carving of a proud woman. Nicci had known, as
sure as she knew night followed day, that Richard had carved it; it betrayed
his unique vision, which she recognized. The statue was tangible evidence of
a hidden side to his gift; it was a form of balance to his ability for war,
yet she detected no magic in it.
Knowing that Richard had carved it, Nicci expected that he would have
been interested in the carving job offered him back in Tanimura. He turned
it down. He became moody and hardly spoke for several days afterward.
Whenever they went through a new city, she saw him taking in the
statues and relief carvings. Since he, too, carved, she expected him to find
such creations fascinating. He did not. She couldn't understand it. None
were as finely executed as what he had carved, to be sure, but still, they
were carvings and she thought he would be at least interested in them. She
was baffled by his grim mood whenever he saw them.
One time, she had taken the two of them out of their way for no reason
but to
show him a famous city square and the heroic work of art proudly
displayed there. It was her thought to bring him a bit of cheer at seeing
such a widely heralded work. He was not cheered. Surprised, she had asked
him why he appeared to so dislike the sculpture, called Tormented Vision.
"It's death," he had said with distant revulsion as he turned away from
the widely worshiped work.
It was a grand scene of a group of men, some gouging out their eyes
after having seen the perfect Light of the Creator. Other of the men at the
base of the statue, who'd not blinded themselves, were being mauled by
underworld beasts. The Keeper's minions shrank from the blinded men wailing
at what they had seen before taking their own sight.
"No," Nicci said, trying not to laugh and thereby humiliate him for his
unenlightened view. She sought instead to gently rectify his perception of
the famous work by explaining it to him.
"It's a portrayal of the unworthy nature of mankind. It shows men who
have just witnessed His perfect Light, and in so doing have thus been able
to see the hopeless nature of man's depravity. That they would cut out their
own eyes shows how perfect the Creator is that they could no longer bear to
look upon themselves.
"These men in the statue are heroes for showing us that we must not
arrogantly endeavor to rise above our corrupt essence, for that would be
sinfully comparing ourselves to the Creator. It shows that we are but
faceless, insignificant parts of a greater whole of mankind, which He
created, and thus no single life can hold any importance. This work teaches
us that only the society as a whole can be worthwhile. Those at the bottom,
here, who failed to join in with their fellow man and blind themselves, are
suffering their grim eternal fate at the Keeper's hands.
"Do you see, now? It honors mankind as the flawed creature he is, in
order that we may see that each of us must devote ourselves to the
betterment of our fellow man because that is our only means of doing good
and honoring the Creator's creation-us. So, you see, it's not about death at
all, but about the true nature of life."
Nicci had been taught that the statue was uplifting for the people,
since it confirmed everything they knew to be true.
In the whole of her life, no one had ever given her a look that made
her feel smaller than the look Richard gave her.
Nicci swallowed in horror at that look in his eyes-it was the complete
opposite of that elusive thing she sought from him. Without saying a word,
he had made her want nothing so much at that moment as to crawl under a rock
and die.
She couldn't fathom how, but he made her feel unworthy to live. In some
bewildering way, that look made her feel as blind as the men in the statue.
He hadn't said one word, but it was days before she could bring herself to
look him in the eye again.
Sometimes, Richard seemed meek when she expected fierceness, and
intense when she expected indifference. She was beginning to wonder if she
had been mistaken in thinking there was something special about him.
Once, she had even given in to despair of there really being anything
in him worth discovering. Watching him sleep, dejected that she had dared
hope to uncover some meaning to life beyond what her mother had taught her,
she had sadly resolved that the next day, after visiting the place she had
grown up, she would end the whole senseless undertaking and return to
Jagang.
After they went to her father's business, though, she had seen again
that quality in his gray eyes, and knew beyond doubt that she had not been
mistaken.
This dance had only begun.
As they marched down the dim hallway of a rooming house, she gestured
for Richard to stand aside. Nicci wanted this room. She wanted to lie down
where it was dry and go to sleep. She resolutely rapped her knuckles on a
door that looked as if it might come apart if she wasn't careful.
She peered down at the register she had and then stuffed it in her pack
as she waited for the door to be answered. The lodging house, like all the
others they had been to, was supposed to let rooms to those new to the city.
The emperor needed workers.
In her mind, she imagined that this would be the place. She stared at
the stain on the sickly green plaster. She imagined seeing the tea-colored
stain, in the shape of a horse's rump with its tail flicked up, every day as
she went about her life. She imagined Richard walking past the stain every
day when he went to a job, and every night when he came home. Just like
everyone else had to do.
Richard was watching the stairway beyond the door where Nicci again
knocked. The stairs faced away. She couldn't understand why he watched all
the things he watched, but she didn't discount his instincts. By the look on
his face, he wasn't pleased about the shadowed stairway. Being a Sister of
the Dark, she was hardly frightened by the simple things that frightened
other people. She knocked again.
A voice inside told them to go away.
"We need a room," Nicci declared to the door in a tone that said she
meant to have it. She knocked harder. "You're on the register. We want the
room."
"It's a mistake," came the muffled voice from inside. "No room."
"Now look here," Nicci called out heatedly, "it's getting late-"
Three youths she hadn't seen sitting on the stairs swaggered around the
newel post. The three were without shirts, showing off their muscles as
young men were wont to do. All three had knives.
"Well, well," one of the youths said with a cocky grin as his eyes took
her in with lewd intent. "What have we here? Two little drowned rats?"
"I like the fancy tail on the little blond rat," a second chortled.
Richard seized her arm and without a word shepherded her out the front
door, back out into the rain. Nicci dragged her heels, protesting in a
whisper the whole way. She couldn't believe that Lord Rahl himself, the
Seeker of Truth, and the bringer of death would be intimidated by three
men-boys, really.
As they descended the rickety front stoop, Richard lifted an eyebrow at
her while tipping his head close. "You have no power, remember? We don't
want this kind of trouble. I'd not like to get knifed over a room. This
fight isn't worth it. Knowing when not to fight is just as important as
knowing how."
Nicci wanted the room, but she finally conceded that Richard was
probably right. The three sneering youths slouched at the door and watched,
laughing, calling Richard names. So far, they weren't interested in going
out in the rain. She had seen young men like them before. This latest crop
was no different from any of the others-arrogant, aggressive, and often
dangerous. At least they made good soldiers for Jagang's army.
Richard hurried her along the street. He cut through some of the narrow
passageways, taking several turns at random just to be sure they wouldn't be
followed.
The city of Altur'Rang seemed endless. In the overcast and rain,
visibility was
limited. The haphazard streets and byways were a confusing maze. It had
been many years since she had been here last. With all the Order's efforts,
the place still had fallen on hard times. She feared to think of what it
would have been like had the Order not been here to help.
When they emerged on a wider street, they found shelter under a small
overhanging roof along with a small group of others trying to stay out of
the rain. Nicci hugged herself against the cold. Richard, along with the
others huddled under the roof, watched the occasional wagon making its way
past on the muddy street. She didn't know how Richard could keep warm in
such weather. She appreciated his warmth, though, when the small crowd
pressed her up against him. Richard glanced down at her, seeing her shiver,
but he couldn't bring himself to put an arm around her to help keep her
warns. She didn't ask.
Nicci sighed; the Old World didn't stay cold for long. In another day
or two it would again be warm and muggy.
When she had been at the crumbled remains of her father's business,
just before they left, Richard had looked as if he almost wanted to put his
arms around her and comfort her. As much as he hated her, as much as he
wanted to get away from her, he had been moved to sympathy.
Standing in the ruins, Nicci had let the memories wash through her, and
had reveled in the exquisite anguish.
Richard's eyes were fixed on something. She followed his gaze and saw
that a wagon not far down the street was moving with an odd wiggle. Almost
as soon as she noticed it, the wheel broke with a loud crack.
With the strain imposed by the wagon slipping and being twisted in the
ruts, the spokes had snapped under the heavy load. The side of the wagon bed
dropped with a splash. People on the walkway were splattered with mud. They
cursed the two men in the wagon. The four-horse team struggled to a halt as
the uneven load broke the axle, causing the good rear wheel to snap its
spokes, too. The whole rear of the wagon collapsed into the mud.
The two men climbed down to assess the damage. The rawboned driver
cursed and kicked at the broken wheel lying at a lopsided angle. The other
man, shorter and stoutly built, calmly checked the rest of the wagon and its
load.
With a frown of curiosity, Richard nudged Nicci ahead of him as he
moved down the street toward the wagon. She went reluctantly, unhappy to be
out from under the roof.
"We have to," the husky man said with calm resolve. "It's only a short
distance."
The other cursed again. "It's not my job, Ishaq, and you know it. I'll
not do it!"
Then Ishaq threw up his hands in a helpless gesture as his headstrong
partner went to the front of the wagon and urged the team on, managing to
drag the wagon to the side of the road and out of the way of the other
wagons that were beginning to back up down the street. Once he had the wagon
to the side, he started unhitching the team.
The man at the back of the wagon turned and peered around at the people
watching.
"I need some help," Ishaq called to the sparse crowd.
"Doing what?" a nearby man asked.
"I've got to get this load of iron to the warehouse." He stretched his
thick neck and pointed. "Just there-in the brick building with the faded red
paint on the side."
"How much will you pay?" the bystander asked.
Ishaq was getting frustrated as he glanced over his shoulder and saw
his partner leading the horses away. "I'm not authorized to pay anything,
not without approval, but I'm sure that if you came round tomorrow-"
The people watching laughed with knowing disgust and went on their way.
The man stood in the downpour, ankle deep in mud, alone. He sighed and
turned to his wagon, pulling back the tarp to reveal iron bar stock.
Richard stepped out into the street. Nicci wanted to check some more
rooms on the list before it got dark. She snatched at his sleeve, but he
only gave her a scolding look. She huffed her displeasure but followed
anyway as he made his way through the mud to the man struggling to pull a
long bar from the wagon bed.
"Ishaq, is it?" Richard asked.
The man turned and gave Richard a nod. "That's right."
"If I help you, Ishaq," Richard asked, "will I really get paid
tomorrow? The truth, now."
Ishaq, a stocky fellow with a curious red hat with a narrow brim all
around, finally shook his head in resignation.
"Well," Richard said, "if I help you get this load into your warehouse,
then would you allow me and my wife to sleep in there where we could get out
of the rain for the night?"
The man scratched his neck. "I'm not allowed to let anyone in there.
What if something happened? What if things came up missing? I'd be out of
work"-he snapped his fingers-"quick as that."
"Just until tomorrow. I only want to get her out of the rain before she
comes down sick. I have no use for iron. Besides, I don't rob people."
The man scratched his neck again as he gazed back at the wagon over his
shoulder. He glanced at Nicci. She was shivering and it was not an act. He
peered at Richard.
"Sleeping in the warehouse for one night is not a fair price for
lugging all this in there. It will take hours."
"If you agree to it, and I agree to it," Richard said over the sound of
the rain, "then it's a fair price. I asked for no more, and I'm willing to
do it for that price."
The man stared at Richard as if he might be crazy. He pulled off his
red hat and scratched his head of dark hair. He swept his wet hair back and
replaced the hat.
"You would have to clear out when I come first thing in the morning
with a new wagon. I could get in trouble-"
"I'll not let you get in trouble over me. If I should get caught, I'll
say I broke in."
The man thought about it for a moment, looking surprised at the last
term Richard had thrown in an effort to close the deal. The man took another
look over his shoulder at the load, then nodded his consent.
Ishaq hoisted a long bar of steel and put his shoulder under it.
Richard lifted two and extended his arm forward to steady it, resting the
heavy steel on the bunched muscles of his shoulder.
"Come on," he said to Nicci. "Let's get you inside where you can start
to dry out and get warm."
She tried to lift a steel bar to help, but it was beyond her strength.
There were times when Nicci missed her power. She could at least feel it
through the link to the Mother Confessor. It took more effort, but even at
this great of a distance she was still able to maintain the link. She walked
beside Richard as they followed the man to the dry room Richard had just won
for her.
--]----
The next day dawned clear. Rainwater still dripped from the eaves,
though. The night before, as Richard helped Ishaq lug the load into the
warehouse, Nicci had used a light rope Richard had in his pack, stringing it
between racks so she could hang up their wet things. By morning, most of
their clothes were reasonably dry.
They'd slept on wooden pallets, the only other choice being the dirt.
Everything smelled of iron dust, and was covered with a fine black film.
There was nothing in the warehouse to keep them warm, other than a single
lantern Ishaq had left them, over which Nicci could at least warm her hands.
They slept as best they could in their wet clothes. By morning, those, too,
were reasonably dry.
Much of the night, Nicci hadn't slept, but, by the light of that
lantern warning her hands, had watched Richard sleep as she thought about
his gray eyes. It had been a shock to see those eyes in her father's
business. It brought back a flood of memories.
Richard opened the warehouse door just enough to squeeze through and
carried their things out into the breaking dawn. The sky over the city
looked as if it were rusting. He left her to watch their things while he
went back in to lock the door from inside. She could hear him climbing the
racks in the warehouse to get up to a window. He had to jump to the ground.
When Ishaq finally came up the street with the fresh wagon, Richard and
Nicci were sitting on a short wall on the entrance road to the warehouse
doors. When the wagon rolled past them into the yard outside the building
and came to a halt before the double doors, Nicci saw that the driver who
had abandoned Ishaq the night before was at the reins.
The lanky driver set the brake as he eyed them suspiciously.
"What's this?" he asked Richard.
"I'm sorry to bother you," Richard said, "but I just wanted to get here
before you opened up so I could inquire if there might be any work
available."
Ishaq glanced at Nicci, seeing that she was dried out. He eyed the
locked door and realized Richard had kept his word, and kept him from the
possibility of getting in trouble for letting someone sleep in the
warehouse.
"We can't hire people," the driver said. "You have to go to the office
and put your name on the list."
Richard sighed. "I see. Well, thank you, gentlemen. I'll give it a try.
A good day to you both."
Nicci had learned to recognize in Richard's voice when he was up to
something. He gazed up the street, and then down the street, as if he were
lost. He was up to something, now. He seemed to be giving Ishaq an
opportunity to offer more than he had paid for the help. Ishaq had let
Richard carry twice as much of the load the night before. Richard had done
so without a word of protest.
Ishaq cleared his throat. "Hold on there." He climbed down from the
wagon to unlock the door, but paused before Richard. "I'm the load master.
We need another man. You look to have a strong back." Using the toe of his
boot, he drew a little map in the mud. "You go to the office"-he lifted his
thumb over his shoulder"down this street, here, to the third turn, then
right, past six more streets." He made an X in the mud. "There's the office.
You get your name on the list."
Richard smiled and bowed his head. "I'll do that, sir."
Nicci knew that Richard remembered Ishaq's name, but he was playing
like he
didn't for the sake of the driver, whom Richard didn't trust, after the
man had abandoned his fellow the night before. What Richard didn't
understand was that the driver had only done what he was supposed to do. It
was not permitted for one man to take the work that belonged to others. That
was stealing. The load was the responsibility of the load man, not the
driver.
"You go enlist first in the load workers' group," Ishaq told Richard.
"Pay your dues. They have an office in the same building. Then you go put
your name on the list for the job. I'm in the citizen workers' group that
goes before the review assembly to consider new applicants. You just sit
tight and wait outside. When we meet, later on, I'll vouch for you."
The driver leaned out and spat over the far side of the wagon. "Why you
want to go and do that, Ishaq? You don't even know this fellow."
Ishaq scowled up at the driver. "Did you see anyone at the hall who was
as big as this fellow? We need another loader for the warehouse. We just
lost a man and need a replacement. You want me to get stuck with some skinny
old man so as I'll have to do all the work?"
The driver chuckled. "Suppose not."
Ishaq gestured toward Nicci. "Besides, look at his young wife. She
needs some meat on her bones, don't you think? Looks like a nice young
couple."
The driver spat over the side of the wagon again. "I suppose."
Ishaq casually flicked a hand at Richard on his way to unlock the door
to the warehouse. "You be there."
"I'll be there."
Ishaq paused and turned back. "Almost forgot-what's your name?"
"Richard Cypher."
Ishaq gave him a nod and turned back to the door. "I'm Ishaq. See you
tonight, Richard Cypher. Don't you let me down-you hear? You turn out to be
lazy and let me down, and I'll throw your sorry hide in the river with an
iron bar tied around your neck."
"I won't let you down, Ishaq." Richard smiled. "I'm a good swimmer, but
not that good."
As they trudged though the muddy streets on their way to find some food
before they went to the offices to get on the list for work, Richard asked,
"What's wrong?"
Nicci shook her head in disgust. "Ordinary people don't have your luck,
Richard. Ordinary people suffer and struggle while your luck gets you into a
job."
"If it was luck," Richard asked, "then how come my back hurts from
lugging that load of iron bars into the warehouse?"
When Richard had finished unloading the last wagon of iron, he leaned
forward and placed his hands on the pile, hanging his head as he panted. The
muscles in his arms and shoulders throbbed. It was always easier having two
men to handle the bars, one in the wagon, and one on the ground, but the man
who was supposed to help with the load had quit several days back, saying he
hadn't been treated properly. Richard didn't really miss him all that much;
even when the man got up off his backside, his assistance was more trouble
than it was worth.
The light coming in the high windows was fading, leaving the sky in the
west a deep purple. Sweat ran down his neck, making trails through the black
iron dust. He wished he could jump in a cool mountain lake. That thought, in
and of itself, was refreshing. He let his mind go there as he caught his
breath.
Ishaq came down the aisle with the lantern. "You work too hard,
Richard."
"I thought I was hired to work."
Ishaq peered at Richard for a moment, one eye catching the harsh yellow
light of the lantern he was holding. "'fake my advice. You work too hard,
it's only going to get you into trouble."
Richard had been working at the warehouse for three weeks, unloading
wagons and loading others. He'd come to know a number of the other men. He
had a good idea of what Ishaq meant.
"But I'm still worried about trying to swim with an iron bar wrapped
around my neck."
Ishaq gave up on his scowl and grunted a laugh. "I was just spouting
for Jori's sake, that day."
Jori was the driver who had refused to help unload the wagon when it
broke down. Richard yawned. "I know, Ishaq."
"This isn't no farm, like where you came from. This is different,
living under the ways of the Order. You got to take the needs of others in
mind if you hope to get along. It's just the way the world is."
Richard caught the thread of caution in Ishaq's voice, and the meaning
of the gentle warning.
"You're right, Ishaq. Thanks. I'll try to remember."
Ishaq gestured with his lantern toward the door. "Workers' group
meeting tonight. Best be on your way."
Richard groaned. "I don't know. It's late and I'm tired. I'd really
rather-"
"You don't want your name to start going around. You don't want people
to start talking that you're not civic-minded."
Richard smirked. "I thought the meetings were voluntary."
Ishaq barked a laugh again. Richard collected his pack from a shelf in
the back corner and then ran to the door so Ishaq could lock it.
Outside, in the gathering darkness, Richard could just make out Nicci's
curvaceous form sitting on the wall at the warehouse entrance. Her curves
often put him in mind of nothing so much as a snake. They had no room, yet,
so she often came by the warehouse after she'd spent much of the day waiting
in lines to buy bread and other necessities. They would walk together back
to their shelter in a quiet alley about a mile away. Richard had paid a
small price to some of the boys there to guard their place and make sure no
one else took it. The boys were young enough to be thankful for the small
price and old enough to be diligent about their job.
"Get any bread?" Richard asked as he approached.
Nicci hopped down off the wall. "No bread today-they were out. But I
got us some cabbage. I'll make us a soup."
Richard's stomach was growling. He'd been hoping for bread so he could
eat a piece right then. Soup would take time.
"Where's your pack? And if you bought cabbage, where is it?"
She smiled and produced something small. She held it out before them as
they walked so as to silhouette it against the deep violet of dusk. It was a
key.
"A room? We got a place?"
"I checked the lodging office this afternoon. Our name finally came up.
They assigned a room to us. Mr. and Mrs. Cypher. We can sleep inside
tonight. Good thing, too; it looks like it will rain tonight. I already put
my things in our room."
Richard rubbed his sore shoulders. He felt a wave of revulsion at the
sham she was putting him through . . . putting Kahlan through. There were
times when he felt a hint of something profoundly important about her and
what she was doing, but most of the time he was merely overwhelmed by the
lunacy of it all.
"Where is this room?" He was hoping it wasn't clear over on the other
side of the city.
"It's one we were at before-not too far from here. The one with the
stain on the wall just inside the door."
"Nicci, they all had stains on the walls."
"The stain that looked like a horse's rear end with its tail flicked
up. You'll see it soon."
Richard was starving. "I have to go to a workers' group meeting again
tonight."
"Oh," Nicci said. "Workers' group meetings are important. They help
keep a person's mind on what's proper and on everyone's duty to his fellow
man."
The meetings were torture. Nothing worthwhile ever came about at the
meetings. They sometimes lasted hours. There were people, though, who lived
for the meetings so they could stand up in front of others and talk about
the glory of the Order. It was their shining hour, their time to be
somebody, to be important.
Those who didn't show up for the meetings were used as examples of
people who weren't properly committed to the cause of the Order. If the
absent person didn't mend his ways, it was possible he could end up being
suspected of subversion. The lack of truth to the suspicion was irrelevant.
Stating the charge made some people feel more important in a land where
equality was held as the highest ideal.
Subversion seemed to be a dark cloud hovering constantly over the Old
World. It wasn't at all unusual to see the city guard taking people into
custody on suspicion of subversion. Torture produced confessions, which
proved the veracity of the ac-
cuser. The people who spoke at length at the meetings had, by this
logic, accurately pointed a finger at a number of insurrectionists, as
evidenced by their confessions.
The undercurrent of tension in Altur'Rang left many worried over the
constant scourge of insurrection-coming from the New World, it was said.
Officials of the Order wasted no time in stamping it out whenever it was
discovered. Other people were so consumed with fear that the finger would
turn toward them that the speakers at the workers' group meetings were
assured of having a large number of zealous supporters.
In many a public square, as a constant reminder of what would happen
should you fall into the wrong company, the bodies of subversives were left
to hang from high poles until the birds picked their bones clean. The
running joke, if an incautious person said anything that sounded at all out
of line, was "You looking to be buried in the sky?"
Richard yawned again as they turned down the street toward the meeting
hall. "I don't remember the stain that looks like a horse's rear end."
Rocks crunched beneath their boots as they walked down the side of the
dark street. Off ahead of them, in the distance, he could see Ishaq's
lantern swinging as the man hurried to the meeting.
"You were paying attention to something else at the time. It's the room
where those three live."
"Three what?"
A number of other people, some he knew, most he didn't, hastened along
the street on their way to the meeting.
Richard remembered then. He stopped.
"You mean the place where those three bullies live-the three with the
knives?"
He could just barely see her nod in the dim light. "That's the place."
"Great." Richard wiped a hand across his face as they started out
again. "Did you ask if we could have a different room?"
"New people in the city are fortunate to get rooms. Rooms are assigned
as your name comes up. If you turn it down, you go back to the bottom of the
list."
"Did you have to give the landlord any money, yet?"
She shrugged. "Just what I had."
Richard ground his teeth as he walked. "That's all we have for the rest
of the week."
"I can stretch the soup."
Richard didn't trust her. She probably somehow saw to it that they got
that particular room. He suspected that she wanted to see what he would do
about the three young men, now that he was forced into the situation. She
was always doing little things, asking odd questions, making bold
statements, just to see what his reaction would be, how he would handle
matters. He couldn't imagine what it was she wanted from him.
He began to worry about the three. He remembered quite clearly how
Cara's Agiel had caused Kahlan to suffer the same pain as Nicci. If those
three abused Nicci, Kahlan would suffer it, too. That thought made him go
cold and sweaty with worry.
At the workers' group meeting, Richard and Nicci sat on benches at the
rear of a smoky room while people up front spoke about the glory of the
Order, and how it helped all people to live a moral life. Richard's mind
drifted to the brook behind the
house he had built, to the sunlit summer afternoons watching Kahlan
dangle her feet in the water. He ached with longing as his mind's eye traced
the curve of her legs. There were speeches about every worker's duty to
their fellow man. Many of the discourses were given in a droning monotone,
having been repeated so often that it was clear that the words were
meaningless, and that only the act of saying them mattered. Richard recalled
Kahlan laughing as he caught the fish he'd put in jars for her. Many of the
people, the group leaders, or citizen spokesmen, delivered with passion and
fire their praise for the ways of the Order. A few people stood up and
talked about those who weren't there, giving their names, saying what poor
attitudes they had toward the welfare of their fellow workers. Whispers
passed among the crowd.
After the speeches were given, some of the workers' wives stood up and
explained that they had extra need of late because they had just had new
children, or their husbands were laid up, or the relatives they cared for
were ill. After each spoke, there was a show of hands. If you agreed to do
the right thing and have the group help them, then you raised your hand.
The names of these who didn't raise their hand were noted. Ishaq had
explained to Richard that you were allowed not to raise your hand, if you
didn't agree, but if you did it very often, you were put on a watch list.
Richard didn't know what a watch list was, but it was easy enough to
surmise, and Ishaq had told Richard that he didn't want to be on one, and to
see to it that he raised his hand more often than not.
Richard raised it every time. He didn't really care what happened. He
had no interest in taking part, no interest in trying to make things better,
and no interest in how well or poorly people's lives went. Most seemed to
want the comfort of the Order running their lives, relieving them of the
burden of thinking on their own. Just like Anderith. Nicci seemed surprised,
and occasionally even disappointed, to see his hand go up every time, but
didn't object or question.
He was hardly even aware of his hand going up. He was smiling inwardly
as he recalled the wonder in Kahlan's expression, the astonishment in her
green eyes, when she saw Spirit for the first time. Richard would have
carved a mountain for her, just to see her tearful joy in seeing something
she admired, something she cherished, something she valued.
Another man spoke, complaining about the conditions, how unfair they
were, and how he had been forced to quit rather than subject himself to such
abuse by the transport company. He was the man who had quit and left Richard
to handle the loads by himself. Richard raised his hand along with all the
others to grant the man full wages for six months in recompense.
After the show of hands, and some whispering and scratching on paper as
all the obligations were figured up, the healthy working members were
assessed their just share to help those in need. Those who were able,
Richard had been told, had a duty to produce with all their effort in order