Chainfire (31 page)

“It is.” Verna shuffled through the disorderly jumble of books on the sturdy table, finally pulling out the one she wanted. “Look here at this book. This is the one that is perhaps the most troubling to me.
Collected Origins
is an exceedingly rare prophecy in that it was written entirely in story form. I studied this book before I left the Palace of the Prophets to search for Richard. I practically knew the story by heart.” Verna fanned through the pages. “The book is now entirely blank and I can’t remember a single thing about it except that it had something to do with Richard—exactly what, I have no idea.”

Berdine studied Verna’s eyes the way only a Mord-Sith could study someone’s eyes. “So this is some kind of trouble, and that trouble is a threat to Lord Rahl.”

Verna let out a deep breath. The flames of several of the closer candles fluttered as she did so.

“I’d be lying if I said otherwise, Berdine. While the missing text doesn’t all have to do with Richard, it all pertains to a time after his birth. I don’t have a clue as to the nature of the problem, but I admit that it has me greatly concerned.”

Berdine’s demeanor changed. Usually the woman was the most good-natured of any of the Mord-Sith that Verna knew. Berdine had a kind of simple, childlike glee about the world around her. At times she could be heartwarmingly curious. Despite hardships that had others complaining, Berdine usually wore an unaffected smile.

But at the impression of some kind of threat to Richard, she changed in a flash to all business. And now she had turned as suspicious and coldly menacing as any Mord-Sith ever was.

“What could be the cause of this?” Berdine demanded. “What does it mean?”

Verna closed the book full of blank pages. “I don’t know, Berdine, I re
ally don’t. Ann and Nathan are as puzzled as we are—and Nathan is a prophet.”

“What does that part about people losing trust in their leader mean?”

For an ungifted person, Berdine had managed to single out the most crucial part of a very oblique prophecy.

“Well,” Verna said, cautiously framing her answer, “it could mean a number of things. It’s hard to tell.”

“Maybe hard for me, but not hard for you.”

Verna cleared her throat. “I’m not an expert in prophecy, you understand, but I think it has something to do with Richard.”

“I know that much. Why would this prophecy talk about people losing trust in him?”

“Berdine, prophecy is rarely as straightforward as it seems.” Verna wished the woman would stop staring at her. “What it seems to say usually has nothing at all to do with the actual event involved in the body of the prophecy.”

“Prelate, this prophecy seems to me to suggest that questions of soundness of mind are going to be the cause of ‘a leader’s lost trust.’ Since this prophecy names the leader as the one opposed to the horde that vaunts the Creator’s cause—that would be the Imperial Order—that means it has to be talking about Lord Rahl. It then follows that Lord Rahl is the leader in whom people will lose trust. It comes after the part about the splitting of the horde, which the Order has now done. That makes the threat imminent.”

Verna felt sorry for anyone who ever made the unfortunate mistake of underestimating Berdine.

“It is my experience that prophecy sometimes tends to fret over Richard like a doting grandparent.”

“This sounds to me like a specific threat.”

Verna folded her hands before herself. “Berdine, you are a very smart woman, so I hope you can understand why it would be a grave mistake for me to argue or even discuss this prophecy with you. Prophecy is beyond the mind of the ungifted. It has little to do with how smart a person is. Prophecy is a creation of the gifted and meant only for those who are gifted in the same way. They are not even intended for other types of wizards.

“Even us Sisters, talented sorceresses though we may be, had to train for years before we were allowed to even look at prophecy, much less
work with it. It is exceedingly dangerous for the untrained to hazard guesses at the meaning of prophecy. You may recognize the words, but you do not recognize the meaning of those words.”

“That’s silly. Words are words. They have meaning. That is how we can understand the world around us. Why would prophecy take words that mean something and use them for some other unknown meaning?”

Verna felt as if she were stepping gingerly through a field of bear traps. “That isn’t exactly what I meant by what I said. Words can be used to make people understand, to explain, to veil, and to interpret the world, but they can also be used to explain things that are only speculation. If I foretell that dark times will come into your life, those words may be true, but it could mean that you will suffer a loss that will sadden you, or it could mean that you will be murdered. Though the words might be true, their exact meaning is not yet known. It would be a grave injustice to use those words as a reason to start killing everyone around you because the words made you fear you would be murdered.

“Wars have started over such misunderstandings about prophecy. People have died as the result of the untrained hearing what they think are the simple words of prophecy. That is why the books of prophecy were kept in secure vaults below the Palace of the Prophets.”

“These books of prophecy are not kept in vaults.”

Verna’s brow drew down as she leaned toward the Mord-Sith. “Perhaps they should be.”

“Are you saying that I’m wrong in what I believe this prophecy says?”

Verna heaved another sigh. “Right or wrong is impossible to discern in this instance. We can’t even begin to intelligently dissect this prophecy because it’s incomplete. We have here only the beginning of it and then a number of blank pages.”

“So?”

“So, it could be just as you say, that it’s about Richard and people will question his judgment and lose faith in him, but maybe the missing text says that the issue will be resolved the next day by some other event of consequence and they will think more of him than they ever had before. Not only can prophecy be forked, meaning that it may be an either-or kind of statement, but the same prophecy could mean opposite things.”

“I don’t see how it can mean opposite things. And how could something happen in the missing text of this prophecy to change people’s minds?”

Verna shrugged as she gazed around the vast, dimly lit library, trying to think of an example. “Well, say that they thought his battle plan was crazy. Maybe the army officers think it ill advised. That could be something that would result in this prophecy, in people losing faith in him. Then, say that, despite the advice of officers, Richard insists and so, despite their doubts and lack of faith, the soldiers follow his plan as ordered and achieve a victory that they never thought they could win. Their faith in Richard as their leader would be restored and they would probably have even more respect for his judgment than they ever did before.

“But if the prophecy were to be acted upon without understanding its true meaning, those actions very well could countermand the rest of the event as it would have taken place naturally and give the illusion that the prophecy had been fulfilled, but in fact the real and truly prophesied events had been bypassed by foolishly invoking a misinterpretation of the actual prophecy.”

Berdine, watching Verna the whole time, drew her single brown braid through a loose fist. “I guess that could make sense.”

“You see, Berdine, why prophecy is so confusing, even for those of us trained in it? But to make matters worse, without the whole prophecy we dare not even begin to try understand them or to assign any significance to them. The complete text is indispensable if one is to even begin to try to understand prophecy. Without all the text it’s as if prophecy has gone blind. That’s one reason why this is so disturbing.”

“One reason?” Berdine looked up again, still running her braid through her fist. “What is the other reason?”

“It’s bad enough to be without the text that was previously there, but the cause behind such an unprecedented event—the text of prophecy vanishing—is troubling in the extreme.”

“I thought you just said that we shouldn’t jump to conclusions when it comes to prophecy.”

Verna cleared her throat, feeling as if one of those bear traps just snapped closed on her leg. “Well, that’s true, but it’s obvious that something is going on.”

Berdine folded her arms as she pondered the problem. “What do you think could be happening?”

Verna shook her head. “I can’t begin to imagine. Such a thing, to my knowledge, has never happened before. I have no idea why it’s happening now.”

“But you think it’s trouble that involves Lord Rahl.”

Verna gave Berdine a sidelong look. “The simple fact that so much of prophecy involves him makes that conclusion impossible to avoid. Richard is born to trouble. He is at the center of it.”

Berdine didn’t appear to like that one bit. “That is why he needs us.”

“I’ve never argued that he didn’t.”

Berdine relaxed, if only a notch, and flicked her braid back over her shoulder. “No, you have not.”

“Ann is searching for him. Let’s hope she can find him, and soon. We need him to lead us in the coming battle.”

As Verna spoke, Berdine idly pulled a book from one of the glass cases and began leafing through it. “Lord Rahl is supposed to be magic against magic, not the steel against steel.”

“That is a D’Haran proverb. Prophecy says that he must lead us in the final battle.”

“I suppose,” Berdine mumbled without looking up as she slowly turned pages.

“With part of Jagang’s forces headed south around the mountains, we can only hope that Ann will find him in time and bring him to us.”

Berdine was puzzling at the book. “What is it that is buried with the bones?”

“What?”

Berdine was still frowning as she tried to work out something in the book. “This book caught my attention before because it says
Fuer Grissa Ost Drauka
on the cover. That’s High D’Haran. It means—”

“The bringer of death.”

Berdine glanced up. “Yes. How did you know?”

“There was a widely known prophecy that the Sisters back at the Palace of the Prophets used to debate. It had, actually, been hotly debated for centuries. The first day I brought Richard to the palace he declared himself to be the bringer of death and thus named himself to be the one in the prophecy. It caused quite a stir among the Sisters, I can tell you. One day, down in the vaults, Warren showed Richard the prophecy and Richard himself solved the riddle of it, although to Richard it wasn’t a riddle. He understood it because he had lived portions of the prophecy.”

“This book has a lot of blank pages in it.”

“No doubt. It sounds like it’s about Richard. There are probably a great number of books here that are about him.”

Berdine was reading again. “This is in High D’Haran. Like I said, I know High D’Haran. I would have to work at it to be able to translate it more completely, and it would help if there wasn’t so much missing text, but this place is apparently talking about Lord Rahl. It says something like, ‘what he seeks is buried with the bones,’ or maybe even ‘what he seeks is buried bones’—something like that.”

Berdine looked up at Verna. “Any idea what that’s about? What it could mean?”

“What he seeks is buried bones?” Verna shook her head with regret. “I have no idea. There are probably countless volumes here that have interesting, or puzzling, or frightening things to say about Richard. As I told you, though, with copy missing, what is there is next to useless.”

“I suppose,” Berdine said in disappointment. “What about ‘central sites’?”

“Central sites?”

“Yes. This books mentions places called ‘central sites.’” Berdine stared off as she considered something to herself. “Central sites. Kolo mentioned something about central sites.”

“Kolo?”

Berdine nodded. “It’s a journal written ages ago—during the great war. Lord Rahl found the book at the Wizard’s Keep, in the room with the sliph. The man who kept the journal is named Koloblicin. In High D’Haran the name means ‘strong advisor.’ Lord Rahl and I call him Kolo, for short.”

“What did this Kolo have to say about these places, these central sites? What are they?”

Berdine turned through the pages of the book she held. “I don’t recall. It was nothing I understood at the time so I didn’t devote a lot of effort to it. I’d have to go study it again to refresh my memory.” She squinted in recollection. “It seemed like there was something buried at the places called central sites. I can’t remember if it said what was buried.”

The Mord-Sith stood frozen in her same pose as she studied the little book. “I was hoping this might give me a clue.”

Verna let out a heavy sigh as she glanced around at the library.

“Berdine, I would love to stay and spend time researching all these books. I would truly like to know what this library and the others here at the palace contain, but there are more pressing matters at hand. We need to get back to the army and my Sisters.”

Verna took a last look around. “Before I go, however, there is one thing here at the People’s Palace that I would like to check on. Maybe you can help me.”

Berdine reluctantly closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. She carefully closed the glass door.

“All right, Prelate. What is it you want to see?”

Verna paused at hearing the single, long peal of a bell.

“What was that?”

“Devotion,” Berdine said, stopping to look back at Verna as the deep toll reverberated through the vast marble and granite halls of the People’s Palace.

People, no matter where they seemed to be headed, turned and instead moved toward the broad passageway from where the deep, resonant sound of the bell had come. No one looked to be in a hurry, but they all very deliberately walked toward the slowly dying sound of the bell.

Verna puzzled at Berdine. “What?”

“Devotion. You know what a devotion is.”

“You mean a devotion to the Lord Rahl? That devotion?”

Berdine nodded. “The bell announces that it is time for the devotion.” Pensively, she gazed off in the direction of the hall where people were headed.

Many of the gathering crowd were dressed in robes of a variety of muted colors. Verna assumed that white robes with gold or silver banding on them were the mark of officials of one sort or another who lived and worked at the palace. They certainly had the manner and bearing of officials. Everyone from those administrators to messengers in tunics trimmed in green and carrying leather satchels with an ornate letter “R” on them, standing for the House of Rahl, continued their casual conversations even as they made their way to the convergence of wide halls. Other people who worked at any of the countless variety of shops were dressed more appropriately for their profession, whether it was working at leather, silver, pottery, cobbling, or tailoring, providing the many foods and services, or doing any of the various palace work from maintenance to cleaning.

There were a number of people dressed in the simple clothes of farmers, tradesmen, and merchants, many with their wives and some with children. Like those Verna had seen in the lower levels within the great
plateau atop which sat the People’s Palace or at the markets set up outside, they appeared to be visitors come to trade or make purchases. Others, though, were dressed in finery for their sojourn to the palace. From what Verna had learned from Berdine, there were rooms that guests could rent if they wished to stay for an extended period. There were, as well, quarters for the many people who lived and worked at the palace.

Most of the people in robes walked calmy, as if this were just another part of their day. Those dressed in finery tried to look just as calm and not stare at the exquisite architecture of the palace, but Verna saw their wide eyes wandering. The simply dressed visitors, as they fell in with the flow of all the people making their way toward the fork that would take them to the passageway with the bell, openly peered about at everything, at the towering statues of men and women in proud poses carved from variegated stone, at polished two-story fluted columns soaring past balconies, at the spectacular black granite and honey-onyx floors.

Verna knew that such intricate and precise patterns in the stone floors, set with such tight grout joints, could have been created only by the most talented master craftsmen in all of the New World. Serving as Prelate at the Palace of the Prophets for a time, she had had to deal with the matter of the replacement of a section of beautifully patterned floor that had in the dim past been damaged by young wizards in training. The precise events leading to the damage and who, exactly, had been the guilty party remained shrouded in oaths not to tattle, but the result was that the bit of mischievous magic had in an instant torn up a long section of exquisitely laid marble floor. While the debris and loose tiles had long since been removed, the floor sat damaged for decades, filled in with serviceable but unsightly limestone, while life at the Palace of the Prophets moved on. The palace attitude toward the boys had been one of indulgence, in part out of a sense of regret for having to hold such young men against their will.

Verna had always been vexed that the damage had never been fixed—in part because by not fixing it it represented to her an attitude that had indulged such bad behavior. It had always seemed like she was the only one—except maybe until Richard came along—who was bothered by seeing such beauty marred. Richard expected the boys there to take responsibility for their actions. Even though he was held against his will, he never tolerated such senseless destructive behavior.

Warren saw matters the same way as Richard. Perhaps that was part of
the reason they had become such fast friends. Warren had always been serious and dedicated about everything. After Richard had left the palace, Warren had reminded Verna that as the new prelate she no longer needed to complain about either the behavior or the floor; he encouraged her to act on her convictions. So, as Prelate, she both set new rules and set about seeing to the completion of the repairs to the floor.

That was when she had come to learn a thing or two about such floors and that while there were any number of men who boldly professed to be master craftsmen, very few actually were. Those who were let their work make clear the distinction. The former made the task a nightmare, the latter a joy.

She remembered how proud Warren had been of her for seeing the task through and for not accepting anything less than the best. She missed him so much.

Verna gazed around at the spectacular palace, at the intricate stone work, and yet such beauty now failed to move her. Since Warren had died everything seemed bland, uninteresting, and unimportant to her. Since Warren had died, life itself seemed drudgery.

Everywhere throughout the palace, wary soldiers patrolled, probably not ever realizing, or even considering, the staggering amount of human imagination, skill, and effort that had gone into the creation of such a place as the People’s Palace. Now, they were a part of it, a part of what kept it viable, like thousands of men just like them who for centuries had walked these same halls and kept them safe.

Verna noticed that some of the guards moved through the halls in pairs, while others patrolled in larger groups. The muscular young men were dressed in smart uniforms with molded leather shoulder and breast plates and all carried at least a sword. Many of the soldiers also carried pikes with gleaming metal points. Verna noticed special guards who wore black gloves and carried crossbows slung over their shoulders. The quivers at their belts held red-fletched bolts. The soldiers’ eyes were always on the move, watching everything.

“I seem to recall Richard mentioning the devotion,” Verna said, “but I didn’t think that they still did it when the Lord Rahl wasn’t at the palace. And especially not since Richard became the Lord Rahl.”

Verna hadn’t exactly meant it to be condescending, although she realized after she’d said it that it must have sounded that way. It was just that Richard was…well, Richard.

Berdine glanced at Verna askance. “He is still the Lord Rahl. We are no less bonded to him because he is away. The devotion is always done at the palace, whether the Lord Rahl is here or not. And regardless of how you may view him, he is the Lord Rahl by every measure. We have never had a Lord Rahl we respected as much as we respect him. That makes the devotion more meaningful, and more important, than it ever was before.”

Verna kept her mouth shut, but she cast Berdine a look that came all too easily to her as a Sister of the Light and now as Prelate. Even though she understood the reasons behind it, she was the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light, devoted to seeing the Creator’s will done. As a Sister of the Light, living at the Palace of the Prophets under the spell that slowed their aging, she had seen rulers come and go. The Sisters of the Light never bowed down to any of them.

She reminded herself that the Palace of the Prophets was gone. The Imperial Order now controlled many of the Sisters.

Berdine lifted an arm, indicating the palace around them. “The Lord Rahl makes all this possible. He gives us a homeland. He is the magic against magic. His rule keeps us safe. While in the past we have had masters who regarded the devotion as a demonstration of servitude, its origin is actually nothing more than an act of respect.”

Verna’s aggravation seethed just below the surface. This was not some mythic leader Berdine was talking about, some wise old king; it was Richard. As much as Verna respected and valued him, it was still Richard. Woods guide Richard.

Swiftly on the heels of her flash of indignation come regret for such unkind thoughts.

Richard always fought for what was right. He had valiantly put his life in peril for his noble beliefs.

He was also the one named in prophecy.

He was also the Seeker.

He was also the Lord Rahl, the bringer of death, who had turned the world upside down. Because of Richard, Verna was prelate. She wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

Richard was also their last hope.

“Well, if he doesn’t hurry up and join up with us to lead the D’Haran army in the final battle there will be none of us left to respect him.”

Berdine withdrew her reproachful stare and unexpectedly started to
ward the passageway that turned off to the left—the one where the bell had rung. “We are the steel against steel. Lord Rahl is the magic against magic. If he doesn’t come to fight with the army it is only because of his duty to protect us all from the dark forces of magic.”

“Simpleminded gibberish,” Verna muttered to herself as she hurried to catch up with the Mord-Sith. “Where are you going?” she called after the woman.

“To devotion. At the palace everyone goes to devotion.”

“Berdine,” Verna growled as she caught Berdine’s arm, “we don’t have time for this.”

“It is devotion. It is part of our bond to Lord Rahl. You would be wise to go to devotion and then maybe you will remember that.”

Verna stood frozen in the vast hall, stunned, watching the Mord-Sith stalk off. Verna had a vivid memory of the time that the bond to Richard had been severed. It hadn’t been for long, but in Richard’s absence from the world of life the protection of the bond to the Lord Rahl had ceased to exist.

In that brief window in time, when Richard and the bond were gone from them all, Jagang had stolen into Verna’s dreams to capture her mind. He had captured Warren as well. It had been beyond horror to have the dream walker in control of her consciousness, but it had been all the worse to know that Warren was just as helpless. Jagang’s brutal presence had dominated every aspect of their existence, from what they could think, to what they had to do. They no longer had control of their own will; Jagang’s will was all that mattered. Just the memory of the searing pain that had been sent through that link into her—and into Warren—unexpectedly brought the sting of tears to Verna’s eyes.

She quickly swiped away the tears and hurried after Berdine. Verna had important things to do, but she would lose untold time trying to find her way all alone in the vast interior of the People’s Palace. She needed the Mord-Sith to show her the way. If Verna had control of her gift it might help her find what she sought, but in the palace her Han was virtually useless. She would just have to go along with Berdine and hope that they could then get back to business without the loss of too much time.

The passageway to the left led under an interior bridge with a rail and balusters made of gray marble struck through with white veins. At a convergence of four passageways, the hall expanded into a square open to the
sky. In the center of the square was a square pond with a short, polished, speckled gray granite seat all the way around that held the water within it. A large pitted rock sat in the water a little off center. Atop the rock sat the bell—apparently the one that had rung calling people to the devotion.

Gentle rain had begun to fall in through the open roof. The surface of the pond danced with the drops. Verna saw that the floor all around the square was gently sloped toward drains in order to handle any rain. The clay tiles helped reinforce the realization that the square was really out-of-doors.

All around the people were going to their knees, bowing down on the clay tile floor, facing the pond that held the now silent bronze bell.

Berdine’s dark discontent evaporated at seeing that Verna was coming with her. She smiled back happily and then did the strangest thing. She reached out and took Verna’s hand.

“Come on, let me take you up by the pond. It has fish.”

“Fish?”

Berdine’s grin widened. “Yes. I love the squares with fish.”

Sure enough, after they wove their way through all the people kneeling down on the floor and reached the front of the crowd close to the pond, Verna saw that there were schools of orange fish meandering through the water. There was hardly enough room for them to stand among all the people bowed down on the floor around them.

“Aren’t they pretty?” Berdine asked. She had that little-girl air about her again.

Verna glared at the young woman. “They’re fish.”

Berdine seemed unfazed and knelt in a spot that opened up as people moved aside for them. Verna could see by the sidelong glances that everyone had at least a healthy respect for the Mord-Sith, if not open fear. While none of them appeared frightened enough to leave, they clearly didn’t want to be where Berdine wanted to be when she wanted to be there. They also seemed more than a little worried about who the Mord-Sith was dragging to the devotion, as if it might be a repentant sinner and the lesson might involve bloodshed.

Berdine glanced over her shoulder at Verna before leaning forward and placing her hands on the tile floor. The brief look had been an admonition for Verna to do the same. Verna saw that the guards were watching her. This was crazy; she was the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light, an advisor to Richard and one of his close friends.

But the guards didn’t know that.

Verna knew all too well that her power was diminished to next to nothing in the palace. This was the ancestral home of the House of Rahl. The entire palace had been built in the shape of a spell-form designed to enhance their power and deny others theirs.

Verna let out a sigh and finally went to her knees, bowing forward on her hands like everyone else. They were close to the pond, but the opening in the roof was only about the size of the pond itself, so the rain was confined mostly to the pond and whatever stray rain the gentle breeze carried beyond. The few sprinkles that reached her actually felt rather refreshing, considering her heated mood.