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concern to the brothers. The drain of the expense of the palace on top of
the expense of the war required justification to the people who were paying
that price not only with their sweat, but with their blood. The Fellowship
of Order ruled, through the Imperial Order, with the necessary collaboration
of brutes to whom they gave moral sanction. While the brutes had easily
crushed the bodies of those who had revolted, the brothers wanted to crush
the ideas such revolt represented, before they could spread, because it was
such ideas that were the greatest threat to them.
To that end, it was also important to inspire the officials: the
minions of the Order's tyranny. Richard imagined that with scenes of man's
depravity carved into thousands of feet of stone wall, the flock of
far-flung officials of the Order were going to be given guided tours, by the
brothers, of all mankind's failings, and thus coerced into their duty of
turning over money they had already confiscated at the point of a blade-a
blade they wielded under the moral sanction of the brothers through the
Fellowship of Order. Such petty officials were allowed a slice for their
service to the Order, but the brothers no doubt wanted to forcefully
dissuade them from any grander notions.
Under the direction of the brothers, the collective of the Order, like
any autocratic ruler, ultimately ruled only by the acquiesce of the people,
who were controlled either by moral intimidation, or by physical threat, or
by both. Tyranny required constant tending, lest the illusion of righteous
authority evaporate in the light of its grim toll, and the brutes be
overpowered by the people who greatly outnumbered them.
That was why Richard had known he couldn't lead: he could not bludgeon
people into understanding that bludgeoning was wrong because their lives
were of great value, whereas the Order could have them bludgeoned into
obedience by first making people believe that their lives were of no value.
Free people were not ruled. Freedom had first to be valued before its
existence could be demanded.
"From what I'm told, it is to be a big event," Ishaq said. "People from
all over are coming to the dedication of the emperor's palace. The city is
full of people from far and near."
Richard looked around at the site as the workers trudged back to their
regular jobs.
"I'm surprised none of the officials have come to have a look at the
palace in advance."
Ishaq waved his hat dismissively. "They are all at the gathering of the
Fellowship of Order. In the center of Altur'Rang. Big doings. Food, drink,
speeches by the brothers. You know how the Order likes meetings. Very
boring, I imagine. From what I know of such events, the officials will be
kept busy hearing of the needs of the Order and their duty to get people to
sacrifice to that need. The brothers will keep them all under tight rein."
That meant the brothers would all be busy-too busy to come out to the
site for the trivial task of checking a statue one of their slaves had
carved. In the scheme of things, Richard's statue was insignificant. It was
only the starting point of the stately tour of the miles of walls displaying
extensive scenes depicting the grand cause of the Order, as dictated by the
brothers, under Narev's leadership.
If the officials and the brothers were too busy to come today, the
people of the city were not. Most would probably attend the events of the
next day, but they wanted to get a sense of the place for themselves, first,
without the boring speeches that would drag out the ceremony. Richard
watched many of those people go from one scene on the walls to another,
their faces stricken with the desolate emotion of what they were seeing.
Guards kept people at a respectful distance, and out of the labyrinth
of rooms and hallways inside, now enclosed by upper floors, and in some
places, roofs. Now that the statue was set in place, those guards moved in
to clear the plaza entrance.
Richard had only gotten a few hours of sleep in the last week. Now that
the statue was in place, exhaustion overwhelmed him. With all the work on
top of so little sleep, and little to eat, he was almost ready to drop where
he stood.
Victor appeared out of the long shadows. Some workers were leaving, but
others would still be at it for several more hours. Richard hadn't even
realized that it had taken the better part of the day to move the statue.
With the heat of the work over, his sweat-soaked shirt felt like ice against
his flesh.
"Here," Victor said, handing Richard a slice of lardo. "Eat. In
celebration that you are done."
Richard thanked his friend before devouring the lardo. His head was
pounding. He had done all he could do to show people what they needed to
see. With the work done, though, Richard felt suddenly lost. He realized
only then how much he hated having finished, to be without the noble work.
It had been his reason to go on.
"Ishaq, I'm dead on my feet. Do you think you could give me a ride in
your wagon partway to my house?"
Ishaq clapped Richard on the back. "Come, you can ride in the back. I'm
sure Jori would not mind. At least he can save you part of your walk. I must
stay here and see to the teams and wagons."
Richard thanked the smiling Victor. "In the morning, my friends, in the
full light, we will remove the cover and see beauty one last time. After
that . . . well, who knows."
"Tomorrow, then," Victor said with his sly laugh. "I don't think I will
sleep tonight," he called after Richard.
The months of effort seemed to all come down upon him at once. He
climbed into the back of Ishaq's wagon and bid the man a good night. As
Ishaq left, Richard curled up under a tarp to shut out the light and was
asleep before Jori returned. He was dead to the world as the wagon rolled
away.
Nicci watched as Richard departed with Ishaq. She wanted to do this on
her own. She wanted it to be her part. She wanted to contribute something of
value.
Only then could she face him.
She knew precisely how the Order would react to the statue. They would
view it as a threat. They would not allow other people to see it. The Order
would destroy it. It would be gone. No one would ever know about it.
Twining her fingers together, she wondered how to proceed-what should
be first. Then it came to her. She had gone to him before. He had helped
Richard. He was Richard's friend. Nicci rushed across the sprawling site of
the palace and up the hill.
She was winded by the time she reached the blacksmith's shop. The grim
blacksmith was putting away tools. He had already banked the fire in his
forge. The smells, the sights, even the layer of iron dust and soot gave
Nicci a joyful flash of her father's shop. She understood, now, the look
that had been in her father's eyes. She doubted he had fully understood it
himself, but she did, now. The blacksmith looked up without smiling as she
rushed into his shop.
"Mr. Cascella! I need you."
His frown grew. "What's that matter? Why are you crying? Is it Richard?
Have they-"
"No. Nothing like that." She grabbed his meaty hand and tugged at him.
It was like tugging on a boulder. "Please. Come with me. It's important."
He gestured with his other hand around at his shop. "But I have to
clean up for the night."
She yanked again on his hand. She felt tears stinging her eyes.
"Please! This is important!"
He wiped his free hand down his face. "Lead the way, then."
Nicci felt a little foolish pulling the burly blacksmith along by the
hand as she raced down the hill. He asked where they were going, but she
didn't answer. She wanted to get down there before the light was gone.
When they reached the plaza, guards were patrolling up at the top of
the steps, keeping everyone off the plaza. Nicci saw Ishaq nearby, loading
long planks in a wagon. She called to him, and, seeing the blacksmith with
her, he ran over.
"Nicci! What is it? You look a frightful-"
"I have to show you both the statue. Now."
Victor's scowl grew. "It will be unveiled tomorrow when Richard-"
"No! You must see it now."
They both fell silent. Ishaq leaned close as he gestured covertly.
"We can't go up there. It's guarded."
"I can." Nicci angrily wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her voice
regained the quality of grave authority she had wielded so often, that dark
intonation that had passed judgment on countless lives, and sent people to
their death. "Wait here."
Both men pulled back at the menace in her eyes.
Nicci straightened her back. She lifted her chin. She was a Sister of
the Dark.
She ascended the steps in a measured pace, as if the palace were hers.
It was. She was the Slave Queen. These men were hers to command.
She was Death's Mistress.
The guards approached her warily, sensing that the woman in black was a
threat. Before they could speak, she spoke first.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed.
"What are we doing here?" one asked. "We're guarding the emperor's
palace, that's what we're doing-"
"How dare you talk back to me. Do you know who I am?"
"Well . . . I don't think I-"
"Death's Mistress. Perhaps you have heard of me?"
All dozen men straightened. She saw their eyes take in the black dress
again, then her long blond hair, her blue eyes. By their reaction to what
they saw, it was obvious to Nicci that her reputation preceded her. Before
they could say another word, she spoke again.
"And what do you suppose Emperor Jagang's consort is doing here? Do you
suppose I came without my master? Of course not, you idiots!"
"The emperor. . ." several mumbled together in shock.
"That's right, the emperor is arriving for the dedication tomorrow. I
have come to make my own examination, first, and what do I find? Idiots!
Here you stand, with your thumbs in your ears, while you should be standing
to greet His Excellency as he arrives into the city mere hours from now."
The guards' eyes widened. "But . . . no one told us. Where is he coming
in? We haven't been informed-"
"Arid do you suppose a man as important as Jagang wishes his
whereabouts to be known for any assassin in the neighborhood to find him?
And if there are assassins about, here you fools stand!"
All the men bowed urgently.
"Where?" the sergeant asked. "Where is His Excellency arriving?"
"He's arriving from the north."
The man licked his lips. "But, but, which road from the north? There
are any number of routes-"
Nicci planted her fists on her hips. "Do you suppose His Excellency is
going to announce his route beforehand? And to the likes of you? If only one
road was guarded, then any assassin would know where to expect the emperor,
now wouldn't they? All the roads are to be guarded! And here you stand,
instead!"
The men bobbed and bowed nervously, wanting to leave to do their duty,
but not knowing where to go.
Nicci gritted her teeth and leaned toward the sergeant. "Get your men
out to one of the north roads. Now. That is you duty. All the roads are to
be guarded. Pick one!"
The men bowed repeatedly as they sidestepped away. After scurrying only
a few feet, they broke into a dead run. She watched them collect other
guards as they went.
As they vanished out of the plaza, Nicci turned to the two startled
men. They climbed the stairs, now unhindered by guards. Some of the people
treading the cobblestone paths, come to look at the carvings on the walls,
had heard yelling and turned to watch what she was doing. Women on their
knees, praying up at the carvings in stone of the Light shining down on
depraved people, looked over their shoulders.
As Victor and Ishaq reached the top of the plaza, Nicci untied the
line, grabbed the linen in her fists, and ripped the shroud off the statue.
Both men stopped in their tracks.
In a half circle around the plaza, the walls were covered with the
story of man's inadequacy. All around them, man was shown small, depraved,
deformed, impotent,
terrified, cruel, mindless, wicked, greedy, corrupt, and sinful. He was
depicted forever torn between otherworldly forces controlling every aspect
of his miserable existence, an existence incomprehensible in its caldron of
churning evil, with death his only escape into salvation.
Those who had found virtue in this world, under the protection of the
Creator's Light, looked lifeless, their faces without emotion, without
awareness, their bodies as unbending as cadavers. They stared out at the
world through a vacant, mindless stupor, while all around them danced rats,
through their legs wriggled snakes, and over their heads flew vultures.
In the vortex of this torrent of tortured life, this cataclysm of
corruption, this depravity and debauchery, rose up Richard's statue in bold,
glowing opposition.
It was a devastating indictment of all around it.
The mass and weight of the ugliness surrounding Richard's statue seemed
to shrink back into insignificance. The evil of the wall carvings seemed now
to be crying out at their own dishonesty in the face of incorruptible beauty
and truth.
The two figures in the center posed in a state of harmonious balance.
The man's body displayed a proud masculinity. Though the woman was clothed,
there was no doubt as to her femininity. They both reflected a love of the
human form as sensuous, noble, and pure. The evil all around seemed as if it
was recoiling in terror of that noble purity.
More than that, though, Richard's statue existed without conflict; the
figures showed awareness, rationality, and purpose. This was a manifestation
of human power, ability, intent. This was life lived for its own sake. This
was mankind standing proudly of his own free will.
This was exactly what the single word at the bottom named it:
LIFE
That it existed was proof of the validity of the concept.
This was life as it should be lived-proud, reasoned, and a slave to no
other man. This was the rightful exaltation of the individual, the nobility
of the human spirit.
Everything on the walls all around offered death as its answer.
This offered life.
Victor and Ishaq were on their knees, weeping.
The blacksmith lifted his arms up toward the statue before him,
laughing as tears ran down his face.
"He did it. He has done as he said he would. Flesh in stone. Nobility.
Beauty."
People who had come to see the other carvings, now began gathering to
see what stood in the center of the plaza. They stared with wide eyes, many
seeing for the first time the concept of man as virtuous in his own right.
The statement was so powerful that it alone invalidated everything up on the
walls. That it had been carved by man underscored its veracity.
Many of them saw it with the same understanding Nicci had.
The carvers wandered away from their work to come see what stood in the
plaza. The masons came down from the scaffolding. The tenders set down their
mortar buckets. The carpenters climbed down from their work at setting
beams. The tilers laid aside their chisels. The drivers picketed their
horses. Men digging and planting the surrounding grounds set down their
shovels. They came from all directions toward the statue in the plaza.
People flowed up the steps in ever expanding ranks. They flooded around
the statue, gazing in awe. Many fell to their knees weeping, not in misery
as they had
before, but with joy. Many, like the blacksmith, laughed, as tears of
delight ran down their happy faces. A few covered their eyes in fear.
As people took it in, they began to run off to get others. Soon, men
were coming down from the shops on the hill to see what stood in the plaza.
Men and women who had come to watch the construction now ran off home to get
loved ones, to bring them to see what stood at the emperor's palace.
It was something the like of which most of these people had never in
their lives seen.
It was vision to the blind.
It was water to the thirsty.
It was life to the dying.
Kahlan pulled her map out and took a quick look. It was hard to tell
for sure. She glanced up and down the road and noted that the other
buildings were not quite as well kept.
"What do you think?" Cara asked in a low voice.
Kahlan slipped the map back inside her mantle. She snugged the fur up
over her shoulders a little, making sure it covered the hilt of Richard's
sword she wore strapped behind her shoulder. Her own sword was hidden under
her cloak. At least the sun had just gone down.
"I don't know. We don't have much light left. I guess there's only one
way to be sure."
Cara eyed the people who looked their way. For the most part, everyone
in the city seemed remarkably incurious. With their horses stabled outside
of the city, there would not be any swift escape if they needed to get away.
The general indifference of people, though, somewhat eased Kahlan's concern.
They had decided to simply be as aloof and casual as possible. She had
thought they looked pretty simple in their traveling clothes, but in a place
as drab as Altur'Rang, the two of them had a hard time being inconspicuous.
In retrospect, she wished they would have had the time to find something
shabby to wear. Kahlan felt they were about as inconspicuous as a pair of
painted whores at a country farm fair.
She climbed the stairs to the place as if she knew where she was going
and belonged there. Inside, the hallway was clean. It had the smell of
freshly scrubbed wood floors. With Cara close at her heels, Kahlan moved
down to the first door on the right. She could see the stairway farther down
the hall. If this was the correct building, this would be the proper door.
Looking both ways, Kahlan gently rapped on the door. No answer came.
She knocked again, a little louder. She tried the knob, but it was locked.
After checking the hall again, she pulled a knife from her belt and worked
it under the molding, springing it out until the door popped open. She
grabbed Cara's sleeve and pulled the woman in with her.
Inside, they both struck a pose prepared to fight. There was no one in
the room. In the light coming in from two windows, Kahlan saw first that
there were two sleeping pallets. What she saw next was Richard's pack.
Kneeling on the floor in the far corner, she flipped back the flap and
saw his things inside-his war wizard's clothes were in the bottom. Near
tears, she clutched the pack to her chest.
It had been over a year since she had seen him. For almost half the
time she had known him, he had been gone from her. It seemed she could not
endure another moment.
Kahlan heard a sudden noise. Cara seized the wrist of a young man as he
charged in brandishing a knife. In one fluid motion she had his arm twisted
behind his back.
Kahlan thrust her hand into the air. "Cara! No."
Cara made a sour face as she lowered her Agiel from the young man's
throat. His eyes were wide with both fear, and indignation.
"Thieves! You're thieves! That's not yours! Put it back!"
Kahlan rushed to the youth, motioning for him to keep his voice down.
"Is your name Kamil, or Nabbi?"
The young man blinked in surprise. He licked his lips as he glanced
over his shoulder at the woman towering above him.
"I'm Kamil. Who are you? How do you know my name?"
"I'm a friend. Gadi told me-"
"Then you're no friend!"
Before he could scream for help, Cara clamped a hand over his mouth.
Kahlan shushed him. "Gadi murdered a friend of ours. After we captured
him, Gadi told me your name."
When she saw that he was taken aback by the news, Kahlan signaled for
Cara to lower her hand.
"Gadi killed someone?"
"That's right," Cara said.
He stole a quick glance over his shoulder. "What did you do to him? To
Gadi?" "We put him to death," Kahlan said, not revealing the full extent of
the deed.
The young man smiled. "Then you really are friends. Gadi is a bad
person. He hurt my friend. I hope he suffered."
"It took him a long time to die," Cara said.
The young man swallowed when he saw her grin from over his shoulder.
Kahlan gestured and Cara released him.
"So, who are you two?" he asked.
"My name is Kahlan, and this is Cara."
"So, what are you doing here?"
"That's a little complicated, but we're looking for Richard."
His suspicion returned. "Yeah?"
Kahlan smiled. He was indeed Richard's friend. She put her hand to the
side of his shoulder as she held his gaze.
"I'm his wife. His real wife."
Kamil blinked dumbly. "But, but-,,
Kahlan's voice hardened. "Nicci isn't his wife." -
His eyes brimmed with tears as a grin overcame him. "I knew it. I knew
he didn't love her. I could never understand how Richard could have married
her."
Kamil suddenly threw his arms around Kahlan, hugging her with fierce
happiness for Richard. Kahlan laughed softly as she smoothed the young man's
hair. Cara seized his collar and pulled him back, but at least did it
gently.
"And you?" Kamil asked Cara.
"I am Mord-"
"Cara is Richard's good friend."
Kamil unexpectedly hugged Cara, then. Kahlan feared the Mord-Sith might
crush his skull, but she endured it politely, even if she was ill at ease.
Kahlan thought Cara might even have started to smile.
Kamil turned back to Kahlan. "But what is Richard doing with Nicci,
then?"
Kahlan took a deep breath. "It's a long story."
"Tell me."
Kahlan appraised his dark eyes for a moment. She liked what she saw
there. Still, she thought it best to keep it simple.
"Nicci is a sorceress. She used magic to force Richard to go with her."
"Magic? What magic?" he pressed without pause.
Kahlan took another breath. "She could have used her magic to hurt me,
kill me, if Richard didn't agree to go with her."
Kamil gazed skyward as he thought it over. He finally nodded. "That
makes sense. That's the kind of man Richard is-he would do anything to save
the woman he loved. I knew he didn't love Nicci."
"And how did you know that?"
Kamil gestured at the two pallets. "He didn't sleep with her. I bet he
slept with you, when you were together."
Kahlan could feel her face flushing at his boldness. "How do you know
that?"
"I don't know." He scratched his head. "You just look like you belong
with him. When you say his name I can see how you care for him."
Kahlan couldn't help but smile through her weariness. They had been
riding at a breakneck pace for weeks. They had lost a few horses along the
way, and had to acquire others. They had gone with little sleep for the last
week. She had trouble even thinking straight.
"So, do you know where Richard is, now?" Kahlan asked.
"At work, I'm sure. He usually comes home about now-unless he has to
work at night, too."
Kahlan briefly scanned the room. "What about Nicci?"
"I don't know. She may have gone to buy bread or something. It's a
little funny-she's usually home long before now. She almost always has
dinner ready for Richard."
Kahlan's gaze drifted through the darkening room, from table, to basin,
to cupboard. She would hate to leave, only to have him show up a minute
after she left. Kamil thought it was odd that Nicci wasn't home. That they
were both gone was troubling.
"Where does he work?" Kahlan asked.
"At the site."
"Site? What site?"
Kamil gestured into the distance. "Out at the emperor's new palace
they're building. Tomorrow's the big dedication."
"The new palace is done?"
"Oh, no. It's years and years from being done. It's only started,
really. But they are going to dedicate it to the Creator, now. A lot of
people have come to Altur'Rang for the ceremony."
"Richard is a laborer helping build the palace?"
Kamil nodded. "He's a carver. At least, he is now. He used to work at
Ishaq's transport company, but then he got arrested-"
Kahlan seized him by the shirt. "He was arrested? They . . . tortured
him?"
Kamil's eyes turned away from her frantic expression.
"I gave Nicci my money so she could get in to see him. She and Ishaq
and Victor the blacksmith got him out. He was hurt bad. When he got better,
the officials made him take a job carving."
Kamil's words spun through her head. The ones that floated above all
the rest were that Richard had recovered.
"He carves statues, now?"
Kamil nodded again. "He carves people in stone to decorate the walls of
the palace. He helps me with my own carvings. I can show you, out back."
Wonder of wonders. Richard carving. But all the carvings they had seen
in the Old World were grotesque. Richard would not like to carve such
ugliness. Obviously, he had no choice.
"Maybe later." Kahlan rubbed her fingers across her brow as she
considered what to do. "Can you take me there, now? To the site where
Richard works?"
"Yes, if you'd like. But don't you want to wait to see if he comes
home, first? He may be home soon."
"You said he works at night, sometimes."
"For the last few months, he worked at night a lot. He's carving some
special statue for them." Kamil's face brightened. "He told me to go
tomorrow to see it. With the dedication tomorrow, it may be he's still
finishing it. I've never seen where he works, but Victor, the blacksmith,
may know."
"We should go see this blacksmith, then."
Kamil scratched his head again as his expression turned to
disappointment. "But the blacksmith will be gone for the night."
"Is there anyone else out there, now?"
"There may be a lot of people there. Crowds go out there to see the
place-I've gone out there myselfand tonight there may be more than usual,
because of tomorrow's ceremony."
That might be just what they needed. They wouldn't look so out of place
searching the area for Richard if there were crowds out there. It would give
them an excuse to look around.
"We'll give him an hour," Kahlan said. "If he doesn't return by then,
then it's most likely because he's working. If he doesn't come back, we'll
have to go out there and look for him."
"What if Nicci shows up?" Cara asked.
Kamil waved his hand to dismiss their concern. "I'll go out on the
front steps and watch for Nicci. You two can wait in here, where no one will
see you. I'll come warn you if I see Nicci coming up the street. I can
always take you out the back way if I see her returning home."
Kahlan laid a hand over his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"That sounds good to me, Kamil. We'll wait in here." Kamil hurried out
to his guard post. Kahlan glanced around the tidy room.
"Why don't you get some sleep," Cara said. "I'll stand guard. You stood
guard last."
Kahlan was exhausted. She glanced down at the sleeping pallet closest
to Richard's things, then nodded. She lay down on his bed. The room was
getting dark. Just being where he slept was a comfort. Being so close, but
so far, she couldn't fall asleep.
--]----
Nicci's heart sank when she saw that Richard wasn't in their room.
Kamil was nowhere to be found. She had felt so good out at the site,
watching all the people
come to see Richard's statue. Throngs of people had come to see it and
had been uplifted.
Some had been angered by it. She, of all people, understood that.
Still, Nicci could hardly believe the hateful reaction of some people to
such beauty. Some people hated life. She understood that, too. There were
those who refused to see-who didn't want to see.
Other people, though, had a reaction much like hers.
It had all come clear for her. For the first time in her life, life
made sense. Richard had tried to tell her, but she hadn't listened. She had
heard the truth before, too, but others-her mother, Brother Narev, the
Order-had shouted it down, and shamed her out of listening.
Her mother had trained her well, and from the first day she had seen
Brother Narev, Nicci had been a soldier in the Order's army.
When she saw the statue, she saw at last the truth she had always
refused to see, suddenly and clearly standing before her. This was the valid
vision of life for which she had hungered, yet which she had evaded, her
entire life.
She understood, now, why life had seemed so empty, so pointless: she
herself had rendered it so in refusing to think. Nicci had been a slave to
everyone of need. She had given her masters their only real weapon against
her; she had surrendered to their twisted lies by putting the crippling
chains of guilt around her own neck for them, giving herself freely into
slavery to the whims and wishes of others instead of living her life as she
should have-for herself. She had never asked why it was right for her to be
a slave to another's desires, but not evil for them to enslave her. She was
not contributing to the betterment of mankind, but was merely a servant to
countless puling little tyrants. Evil was not one large entity, but a
ceaseless torrent of small wrongs left unchallenged, until they festered
into monsters.
She had lived her whole life on shifting quicksand, where reason and
the intellect were not to be trusted, where only faith was valid, and blind
faith was sacred. She, herself, had enforced mindless conformity to that
empty evil.
She had helped bring everyone together, so they might have one
collective neck around which the worst among men, in the name of good, could
put their leash.
Richard had answered their tower of empty lies in one righteously
beautiful statement for all to see, and had punctuated it with the simple
words on the back of the bronze sundial.
Her life was hers to live by right. She belonged to no one.
Freedom exists first and foremost in the mind of the rational, thinking
individual-that was what Richard's statue had shown her. That he had carved
it, proved it. A captive of her and the Order, his ideals had risen above
both.
Nicci realized only now that she had always known her father held this
same value-she had seen it in his eyes-even though he could never
rationalize it. His values were expressed through the integrity of his work;
that was why, from a young age, she had wanted to be an armorer like him. It
was his vision of life she had always loved and admired, but suppressed,
because of Mother and her ilk. It was that same look in Richard's eyes, that
same value for life held dear, that had drawn Nicci to him.
Nicci knew now that she had worn black ever since her mother's death in
an endless, shapeless longing to bury not just her mother's hold over her,
but, more important, her mother's evil ideals.
She was so sorry Richard wasn't home. She wanted to tell him that he
had given
her the answer she had sought. She could never ask his forgiveness,
though. What she had done to him was beyond forgiveness. She saw that now.
The only thing she could do now was to reverse the wrong she had done.
As soon as she found him, they would leave. They would go back to the
New World. They would find Kahlan. Then, Nicci would set things right. She
had to be close to Kahlan, at least within sight, in order to undo the
spell. Then Kahlan would be free. Then Richard would be free.
As much as Nicci loved Richard, she understood, now, that he should be
with Kahlan, the woman he loved. Her desire for him gave her no right to do
as she had done. She had no right to another's life, as they had no right to
hers.
Nicci lay down in her bed and wept at the thought of the outrage she
had done to them both. She was overcome with shame. She had been so blind
for so long.
She could not believe how she had thrown her entire life away fighting
for evil just because it claimed to be good. She truly had been a Sister of
the Dark.
She at least could work to correct the harm she had caused.
--]----
Kahlan could hardly believe the size of the crowd. By the light of the
moon brightening the thin layer of hazy clouds, and by torches here and
there throughout the valley, it looked like the open area as far as she
could see was packed with people. The numbers had to be in the hundreds of
thousands.
Thunderstruck, Kamil threw up his arms. "It's the middle of the night.
I've never seen so many people out here. What are they all doing here?"
"How would we know?" Cara sniped. She was in a foul mood, unhappy that
they hadn't found Richard, yet.
The city had been crowded with people, too. With the city guards
prowling the streets, uneasy about all the late-night activity, it had been
necessary to restrain their eagerness in favor of caution. It had taken them
hours to get out to the site by way of back streets, dark roads, and Kamil's
guided tour of alleyways.
The lad pointed. "It's up there."
They followed him up a road lined with workshops, most closed up and
dark. A few had men inside, still working at benches by the light of lamps
or candles.
Kahlan reached under her cloak and curled her fingers around the hilt
of her sword when she saw a man running in their direction. He saw them and
skidded to a halt.
"Have you seen it?"
"Seen what?" Kahlan asked.
He pointed excitedly. "Down at the palace. In the plaza." He started
running again. He called behind as he went. "I have to go get my wife and
sons. They have to see it."
Kahlan and Cara shared a look in the near darkness.
Kamil ran over to a shop and tugged on a door, but it was shut up
tight. "Victor isn't here." His voice couldn't conceal his disappointment.
"It's too late."
"Do you know what's down in the plaza?" Kahlan asked him.
He thought a moment. "The plaza? I know the place, but . . . wait,
that's where Richard told me to go. The plaza. He said to go to the plaza
tomorrow."
"Let's go down there now and have a look," Kahlan said.
Kamil waved a hand, pointing. "This is the shortest way, down the hill
behind the blacksmith shop."
So jammed was the place with people, that it took them over an hour
just to make it down the hill and across the expanse of grounds around the
palace. Even though it was the middle of the night, more people kept
arriving all the time.
Once they reached the palace, Kahlan discovered that they couldn't get
to the plaza. There was a huge mob of people stretching back forever along
the front wall, waiting to go up to the plaza. When Kahlan, Cara, and Kamil
tried to go around and get up there to see what was going on, it nearly
started a riot. People had been waiting a long time to reach the plaza, and
they didn't like having others try to push ahead. Kahlan saw several men try
to get ahead by going around the waiting crowd. They were set upon by the
mob.
Cara pulled her hand out from under her cloak and casually showed
Kahlan her Agiel.
Kahlan shook her head. "Long odds with Jagang's army are one thing, but
the three of us against a few hundred thousand does not sound good to me."
"Really?" Cara asked. "I thought it roughly even."
Kahlan only smiled. Even Cara knew better than to go against a mob.
Kamil frowned in puzzlement at Cara's humor. When they found the back of the
line, they melted in.
It wasn't long before the line behind them grew so large that they
could no longer see the back end winding out into the grounds. The people
all around seemed filled with a strange kind of nervous expectancy.
A round woman in front, bundled up in little more than rags, turned a
plump grin on them. She held out what looked like a loaf of bread.
"Would you like some?" she asked.
"Thank you, no," Kahlan said. "But that's very kind of you to offer."
"I've never made such an offer, before." The woman giggled. "Seems the
right thing to do, now, doesn't it?"
Kahlan had no idea what the woman was talking about, but said, "Yes, it
does."
Throughout the night, the line inched along. Kahlan's back ached
painfully. She even saw Cara grimace as she stretched.
"I still think we just ought to draw weapons and get up there," Cara
finally complained.
Kahlan leaned in close. "What difference does it make? Where have we to
go before morning? When morning comes, we can go up to the blacksmith's
place or to the carving areas over there and hopefully find Richard, but we
can do nothing tonight."
"Maybe he will be at his room, now."
"You want to run into Nicci again? You know what she's capable of. The
next time we may not be so lucky to escape. We haven't come all this way to
battle her-I just want to see Richard. Even if Richard goes back there-and
we don't know that he will-we do know he's got to return here in the
morning."
"I suppose," Cara grouched.
The sky was taking on a faint reddish glow by the time they made it to
the foot of the marble steps. They could hear moaning and wailing up ahead.
Kahlan couldn't see the cause, but people up on the plaza were weeping
freely. Oddly enough, some people could be heard to laugh joyfully. A few
others cursed, as if they had been robbed of their life savings at the point
of a knife.
As they slowly made their way up the steps, Kahlan and Cara tried to
stay low behind the people surrounding them so as not to draw attention to
themselves. The plaza above was lit by dozens of torches, their flickering
light giving an indication of the vastness of the crowds. The smell of the
burning pitch mixed sourly with the stale sweat of the packed multitude.
Through a momentary gap between people in front of her, Kahlan snatched
a
quick glance ahead. She blinked at what she saw, but it was gone almost
as fast as she saw it, screened by the throng. The people ahead wept some,
it sounded, with joy.
Kahlan began to make out the polite voices of men asking the crowd to
keep moving, imploring them to give others a chance. The ragtag collection
of people steadily advanced up onto the white marble of the plaza, like
beggars at a coronation. The torchlight was finally being replaced by
radiant daylight as the sun cleared the horizon. Golden rays washed the face
of the palace.
The scenes carved in the stone up on the walls were disturbing. If they
were any different from the others she had seen in the Old World, it was
only in that they were more gruesome, more horrifying, more desolately
hopeless, and more plentiful.
Kahlan's mind played over the lines of her statue of Spirit. The idea
of Richard having to carve such things as she saw up on the walls sickened
her.
She felt a sense of gloom overcoming her. This was the Order: pain,
suffering, death. This was what was in store for the New World at the hands
of these monsters. She couldn't take her eyes from the scenes on the walls,
from the fate that awaited the people of her homeland-the fate so many
blindly embraced.
Then, all of a sudden, as the people shuffled around and past, Kahlan
beheld the white marble figures rising up before her. The sight took her
breath in a gasp. The rays of dawn lit them as if the sun itself had risen
just to caress the lustrous forms in all their glory.
Cara gripped Kahlan's arm, her fingers digging in painfully as she,
too, was taken by the sight. The statue of the man and woman seized Kahlan's
imagination with their nobility of spirit.
She felt tears run down her cheeks, and then she was weeping openly,
like the people around her, at the majesty, the dignity, the beauty, of what
stood before her. It was everything the carvings on the walls all around
were not. It offered freely everything they denied.
LIFE, it said at the base.
Kahlan had to gasp through her tears to draw breath. She clutched at
Cara's arm, and Cara clutched at hers, the two of them holding on to each
other for support as the crowd swept them along in a current of shared
emotion. The man in the statue was not Richard, but there was much of
Richard in it. The woman was not Kahlan, but there was enough of her form in
it that Kahlan felt her face flushing at others seeing it.
"Please look and move along so that others may view it too," the men at
the sides kept calling. They weren't wearing uniforms; they were as
tattered-looking as everyone else. They appeared to be ordinary citizens who
had just stepped in to help.
The woman who had offered the bread fell to her knees in wailing. Arms
respectfully lifted her and helped her to move on. The woman, living in the
Old World, had probably never seen a thing of such beauty.
As Kahlan shuffled around the statue, unable to take her eyes from it,
she reached
out to touch it, as did everyone else. As she was carried past, her
fingers met the smooth flesh in stone, knowing it was also where Richard's
fingers had been. She wept all the harder.
As she moved past, Kahlan saw then that the curve of the sundial had
words on the back:
"Your life is yours alone. Rise up and live it."
The words were visible on the lips of many who saw them.
The crowd kept coming up the steps, forcing the people around the
statue to move on. Men at the rear guided people between the columns, out
through the rear of the partially built palace, and out of the way so that
others could come up to view the statue.
"I wish Benjamin could see this," Cara said, her blue eyes brimming
with tears.
Kahlan was overcome with a burble of laughter. "I was going to say, `I
wish Richard could see it.""
Cara laughed with her as they were swept away by the river of people.
Kamil grabbed Kahlan's hand. She saw him take Cara's, too.
"Yeah," he said with authority, "Richard carved it."
"Where to?" Kahlan asked him. "Where do you think we can find him?"
"I guess we should make our way back up to the blacksmith's place.
Hopefully, Richard will show up there. If not, maybe Victor will know where
he is."
Kamil's words, "Richard carved it," rang joyfully through her mind.
Richard climbed through the high window and dropped to the ground, his
boots hitting with a thud. He could hardly believe he had slept the whole
night under a tarp in the back of a wagon. He could hardly believe that Jori
didn't wake him so he could go home when they were close. The man probably
didn't think it was his job, and so he wouldn't do it. Richard sighed. Maybe
Jori hadn't known he was in the back.
Richard brushed himself off. He stood outside the transport company
building where he used to work when he had first come to Altur'Rang, and
where he had been locked in all night. Of course, he had been asleep, so he
didn't know Jori had locked him inside.
Richard didn't know where to go-home, or to the Retreat. The sky glowed
orange and violet in the bright sunrise. He supposed there was no point in
going home; that would only make him late to work. He decided he had better
get to work.
Work. What work? This was the day of the celebration, the dedication.
When Brother Narev saw the statue, Richard was not going to have to worry
about work anymore.
He knew that if he ran, tried to escape, it would only trigger Nicci's
anger, and then Kahlan's life would be forfeit. Richard had spent over a
year with Nicci-as long a time as he had spent with Kahlanand Nicci
repeatedly had made clear his choices. Kahlan's life was always the price in
the balance.
Richard had no real choice. At least he would get to see Victor's face
when he saw the statue. Richard smiled at that thought. It was the only
pleasant prospect the day held.
The day was most likely to end in the wet dark hole where he had been
before. He missed a step at that thought. He didn't want to go back into
that place. It was so small. Richard didn't like being trapped-especially in
small places. He didn't like either of those concepts; together, they were
terrifying.
As fearful as the prospect of such a fate was, he had carved the statue
with conscious intent and with forethought, knowing the probability of the
eventual price. What he had accomplished was worth that price. Slavery was
not life. Nicci had once promised him that if he died, or chose death, that
would in itself be her answer, and she would not harm Kahlan. Now, Richard
could only put his faith in that promise.
The statue existed. That was what mattered. Life existed. People needed
to see that. So many people in the Old World needed to see that life
existed, and was to be lived.
For so early in the morning, there was an unusual amount of activity on
the expense of the war required justification to the people who were paying
that price not only with their sweat, but with their blood. The Fellowship
of Order ruled, through the Imperial Order, with the necessary collaboration
of brutes to whom they gave moral sanction. While the brutes had easily
crushed the bodies of those who had revolted, the brothers wanted to crush
the ideas such revolt represented, before they could spread, because it was
such ideas that were the greatest threat to them.
To that end, it was also important to inspire the officials: the
minions of the Order's tyranny. Richard imagined that with scenes of man's
depravity carved into thousands of feet of stone wall, the flock of
far-flung officials of the Order were going to be given guided tours, by the
brothers, of all mankind's failings, and thus coerced into their duty of
turning over money they had already confiscated at the point of a blade-a
blade they wielded under the moral sanction of the brothers through the
Fellowship of Order. Such petty officials were allowed a slice for their
service to the Order, but the brothers no doubt wanted to forcefully
dissuade them from any grander notions.
Under the direction of the brothers, the collective of the Order, like
any autocratic ruler, ultimately ruled only by the acquiesce of the people,
who were controlled either by moral intimidation, or by physical threat, or
by both. Tyranny required constant tending, lest the illusion of righteous
authority evaporate in the light of its grim toll, and the brutes be
overpowered by the people who greatly outnumbered them.
That was why Richard had known he couldn't lead: he could not bludgeon
people into understanding that bludgeoning was wrong because their lives
were of great value, whereas the Order could have them bludgeoned into
obedience by first making people believe that their lives were of no value.
Free people were not ruled. Freedom had first to be valued before its
existence could be demanded.
"From what I'm told, it is to be a big event," Ishaq said. "People from
all over are coming to the dedication of the emperor's palace. The city is
full of people from far and near."
Richard looked around at the site as the workers trudged back to their
regular jobs.
"I'm surprised none of the officials have come to have a look at the
palace in advance."
Ishaq waved his hat dismissively. "They are all at the gathering of the
Fellowship of Order. In the center of Altur'Rang. Big doings. Food, drink,
speeches by the brothers. You know how the Order likes meetings. Very
boring, I imagine. From what I know of such events, the officials will be
kept busy hearing of the needs of the Order and their duty to get people to
sacrifice to that need. The brothers will keep them all under tight rein."
That meant the brothers would all be busy-too busy to come out to the
site for the trivial task of checking a statue one of their slaves had
carved. In the scheme of things, Richard's statue was insignificant. It was
only the starting point of the stately tour of the miles of walls displaying
extensive scenes depicting the grand cause of the Order, as dictated by the
brothers, under Narev's leadership.
If the officials and the brothers were too busy to come today, the
people of the city were not. Most would probably attend the events of the
next day, but they wanted to get a sense of the place for themselves, first,
without the boring speeches that would drag out the ceremony. Richard
watched many of those people go from one scene on the walls to another,
their faces stricken with the desolate emotion of what they were seeing.
Guards kept people at a respectful distance, and out of the labyrinth
of rooms and hallways inside, now enclosed by upper floors, and in some
places, roofs. Now that the statue was set in place, those guards moved in
to clear the plaza entrance.
Richard had only gotten a few hours of sleep in the last week. Now that
the statue was in place, exhaustion overwhelmed him. With all the work on
top of so little sleep, and little to eat, he was almost ready to drop where
he stood.
Victor appeared out of the long shadows. Some workers were leaving, but
others would still be at it for several more hours. Richard hadn't even
realized that it had taken the better part of the day to move the statue.
With the heat of the work over, his sweat-soaked shirt felt like ice against
his flesh.
"Here," Victor said, handing Richard a slice of lardo. "Eat. In
celebration that you are done."
Richard thanked his friend before devouring the lardo. His head was
pounding. He had done all he could do to show people what they needed to
see. With the work done, though, Richard felt suddenly lost. He realized
only then how much he hated having finished, to be without the noble work.
It had been his reason to go on.
"Ishaq, I'm dead on my feet. Do you think you could give me a ride in
your wagon partway to my house?"
Ishaq clapped Richard on the back. "Come, you can ride in the back. I'm
sure Jori would not mind. At least he can save you part of your walk. I must
stay here and see to the teams and wagons."
Richard thanked the smiling Victor. "In the morning, my friends, in the
full light, we will remove the cover and see beauty one last time. After
that . . . well, who knows."
"Tomorrow, then," Victor said with his sly laugh. "I don't think I will
sleep tonight," he called after Richard.
The months of effort seemed to all come down upon him at once. He
climbed into the back of Ishaq's wagon and bid the man a good night. As
Ishaq left, Richard curled up under a tarp to shut out the light and was
asleep before Jori returned. He was dead to the world as the wagon rolled
away.
Nicci watched as Richard departed with Ishaq. She wanted to do this on
her own. She wanted it to be her part. She wanted to contribute something of
value.
Only then could she face him.
She knew precisely how the Order would react to the statue. They would
view it as a threat. They would not allow other people to see it. The Order
would destroy it. It would be gone. No one would ever know about it.
Twining her fingers together, she wondered how to proceed-what should
be first. Then it came to her. She had gone to him before. He had helped
Richard. He was Richard's friend. Nicci rushed across the sprawling site of
the palace and up the hill.
She was winded by the time she reached the blacksmith's shop. The grim
blacksmith was putting away tools. He had already banked the fire in his
forge. The smells, the sights, even the layer of iron dust and soot gave
Nicci a joyful flash of her father's shop. She understood, now, the look
that had been in her father's eyes. She doubted he had fully understood it
himself, but she did, now. The blacksmith looked up without smiling as she
rushed into his shop.
"Mr. Cascella! I need you."
His frown grew. "What's that matter? Why are you crying? Is it Richard?
Have they-"
"No. Nothing like that." She grabbed his meaty hand and tugged at him.
It was like tugging on a boulder. "Please. Come with me. It's important."
He gestured with his other hand around at his shop. "But I have to
clean up for the night."
She yanked again on his hand. She felt tears stinging her eyes.
"Please! This is important!"
He wiped his free hand down his face. "Lead the way, then."
Nicci felt a little foolish pulling the burly blacksmith along by the
hand as she raced down the hill. He asked where they were going, but she
didn't answer. She wanted to get down there before the light was gone.
When they reached the plaza, guards were patrolling up at the top of
the steps, keeping everyone off the plaza. Nicci saw Ishaq nearby, loading
long planks in a wagon. She called to him, and, seeing the blacksmith with
her, he ran over.
"Nicci! What is it? You look a frightful-"
"I have to show you both the statue. Now."
Victor's scowl grew. "It will be unveiled tomorrow when Richard-"
"No! You must see it now."
They both fell silent. Ishaq leaned close as he gestured covertly.
"We can't go up there. It's guarded."
"I can." Nicci angrily wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her voice
regained the quality of grave authority she had wielded so often, that dark
intonation that had passed judgment on countless lives, and sent people to
their death. "Wait here."
Both men pulled back at the menace in her eyes.
Nicci straightened her back. She lifted her chin. She was a Sister of
the Dark.
She ascended the steps in a measured pace, as if the palace were hers.
It was. She was the Slave Queen. These men were hers to command.
She was Death's Mistress.
The guards approached her warily, sensing that the woman in black was a
threat. Before they could speak, she spoke first.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed.
"What are we doing here?" one asked. "We're guarding the emperor's
palace, that's what we're doing-"
"How dare you talk back to me. Do you know who I am?"
"Well . . . I don't think I-"
"Death's Mistress. Perhaps you have heard of me?"
All dozen men straightened. She saw their eyes take in the black dress
again, then her long blond hair, her blue eyes. By their reaction to what
they saw, it was obvious to Nicci that her reputation preceded her. Before
they could say another word, she spoke again.
"And what do you suppose Emperor Jagang's consort is doing here? Do you
suppose I came without my master? Of course not, you idiots!"
"The emperor. . ." several mumbled together in shock.
"That's right, the emperor is arriving for the dedication tomorrow. I
have come to make my own examination, first, and what do I find? Idiots!
Here you stand, with your thumbs in your ears, while you should be standing
to greet His Excellency as he arrives into the city mere hours from now."
The guards' eyes widened. "But . . . no one told us. Where is he coming
in? We haven't been informed-"
"Arid do you suppose a man as important as Jagang wishes his
whereabouts to be known for any assassin in the neighborhood to find him?
And if there are assassins about, here you fools stand!"
All the men bowed urgently.
"Where?" the sergeant asked. "Where is His Excellency arriving?"
"He's arriving from the north."
The man licked his lips. "But, but, which road from the north? There
are any number of routes-"
Nicci planted her fists on her hips. "Do you suppose His Excellency is
going to announce his route beforehand? And to the likes of you? If only one
road was guarded, then any assassin would know where to expect the emperor,
now wouldn't they? All the roads are to be guarded! And here you stand,
instead!"
The men bobbed and bowed nervously, wanting to leave to do their duty,
but not knowing where to go.
Nicci gritted her teeth and leaned toward the sergeant. "Get your men
out to one of the north roads. Now. That is you duty. All the roads are to
be guarded. Pick one!"
The men bowed repeatedly as they sidestepped away. After scurrying only
a few feet, they broke into a dead run. She watched them collect other
guards as they went.
As they vanished out of the plaza, Nicci turned to the two startled
men. They climbed the stairs, now unhindered by guards. Some of the people
treading the cobblestone paths, come to look at the carvings on the walls,
had heard yelling and turned to watch what she was doing. Women on their
knees, praying up at the carvings in stone of the Light shining down on
depraved people, looked over their shoulders.
As Victor and Ishaq reached the top of the plaza, Nicci untied the
line, grabbed the linen in her fists, and ripped the shroud off the statue.
Both men stopped in their tracks.
In a half circle around the plaza, the walls were covered with the
story of man's inadequacy. All around them, man was shown small, depraved,
deformed, impotent,
terrified, cruel, mindless, wicked, greedy, corrupt, and sinful. He was
depicted forever torn between otherworldly forces controlling every aspect
of his miserable existence, an existence incomprehensible in its caldron of
churning evil, with death his only escape into salvation.
Those who had found virtue in this world, under the protection of the
Creator's Light, looked lifeless, their faces without emotion, without
awareness, their bodies as unbending as cadavers. They stared out at the
world through a vacant, mindless stupor, while all around them danced rats,
through their legs wriggled snakes, and over their heads flew vultures.
In the vortex of this torrent of tortured life, this cataclysm of
corruption, this depravity and debauchery, rose up Richard's statue in bold,
glowing opposition.
It was a devastating indictment of all around it.
The mass and weight of the ugliness surrounding Richard's statue seemed
to shrink back into insignificance. The evil of the wall carvings seemed now
to be crying out at their own dishonesty in the face of incorruptible beauty
and truth.
The two figures in the center posed in a state of harmonious balance.
The man's body displayed a proud masculinity. Though the woman was clothed,
there was no doubt as to her femininity. They both reflected a love of the
human form as sensuous, noble, and pure. The evil all around seemed as if it
was recoiling in terror of that noble purity.
More than that, though, Richard's statue existed without conflict; the
figures showed awareness, rationality, and purpose. This was a manifestation
of human power, ability, intent. This was life lived for its own sake. This
was mankind standing proudly of his own free will.
This was exactly what the single word at the bottom named it:
LIFE
That it existed was proof of the validity of the concept.
This was life as it should be lived-proud, reasoned, and a slave to no
other man. This was the rightful exaltation of the individual, the nobility
of the human spirit.
Everything on the walls all around offered death as its answer.
This offered life.
Victor and Ishaq were on their knees, weeping.
The blacksmith lifted his arms up toward the statue before him,
laughing as tears ran down his face.
"He did it. He has done as he said he would. Flesh in stone. Nobility.
Beauty."
People who had come to see the other carvings, now began gathering to
see what stood in the center of the plaza. They stared with wide eyes, many
seeing for the first time the concept of man as virtuous in his own right.
The statement was so powerful that it alone invalidated everything up on the
walls. That it had been carved by man underscored its veracity.
Many of them saw it with the same understanding Nicci had.
The carvers wandered away from their work to come see what stood in the
plaza. The masons came down from the scaffolding. The tenders set down their
mortar buckets. The carpenters climbed down from their work at setting
beams. The tilers laid aside their chisels. The drivers picketed their
horses. Men digging and planting the surrounding grounds set down their
shovels. They came from all directions toward the statue in the plaza.
People flowed up the steps in ever expanding ranks. They flooded around
the statue, gazing in awe. Many fell to their knees weeping, not in misery
as they had
before, but with joy. Many, like the blacksmith, laughed, as tears of
delight ran down their happy faces. A few covered their eyes in fear.
As people took it in, they began to run off to get others. Soon, men
were coming down from the shops on the hill to see what stood in the plaza.
Men and women who had come to watch the construction now ran off home to get
loved ones, to bring them to see what stood at the emperor's palace.
It was something the like of which most of these people had never in
their lives seen.
It was vision to the blind.
It was water to the thirsty.
It was life to the dying.
Kahlan pulled her map out and took a quick look. It was hard to tell
for sure. She glanced up and down the road and noted that the other
buildings were not quite as well kept.
"What do you think?" Cara asked in a low voice.
Kahlan slipped the map back inside her mantle. She snugged the fur up
over her shoulders a little, making sure it covered the hilt of Richard's
sword she wore strapped behind her shoulder. Her own sword was hidden under
her cloak. At least the sun had just gone down.
"I don't know. We don't have much light left. I guess there's only one
way to be sure."
Cara eyed the people who looked their way. For the most part, everyone
in the city seemed remarkably incurious. With their horses stabled outside
of the city, there would not be any swift escape if they needed to get away.
The general indifference of people, though, somewhat eased Kahlan's concern.
They had decided to simply be as aloof and casual as possible. She had
thought they looked pretty simple in their traveling clothes, but in a place
as drab as Altur'Rang, the two of them had a hard time being inconspicuous.
In retrospect, she wished they would have had the time to find something
shabby to wear. Kahlan felt they were about as inconspicuous as a pair of
painted whores at a country farm fair.
She climbed the stairs to the place as if she knew where she was going
and belonged there. Inside, the hallway was clean. It had the smell of
freshly scrubbed wood floors. With Cara close at her heels, Kahlan moved
down to the first door on the right. She could see the stairway farther down
the hall. If this was the correct building, this would be the proper door.
Looking both ways, Kahlan gently rapped on the door. No answer came.
She knocked again, a little louder. She tried the knob, but it was locked.
After checking the hall again, she pulled a knife from her belt and worked
it under the molding, springing it out until the door popped open. She
grabbed Cara's sleeve and pulled the woman in with her.
Inside, they both struck a pose prepared to fight. There was no one in
the room. In the light coming in from two windows, Kahlan saw first that
there were two sleeping pallets. What she saw next was Richard's pack.
Kneeling on the floor in the far corner, she flipped back the flap and
saw his things inside-his war wizard's clothes were in the bottom. Near
tears, she clutched the pack to her chest.
It had been over a year since she had seen him. For almost half the
time she had known him, he had been gone from her. It seemed she could not
endure another moment.
Kahlan heard a sudden noise. Cara seized the wrist of a young man as he
charged in brandishing a knife. In one fluid motion she had his arm twisted
behind his back.
Kahlan thrust her hand into the air. "Cara! No."
Cara made a sour face as she lowered her Agiel from the young man's
throat. His eyes were wide with both fear, and indignation.
"Thieves! You're thieves! That's not yours! Put it back!"
Kahlan rushed to the youth, motioning for him to keep his voice down.
"Is your name Kamil, or Nabbi?"
The young man blinked in surprise. He licked his lips as he glanced
over his shoulder at the woman towering above him.
"I'm Kamil. Who are you? How do you know my name?"
"I'm a friend. Gadi told me-"
"Then you're no friend!"
Before he could scream for help, Cara clamped a hand over his mouth.
Kahlan shushed him. "Gadi murdered a friend of ours. After we captured
him, Gadi told me your name."
When she saw that he was taken aback by the news, Kahlan signaled for
Cara to lower her hand.
"Gadi killed someone?"
"That's right," Cara said.
He stole a quick glance over his shoulder. "What did you do to him? To
Gadi?" "We put him to death," Kahlan said, not revealing the full extent of
the deed.
The young man smiled. "Then you really are friends. Gadi is a bad
person. He hurt my friend. I hope he suffered."
"It took him a long time to die," Cara said.
The young man swallowed when he saw her grin from over his shoulder.
Kahlan gestured and Cara released him.
"So, who are you two?" he asked.
"My name is Kahlan, and this is Cara."
"So, what are you doing here?"
"That's a little complicated, but we're looking for Richard."
His suspicion returned. "Yeah?"
Kahlan smiled. He was indeed Richard's friend. She put her hand to the
side of his shoulder as she held his gaze.
"I'm his wife. His real wife."
Kamil blinked dumbly. "But, but-,,
Kahlan's voice hardened. "Nicci isn't his wife." -
His eyes brimmed with tears as a grin overcame him. "I knew it. I knew
he didn't love her. I could never understand how Richard could have married
her."
Kamil suddenly threw his arms around Kahlan, hugging her with fierce
happiness for Richard. Kahlan laughed softly as she smoothed the young man's
hair. Cara seized his collar and pulled him back, but at least did it
gently.
"And you?" Kamil asked Cara.
"I am Mord-"
"Cara is Richard's good friend."
Kamil unexpectedly hugged Cara, then. Kahlan feared the Mord-Sith might
crush his skull, but she endured it politely, even if she was ill at ease.
Kahlan thought Cara might even have started to smile.
Kamil turned back to Kahlan. "But what is Richard doing with Nicci,
then?"
Kahlan took a deep breath. "It's a long story."
"Tell me."
Kahlan appraised his dark eyes for a moment. She liked what she saw
there. Still, she thought it best to keep it simple.
"Nicci is a sorceress. She used magic to force Richard to go with her."
"Magic? What magic?" he pressed without pause.
Kahlan took another breath. "She could have used her magic to hurt me,
kill me, if Richard didn't agree to go with her."
Kamil gazed skyward as he thought it over. He finally nodded. "That
makes sense. That's the kind of man Richard is-he would do anything to save
the woman he loved. I knew he didn't love Nicci."
"And how did you know that?"
Kamil gestured at the two pallets. "He didn't sleep with her. I bet he
slept with you, when you were together."
Kahlan could feel her face flushing at his boldness. "How do you know
that?"
"I don't know." He scratched his head. "You just look like you belong
with him. When you say his name I can see how you care for him."
Kahlan couldn't help but smile through her weariness. They had been
riding at a breakneck pace for weeks. They had lost a few horses along the
way, and had to acquire others. They had gone with little sleep for the last
week. She had trouble even thinking straight.
"So, do you know where Richard is, now?" Kahlan asked.
"At work, I'm sure. He usually comes home about now-unless he has to
work at night, too."
Kahlan briefly scanned the room. "What about Nicci?"
"I don't know. She may have gone to buy bread or something. It's a
little funny-she's usually home long before now. She almost always has
dinner ready for Richard."
Kahlan's gaze drifted through the darkening room, from table, to basin,
to cupboard. She would hate to leave, only to have him show up a minute
after she left. Kamil thought it was odd that Nicci wasn't home. That they
were both gone was troubling.
"Where does he work?" Kahlan asked.
"At the site."
"Site? What site?"
Kamil gestured into the distance. "Out at the emperor's new palace
they're building. Tomorrow's the big dedication."
"The new palace is done?"
"Oh, no. It's years and years from being done. It's only started,
really. But they are going to dedicate it to the Creator, now. A lot of
people have come to Altur'Rang for the ceremony."
"Richard is a laborer helping build the palace?"
Kamil nodded. "He's a carver. At least, he is now. He used to work at
Ishaq's transport company, but then he got arrested-"
Kahlan seized him by the shirt. "He was arrested? They . . . tortured
him?"
Kamil's eyes turned away from her frantic expression.
"I gave Nicci my money so she could get in to see him. She and Ishaq
and Victor the blacksmith got him out. He was hurt bad. When he got better,
the officials made him take a job carving."
Kamil's words spun through her head. The ones that floated above all
the rest were that Richard had recovered.
"He carves statues, now?"
Kamil nodded again. "He carves people in stone to decorate the walls of
the palace. He helps me with my own carvings. I can show you, out back."
Wonder of wonders. Richard carving. But all the carvings they had seen
in the Old World were grotesque. Richard would not like to carve such
ugliness. Obviously, he had no choice.
"Maybe later." Kahlan rubbed her fingers across her brow as she
considered what to do. "Can you take me there, now? To the site where
Richard works?"
"Yes, if you'd like. But don't you want to wait to see if he comes
home, first? He may be home soon."
"You said he works at night, sometimes."
"For the last few months, he worked at night a lot. He's carving some
special statue for them." Kamil's face brightened. "He told me to go
tomorrow to see it. With the dedication tomorrow, it may be he's still
finishing it. I've never seen where he works, but Victor, the blacksmith,
may know."
"We should go see this blacksmith, then."
Kamil scratched his head again as his expression turned to
disappointment. "But the blacksmith will be gone for the night."
"Is there anyone else out there, now?"
"There may be a lot of people there. Crowds go out there to see the
place-I've gone out there myselfand tonight there may be more than usual,
because of tomorrow's ceremony."
That might be just what they needed. They wouldn't look so out of place
searching the area for Richard if there were crowds out there. It would give
them an excuse to look around.
"We'll give him an hour," Kahlan said. "If he doesn't return by then,
then it's most likely because he's working. If he doesn't come back, we'll
have to go out there and look for him."
"What if Nicci shows up?" Cara asked.
Kamil waved his hand to dismiss their concern. "I'll go out on the
front steps and watch for Nicci. You two can wait in here, where no one will
see you. I'll come warn you if I see Nicci coming up the street. I can
always take you out the back way if I see her returning home."
Kahlan laid a hand over his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"That sounds good to me, Kamil. We'll wait in here." Kamil hurried out
to his guard post. Kahlan glanced around the tidy room.
"Why don't you get some sleep," Cara said. "I'll stand guard. You stood
guard last."
Kahlan was exhausted. She glanced down at the sleeping pallet closest
to Richard's things, then nodded. She lay down on his bed. The room was
getting dark. Just being where he slept was a comfort. Being so close, but
so far, she couldn't fall asleep.
--]----
Nicci's heart sank when she saw that Richard wasn't in their room.
Kamil was nowhere to be found. She had felt so good out at the site,
watching all the people
come to see Richard's statue. Throngs of people had come to see it and
had been uplifted.
Some had been angered by it. She, of all people, understood that.
Still, Nicci could hardly believe the hateful reaction of some people to
such beauty. Some people hated life. She understood that, too. There were
those who refused to see-who didn't want to see.
Other people, though, had a reaction much like hers.
It had all come clear for her. For the first time in her life, life
made sense. Richard had tried to tell her, but she hadn't listened. She had
heard the truth before, too, but others-her mother, Brother Narev, the
Order-had shouted it down, and shamed her out of listening.
Her mother had trained her well, and from the first day she had seen
Brother Narev, Nicci had been a soldier in the Order's army.
When she saw the statue, she saw at last the truth she had always
refused to see, suddenly and clearly standing before her. This was the valid
vision of life for which she had hungered, yet which she had evaded, her
entire life.
She understood, now, why life had seemed so empty, so pointless: she
herself had rendered it so in refusing to think. Nicci had been a slave to
everyone of need. She had given her masters their only real weapon against
her; she had surrendered to their twisted lies by putting the crippling
chains of guilt around her own neck for them, giving herself freely into
slavery to the whims and wishes of others instead of living her life as she
should have-for herself. She had never asked why it was right for her to be
a slave to another's desires, but not evil for them to enslave her. She was
not contributing to the betterment of mankind, but was merely a servant to
countless puling little tyrants. Evil was not one large entity, but a
ceaseless torrent of small wrongs left unchallenged, until they festered
into monsters.
She had lived her whole life on shifting quicksand, where reason and
the intellect were not to be trusted, where only faith was valid, and blind
faith was sacred. She, herself, had enforced mindless conformity to that
empty evil.
She had helped bring everyone together, so they might have one
collective neck around which the worst among men, in the name of good, could
put their leash.
Richard had answered their tower of empty lies in one righteously
beautiful statement for all to see, and had punctuated it with the simple
words on the back of the bronze sundial.
Her life was hers to live by right. She belonged to no one.
Freedom exists first and foremost in the mind of the rational, thinking
individual-that was what Richard's statue had shown her. That he had carved
it, proved it. A captive of her and the Order, his ideals had risen above
both.
Nicci realized only now that she had always known her father held this
same value-she had seen it in his eyes-even though he could never
rationalize it. His values were expressed through the integrity of his work;
that was why, from a young age, she had wanted to be an armorer like him. It
was his vision of life she had always loved and admired, but suppressed,
because of Mother and her ilk. It was that same look in Richard's eyes, that
same value for life held dear, that had drawn Nicci to him.
Nicci knew now that she had worn black ever since her mother's death in
an endless, shapeless longing to bury not just her mother's hold over her,
but, more important, her mother's evil ideals.
She was so sorry Richard wasn't home. She wanted to tell him that he
had given
her the answer she had sought. She could never ask his forgiveness,
though. What she had done to him was beyond forgiveness. She saw that now.
The only thing she could do now was to reverse the wrong she had done.
As soon as she found him, they would leave. They would go back to the
New World. They would find Kahlan. Then, Nicci would set things right. She
had to be close to Kahlan, at least within sight, in order to undo the
spell. Then Kahlan would be free. Then Richard would be free.
As much as Nicci loved Richard, she understood, now, that he should be
with Kahlan, the woman he loved. Her desire for him gave her no right to do
as she had done. She had no right to another's life, as they had no right to
hers.
Nicci lay down in her bed and wept at the thought of the outrage she
had done to them both. She was overcome with shame. She had been so blind
for so long.
She could not believe how she had thrown her entire life away fighting
for evil just because it claimed to be good. She truly had been a Sister of
the Dark.
She at least could work to correct the harm she had caused.
--]----
Kahlan could hardly believe the size of the crowd. By the light of the
moon brightening the thin layer of hazy clouds, and by torches here and
there throughout the valley, it looked like the open area as far as she
could see was packed with people. The numbers had to be in the hundreds of
thousands.
Thunderstruck, Kamil threw up his arms. "It's the middle of the night.
I've never seen so many people out here. What are they all doing here?"
"How would we know?" Cara sniped. She was in a foul mood, unhappy that
they hadn't found Richard, yet.
The city had been crowded with people, too. With the city guards
prowling the streets, uneasy about all the late-night activity, it had been
necessary to restrain their eagerness in favor of caution. It had taken them
hours to get out to the site by way of back streets, dark roads, and Kamil's
guided tour of alleyways.
The lad pointed. "It's up there."
They followed him up a road lined with workshops, most closed up and
dark. A few had men inside, still working at benches by the light of lamps
or candles.
Kahlan reached under her cloak and curled her fingers around the hilt
of her sword when she saw a man running in their direction. He saw them and
skidded to a halt.
"Have you seen it?"
"Seen what?" Kahlan asked.
He pointed excitedly. "Down at the palace. In the plaza." He started
running again. He called behind as he went. "I have to go get my wife and
sons. They have to see it."
Kahlan and Cara shared a look in the near darkness.
Kamil ran over to a shop and tugged on a door, but it was shut up
tight. "Victor isn't here." His voice couldn't conceal his disappointment.
"It's too late."
"Do you know what's down in the plaza?" Kahlan asked him.
He thought a moment. "The plaza? I know the place, but . . . wait,
that's where Richard told me to go. The plaza. He said to go to the plaza
tomorrow."
"Let's go down there now and have a look," Kahlan said.
Kamil waved a hand, pointing. "This is the shortest way, down the hill
behind the blacksmith shop."
So jammed was the place with people, that it took them over an hour
just to make it down the hill and across the expanse of grounds around the
palace. Even though it was the middle of the night, more people kept
arriving all the time.
Once they reached the palace, Kahlan discovered that they couldn't get
to the plaza. There was a huge mob of people stretching back forever along
the front wall, waiting to go up to the plaza. When Kahlan, Cara, and Kamil
tried to go around and get up there to see what was going on, it nearly
started a riot. People had been waiting a long time to reach the plaza, and
they didn't like having others try to push ahead. Kahlan saw several men try
to get ahead by going around the waiting crowd. They were set upon by the
mob.
Cara pulled her hand out from under her cloak and casually showed
Kahlan her Agiel.
Kahlan shook her head. "Long odds with Jagang's army are one thing, but
the three of us against a few hundred thousand does not sound good to me."
"Really?" Cara asked. "I thought it roughly even."
Kahlan only smiled. Even Cara knew better than to go against a mob.
Kamil frowned in puzzlement at Cara's humor. When they found the back of the
line, they melted in.
It wasn't long before the line behind them grew so large that they
could no longer see the back end winding out into the grounds. The people
all around seemed filled with a strange kind of nervous expectancy.
A round woman in front, bundled up in little more than rags, turned a
plump grin on them. She held out what looked like a loaf of bread.
"Would you like some?" she asked.
"Thank you, no," Kahlan said. "But that's very kind of you to offer."
"I've never made such an offer, before." The woman giggled. "Seems the
right thing to do, now, doesn't it?"
Kahlan had no idea what the woman was talking about, but said, "Yes, it
does."
Throughout the night, the line inched along. Kahlan's back ached
painfully. She even saw Cara grimace as she stretched.
"I still think we just ought to draw weapons and get up there," Cara
finally complained.
Kahlan leaned in close. "What difference does it make? Where have we to
go before morning? When morning comes, we can go up to the blacksmith's
place or to the carving areas over there and hopefully find Richard, but we
can do nothing tonight."
"Maybe he will be at his room, now."
"You want to run into Nicci again? You know what she's capable of. The
next time we may not be so lucky to escape. We haven't come all this way to
battle her-I just want to see Richard. Even if Richard goes back there-and
we don't know that he will-we do know he's got to return here in the
morning."
"I suppose," Cara grouched.
The sky was taking on a faint reddish glow by the time they made it to
the foot of the marble steps. They could hear moaning and wailing up ahead.
Kahlan couldn't see the cause, but people up on the plaza were weeping
freely. Oddly enough, some people could be heard to laugh joyfully. A few
others cursed, as if they had been robbed of their life savings at the point
of a knife.
As they slowly made their way up the steps, Kahlan and Cara tried to
stay low behind the people surrounding them so as not to draw attention to
themselves. The plaza above was lit by dozens of torches, their flickering
light giving an indication of the vastness of the crowds. The smell of the
burning pitch mixed sourly with the stale sweat of the packed multitude.
Through a momentary gap between people in front of her, Kahlan snatched
a
quick glance ahead. She blinked at what she saw, but it was gone almost
as fast as she saw it, screened by the throng. The people ahead wept some,
it sounded, with joy.
Kahlan began to make out the polite voices of men asking the crowd to
keep moving, imploring them to give others a chance. The ragtag collection
of people steadily advanced up onto the white marble of the plaza, like
beggars at a coronation. The torchlight was finally being replaced by
radiant daylight as the sun cleared the horizon. Golden rays washed the face
of the palace.
The scenes carved in the stone up on the walls were disturbing. If they
were any different from the others she had seen in the Old World, it was
only in that they were more gruesome, more horrifying, more desolately
hopeless, and more plentiful.
Kahlan's mind played over the lines of her statue of Spirit. The idea
of Richard having to carve such things as she saw up on the walls sickened
her.
She felt a sense of gloom overcoming her. This was the Order: pain,
suffering, death. This was what was in store for the New World at the hands
of these monsters. She couldn't take her eyes from the scenes on the walls,
from the fate that awaited the people of her homeland-the fate so many
blindly embraced.
Then, all of a sudden, as the people shuffled around and past, Kahlan
beheld the white marble figures rising up before her. The sight took her
breath in a gasp. The rays of dawn lit them as if the sun itself had risen
just to caress the lustrous forms in all their glory.
Cara gripped Kahlan's arm, her fingers digging in painfully as she,
too, was taken by the sight. The statue of the man and woman seized Kahlan's
imagination with their nobility of spirit.
She felt tears run down her cheeks, and then she was weeping openly,
like the people around her, at the majesty, the dignity, the beauty, of what
stood before her. It was everything the carvings on the walls all around
were not. It offered freely everything they denied.
LIFE, it said at the base.
Kahlan had to gasp through her tears to draw breath. She clutched at
Cara's arm, and Cara clutched at hers, the two of them holding on to each
other for support as the crowd swept them along in a current of shared
emotion. The man in the statue was not Richard, but there was much of
Richard in it. The woman was not Kahlan, but there was enough of her form in
it that Kahlan felt her face flushing at others seeing it.
"Please look and move along so that others may view it too," the men at
the sides kept calling. They weren't wearing uniforms; they were as
tattered-looking as everyone else. They appeared to be ordinary citizens who
had just stepped in to help.
The woman who had offered the bread fell to her knees in wailing. Arms
respectfully lifted her and helped her to move on. The woman, living in the
Old World, had probably never seen a thing of such beauty.
As Kahlan shuffled around the statue, unable to take her eyes from it,
she reached
out to touch it, as did everyone else. As she was carried past, her
fingers met the smooth flesh in stone, knowing it was also where Richard's
fingers had been. She wept all the harder.
As she moved past, Kahlan saw then that the curve of the sundial had
words on the back:
"Your life is yours alone. Rise up and live it."
The words were visible on the lips of many who saw them.
The crowd kept coming up the steps, forcing the people around the
statue to move on. Men at the rear guided people between the columns, out
through the rear of the partially built palace, and out of the way so that
others could come up to view the statue.
"I wish Benjamin could see this," Cara said, her blue eyes brimming
with tears.
Kahlan was overcome with a burble of laughter. "I was going to say, `I
wish Richard could see it.""
Cara laughed with her as they were swept away by the river of people.
Kamil grabbed Kahlan's hand. She saw him take Cara's, too.
"Yeah," he said with authority, "Richard carved it."
"Where to?" Kahlan asked him. "Where do you think we can find him?"
"I guess we should make our way back up to the blacksmith's place.
Hopefully, Richard will show up there. If not, maybe Victor will know where
he is."
Kamil's words, "Richard carved it," rang joyfully through her mind.
Richard climbed through the high window and dropped to the ground, his
boots hitting with a thud. He could hardly believe he had slept the whole
night under a tarp in the back of a wagon. He could hardly believe that Jori
didn't wake him so he could go home when they were close. The man probably
didn't think it was his job, and so he wouldn't do it. Richard sighed. Maybe
Jori hadn't known he was in the back.
Richard brushed himself off. He stood outside the transport company
building where he used to work when he had first come to Altur'Rang, and
where he had been locked in all night. Of course, he had been asleep, so he
didn't know Jori had locked him inside.
Richard didn't know where to go-home, or to the Retreat. The sky glowed
orange and violet in the bright sunrise. He supposed there was no point in
going home; that would only make him late to work. He decided he had better
get to work.
Work. What work? This was the day of the celebration, the dedication.
When Brother Narev saw the statue, Richard was not going to have to worry
about work anymore.
He knew that if he ran, tried to escape, it would only trigger Nicci's
anger, and then Kahlan's life would be forfeit. Richard had spent over a
year with Nicci-as long a time as he had spent with Kahlanand Nicci
repeatedly had made clear his choices. Kahlan's life was always the price in
the balance.
Richard had no real choice. At least he would get to see Victor's face
when he saw the statue. Richard smiled at that thought. It was the only
pleasant prospect the day held.
The day was most likely to end in the wet dark hole where he had been
before. He missed a step at that thought. He didn't want to go back into
that place. It was so small. Richard didn't like being trapped-especially in
small places. He didn't like either of those concepts; together, they were
terrifying.
As fearful as the prospect of such a fate was, he had carved the statue
with conscious intent and with forethought, knowing the probability of the
eventual price. What he had accomplished was worth that price. Slavery was
not life. Nicci had once promised him that if he died, or chose death, that
would in itself be her answer, and she would not harm Kahlan. Now, Richard
could only put his faith in that promise.
The statue existed. That was what mattered. Life existed. People needed
to see that. So many people in the Old World needed to see that life
existed, and was to be lived.
For so early in the morning, there was an unusual amount of activity on