Confessor (10 page)

At the same time his heart ached for Kahlan. Agony for what she must be facing at the hands of such a man knotted his insides. His knees felt weak with his fear for her. He had to stiffen his resolve to keep himself from falling to the ground in tears.

If only he could get his hands on Jagang. If only…

Commander Karg strode up close in front of Richard. “You’re lucky,” he growled. “The emperor obviously had more important things to do than review my team and my clumsy point man.”

“I need some paint,” Richard said.

Commander Karg blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Paint. I need some.”

“You expect me to fetch paint for you?”

“Yes. I told you, I need it.”

“What for?”

Richard wagged a finger at the man’s face, resisting mightily the urge to whip a length of chain around the commander’s neck and strangle the life out of him. “Why do you have those tattoos?”

Confused, Commander Karg hesitated for a moment, considering the question as if it might have thorns in it.

“To make me look all the more fierce to the enemy,” he said at last. “Such a look gives me power. When the enemy sees our men, they see ferocious fighters. It strikes terror into their hearts. When they freeze for a moment in fear, we triumph.”

“That’s why I want the paint,” Richard said. “I want to paint the faces of our team so that it strikes fear into the hearts of our opponents. It will help us defeat them. It will help your team to triumph.”

Commander Karg studied Richard’s eyes for a moment, as if to gauge if he was serious or up to something.

“I have a better idea,” the commander said. “I will have tattoo artists come around and tattoo my entire team.” He tapped a finger on the scales covering the side of his face. “I will have them tattoo you all with scales and such all over your faces. It will make you all look like my men. When you all have tattoos like mine you will look like my team. Everyone will know you belong to me.”

The commander gave Richard a grim smile, pleased with his idea. “I will have you all pierced as well. You all will have tattoos and metal studs in your faces. You will all look like inhuman animals.”

Richard waited until the man was finished and then shook his head. “No. That won’t do. It’s not good enough.”

Commander Karg planted his fists on his hips. “What do you mean it’s not good enough?”

“Well,” Richard said, “you can’t see those kinds of tattoos from far enough away. I’m sure that they work just fine in battle, when you are in a face-to-face confrontation with the enemy, but it won’t be that way in the Ja’La games. Such tattoos would too easily be missed.”

“You are often as close on the Ja’La field as you are in battle,” Commander Karg said.

“Maybe,” Richard conceded, “but I want us to stand out not only to our opponents at the moment, not just to the men on the field, but also to other teams who will be watching—to everyone who is watching. I want everyone to see our painted faces and instantly recognize us. I want such a sight to plant fear in the minds of other teams. I want them to remember us and to worry.”

Commander Karg folded his muscled arms. “I want you to be tattooed so that you look like my team. So that all will know that it is Commander Karg’s team.”

“And if we lose? If we lose in a humiliating fashion?”

The commander leaned in a little as he glared. “Then you will be whipped at the least, and no longer of any use to me at worst. I think you know by now what becomes of captives who are of no use.”

“If that happens,” Richard said, “everyone will remember that the team you put to death for being inferior were all tattooed just like you. If we fail, they will remember the snake pattern of your tattoo on all of us. It would link us to you, but also you to us. If we lose, you will be stigmatized by that tattoo. If we lose, every time they see your tattooed face they will laugh at you.

“If we should for some reason happen to lose, paint can be washed off before we are whipped or worse.”

Commander Karg was beginning to grasp just what Richard meant. He visibly cooled as he scratched his jaw.

“I’ll see if I can’t come up with some paint.”

“Make it red.”

“Red? Why?”

“Red stands out. It will be memorable. Red also reminds people of blood. I want them to see us and before anything else wonder why we want to look like we are painted in blood. I want the other teams to worry about that the night before a game. I want them to sweat and lose sleep thinking about it. When they finally come to play us they will be tired and then we will make them bleed.”

A slow smile spread on Commander Karg’s face. “You know, Ruben, were you born on the right side of this war, along with me, I bet we would be good friends.”

Richard doubted that the man truly understood the concept of friendship, or could even appreciate such values.

“I’ll need enough paint for all the men,” Richard said.

Commander Karg nodded as he started away. “You will have it.”

Kahlan hurried to stay close to Jagang as he marched through the camp lest he give her a stunning shock of pain through the collar. Of course, as he had demonstrated any number of times, he needed no excuse. She knew, though, that right then she had better not even look like she might give him cause, because he was in a hurry due to the strange news the man had brought.

She didn’t care so much about the news, though. Her mind was on the man she had finally seen again, the captive who had been brought in the day before.

As she moved through the encampment, thinking about the man, she watched not only her guards but also the common soldiers in the camp, looking for reactions that might indicate that they could see her, listening for any obscene remark that would betray them. All around, startled men stared at the heavily armed group making their way through the midst of their daily life, but she didn’t see a single man look directly at her, or show any other signs of seeing her.

Despite being men in an army led by the emperor himself, these men had probably never seen Jagang this close before. The army, all in one place, constituted a population
that was larger than almost any city. If these men had ever seen the emperor before, it was likely only at a great distance. Now, as he passed close by, they stared at him in open awe.

Kahlan noted in their reaction, and Jagang’s attitude toward them, the contradiction to the Order’s teachings of the absolute equality of all men. For his part, Jagang never showed any penchant for sharing the common life of his men, a daily existence in the filth and mud. They lived in a camp that was virtually lawless, involved in crimes of every sort with their unruly fellows, while Jagang always enjoyed protection from those theoretically equal to him in every way. Kahlan supposed that if they shared one thing, it was that they, like their emperor, lived lives of almost constant, irrational violence and complete indifference to human life.

Kahlan, invisible to the soldiers all around, stepped carefully over puddles and dung. She clutched the knife tightly in a fist under her cloak, unsure, yet, exactly what she would do with it. The opportunity to take the knife had suddenly presented itself and she had acted.

In such rough surroundings it felt good to have a weapon. The encampment was a frightening place, despite how invisible she was to nearly all the soldiers. Even though she knew that she had no hope of using the knife to escape Jagang, all of her special guards, and the Sisters, it still felt good to have a weapon. A weapon gave her a modicum of control, a way to defend herself—at least to a degree. More than that, though, a weapon symbolized how much she valued her life. Having it was a declaration to herself that she had not, and would not, give up.

If she had a chance, Kahlan would use the knife to try to kill Jagang. She knew that if she were to actually accomplish such a deed it would mean a sure death for her as well. She knew, too, that the Order would not falter because of
the loss of the man. They were like ants. Stepping on one would not send the colony into retreat.

Still, she knew that sooner or later she was going to be put to death—and probably made to suffer greatly along the way by Jagang’s own hand. She had already seen him murder several people for little or no excuse, so putting an end to him would at least serve to satisfy her sense of justice. Kahlan’s memory of her past life was gone. Her total awareness since the Sisters had taken that memory was that of a world gone mad. She might not be able to set the world right, but if she could kill Jagang she might be able to see justice done in one little part of it.

It wouldn’t be easy, though. Jagang was not only physically powerful and skilled at combat, he was a very clever individual. Sometimes Kahlan thought that he really could read her mind. In another way, since Jagang was a warrior and he was often able to anticipate what she would do next, Kahlan thought that in the past she could not remember she must have been a warrior, too.

Alerted by the urgent whispers of their friends, men in the camp all around came out of tents, rubbed sleep from their eyes, and stood in the drizzle staring at the swift procession in their midst. Other men turned from work at caring for animals to watch. Riders reined in their horses to wait until the emperor passed. Wagons rumbled to a halt.

No matter where she was in the camp it stank, but in among the men it was a degree worse. The cook fires added greasy soot to the smell of the latrines. She didn’t think that the hastily dug latrines were going to be adequate for long. By the foul look of the little streams of water wending their way through the camp, they were already over-flowing. The smell proclaimed that she was right. She couldn’t imagine how much worse it was going to become over the coming months of the siege.

Even with the stench and the revolting sights of some of
the things going on in the camp, Kahlan noted it all only dimly in the back of her mind. Her thoughts were on other things. Or rather, on one thing: that man with the gray eyes.

She hadn’t known which team he would be with. When she had seen his face the day before he had been in a cage on a transport wagon. She knew only, from catching bits of Jagang’s conversations with officers, that the cages held some of the men who were on a team come to play in the tournaments.

Jagang had been eager to tour the teams before any of the games were to begin. As they went from team to team, she had been looking for the man. At first, she hadn’t even realized that she was doing it. She found herself staying close to Jagang as he inspected the players so that she could also see them.

He knew a great deal about some of the teams. He commented to his guards about what he expected he would see before he reached each new team. When he arrived at a new group he would ask to see the point man, along with the wing men. Several times he wanted to have a look at the men of the blocking line. It reminded Kahlan of a house-wife at market, inspecting cuts of meat.

Kahlan had searched all the faces she saw, looking at every man. She had not been gauging their height, weight, and muscle, as Jagang had been doing. She had found herself looking at their faces, trying to find the man she had seen in the cage the day before. She was beginning to lose heart, thinking that he must not be among the teams. She had begun to suppose that maybe he had ended up being sent to work as slave labor at the ramp site along with many other captives.

And then when she finally did spot the man, he did the strangest thing: he fell face-first into the mud. They were still some distance off and no one but Kahlan had really been looking at him yet. Everyone else thought the man
was just clumsy as he tripped over the chain lying there on the ground. As they’d approached the team some of the guards had laughed, whispering among themselves about how quickly such a man was going to get his neck broken on the Ja’La field.

Kahlan hadn’t thought it was funny, though. She alone had been looking at the man and she knew that he hadn’t tripped accidentally. She knew that it had been deliberate.

The fall had looked real enough. No one else imagined that it had been by design. Kahlan knew it was. She knew what it was to be a captive and have to instantly do something no matter how risky because you had no choice.

She just couldn’t imagine why the man had done it.

What could be the purpose of such a thing? What danger could he have been trying to avoid? In some circumstances people did such things to get a laugh—and some of the guards had laughed—but that wasn’t the purpose behind what this man had done.

To Kahlan’s mind it had been not only deliberate, but done with haste, as if he thought of it only a second before and there was no time to come up with something better. It had been an act of desperation. But why? Why fall on your face in the mud? What could it possibly accomplish?

It suddenly hit her. It was in a way something like what she had been doing—using the hood of her cloak to hide what she was doing, where she was looking, who she was looking at. He must have wanted to cover his face. It could only be because he thought that someone would recognize him. It must have been that the man feared that Jagang himself would recognize him. Or possibly Sister Ulicia. At any rate, it had to be that he was trying to keep from being recognized.

She supposed that it did make some sense. After all, the man was a captive. Only enemies of the Order would be captives. She wondered if he was a high-ranking officer or something like that.

And he had known Kahlan. From the first instant their eyes met the day before, when he had been in that cage, she could see that he recognized her.

As she had approached his team with Jagang, she and the man had shared a look. In that look she saw that they both knew the plight the other was in, and they both had done nothing to betray the other, as if they’d made a silent pact.

It lifted Kahlan’s heart to know that among all these murderous men, there was one who was not an enemy.

At least, she didn’t think he was. She reminded herself not to substitute her imagination for the truth. With her memory gone she had no real way of knowing if he was an enemy or not. She supposed that he could be someone who had been hunting her. She wondered if it could be possible that he, like Jagang, had some motive to want to see her suffer. That he was a captive of Jagang didn’t automatically mean that he was on her side. After all, the Sisters had hardly been on Jagang’s side.

But if he was trying to hide his face to keep from being recognized, what was going to happen once the Ja’La games started? He might be able to stay muddy for a day or two, but once the rain stopped the mud was going to dry up. She wondered what he would do then. She couldn’t help feeling a pang of worry for him.

At the end of visiting the teams, as they had left to see what the messenger had to show Jagang, she had seen one other thing in the man’s eyes: rage. As she had turned back for a last, quick look at him, the hood of her cloak had pulled back and he had seen the black bruise Jagang had left on her face.

Kahlan had thought that he looked like he might use his bare hands to rip apart the chain holding him. She was at least relieved that he was smart enough not to try to do anything. Commander Karg would have killed him in a blink.

From the conversations between Jagang and the commander as Jagang had started out to inspect the teams, the two were old acquaintances. They mentioned battles they had been in together. In that brief conversation she had taken appraisal of the commander. Like Jagang himself, the commander was not a man to be underestimated. Such a man would not have wanted to be embarrassed before his emperor, and would have killed his point man without hesitation had he allowed his anger to slip its bounds.

She supposed that it was that, his anger at seeing what Jagang had done to her, that made her think the man could not be her enemy.

But the man was dangerous as well. The way he stood, the way he balanced, the way he moved, told Kahlan a great deal about him. She could clearly see the intelligence in his raptor gaze. In the measured way he moved she saw that he also was a man not to be underestimated. She would know for sure if she was correct once the games started, but a man like Commander Karg would not have a captive be his point man unless there was a very good reason. Kahlan would know soon enough when she saw the man play, but to her he looked like coiled fury, and like he knew how to uncoil.

“Over this way, Excellency,” the messenger said as he pointed off through the gray drizzle.

They followed the messenger, leaving the dark sea of the camp, emerging out onto the open ground of the Azrith Plain. Kahlan had been so preoccupied thinking about the man with the gray eyes that she hadn’t even noticed that they were coming up on the site of the construction. The ramp rose high overhead. Beyond, the plateau towered above them. Up this close the plateau truly was imposing. Up this close she could see far less of the magnificent palace atop it.

When it had started to rain she had hoped that maybe it
would cause the ramp to collapse, but she could see, now that they were there beside it, that it was not only reinforced with rock but being well compacted as material was added. Gangs of men with heavy weights tamped the dirt and rock as it was placed.

This was not a haphazard effort. While the soldiers in camp—like the ones guarding her—were little more than ignorant brutes mindlessly devoted to a senseless cause, there were some men among the Imperial Order who were intelligent. They were the ones supervising the construction; the brutes merely handled the dirt.

As ignorant and unaware as the general population of soldiers was, Jagang surrounded himself with competent men. His personal guards, as big and powerful as they were, were hardly idiots. Those overseeing the construction of the ramp were likewise intelligent men.

The men supervising the project knew what they were doing and were confident enough to contradict Jagang when he suggested something that wouldn’t work. Jagang had initially wanted to make the base of the ramp narrower so that they could build height more quickly. While respectful, they were not afraid to tell him that it wouldn’t work, and why. He had listened carefully and, when satisfied that they were right, let them proceed with their plans even though those plans had been contrary to his initial desire. When Jagang thought he was right, though, he was as determined as a bull to have his way.

Numerous lines of men, each twelve or fifteen men deep, stretched back away from the colossal ramp. Some of the men passed baskets filled with dirt and rock, and some passed back empty baskets. Other men wheeled carts carrying rock. Mules pulled trains of wagons hauling larger rock. The project was massive almost beyond belief, but with so many men constantly adding to it, the ramp grew steadily.

Kahlan followed as the emperor hurried through the site,
the messenger constantly pointing the way among the confusion of activity. The lines of men parted as the royal procession marched through, then melted back together.

As they made their way past throngs of workers, Kahlan finally saw the pits where men in astounding numbers dug material for the ramp. There seemed to be countless numbers of vast pits in the ground, each with one sloping end where men were carrying material out as others brought empty baskets, carts, and wagons back down in to be loaded. The array of pits stretched as far as she could see into the gray drizzle.