Faith of the Fallen (16 page)

“You sound so very noble, but I think there is something more basic behind it. I think you would have left if you could, or”—he smiled—“if you could, you would have left if you really wanted to. Which is it, then, Nicci?”

She didn’t want to contemplate the question. Her head hurt.

“What’s all the talk about you building a palace?”

“So you heard, then.” He took a deep breath and sighed wistfully. “It will be the grandest palace ever built. A fitting place for the Emperor of the Imperial Order, for the man who rules both the Old and the New Worlds.”

“The man who
wants
to rule. Lord Rahl stands in your way. How many times has he bested you, now?”

Jagang’s eyes flashed a rage she knew could turn violent. Richard had frustrated Jagang a number of times. Even if Richard hadn’t been victorious over Jagang, he had stung him. Quite an accomplishment, really, for such a tiny force against the array of the Imperial Order. A man like Jagang hated the humiliation of a sting almost as much as he would hate to be gored.

“I will eliminate Richard Rahl, don’t you worry,” Jagang said in a low growl.

She changed the subject back to what she really wanted to know about. “Since when has the all-conquering Emperor Jagang turned soft and wanted to live in splendor?”

“Ah, but I am Jagang the Just, now. Remember?” He returned to the bed and flopped down beside her. “Nicci, I’m sorry I hurt you. I never want to hurt you, but you make me do it. You know I care about you.”

“You care about me, yet you beat me? You care about me, yet you never bothered to tell me of such an enormous project as the building of a palace? I am insignificant to you.”

“I told you, I’m sorry I hurt you—but that was your own fault and you know it.” He spoke the words almost lovingly. With mention of the palace, his face had softened into a visionary look. “It’s only proper and fitting that I at last have the prestige of such a monumental edifice.”

“You, the man who was content in tents in the field, now wants to live in a resplendent building? Why?”

“Because once I bring the New World under the guidance of the Order, I will owe it to all the people, as their leader, to be seen in a majestic setting…but it will have more than simple splendor.”

“But of course,” she sniped.

He gathered up her hand. “Nicci, I will proudly wear the title Jagang the Just. You’re right, the time has come for such a move. I was only angered because you wrongly made that move without first discussing it with me. But let us forget that, now.”

She said nothing. He gripped her hand more tightly, to show his sincerity, she supposed.

“You’re going to love the palace, when it’s finished.” He ran the back of the fingers of his other hand tenderly down her cheek. “We will all live there for a very long time.”

The words struck a cord in her. “A very long time?”

For the first time she realized there was something more to this than simply his vanity of wanting a palace after Richard had denied him the Palace of the Prophets. He wanted what else Richard had denied him. Could it be…

She looked up into his face, searching for the answer. He simply smiled at the questions in her eyes.

“Construction has already begun,” he said, turning his words away from those questions. “Architects and great builders from all over the Old World have gathered to work on it. Everyone wants to be part of such a grand project.”

“And Brother Narev?” she probed. “What does he think of building such a frivolous monument to one man when there is important work to be done for so many needy people?”

“Brother Narev and his disciples greatly favor the project.” Jagang flashed her a sly smile. “They will live there, too, of course.”

Understanding washed over her.

“He’s going to spell the new palace,” she whispered in astonishment to herself.

Jagang only smiled as he watched her, clearly pleased with her reaction.

Brother Narev had been at the Palace of the Prophets almost as long as she, nearly one hundred and seventy years, but in all that time he seemed to have aged only ten or fifteen years—the same as she. No one but Nicci ever knew he was anything but a stablehand—they didn’t know he was gifted.

In all that time, with her, along with everyone else, paying him little heed, he must have been studying the spell around the palace. From what she knew, most of Brother Narev’s disciples had been young wizards from the Palace of the Prophets; they had access to the vaults. They, too, could have added information that helped him. But could he really do such a thing?

“Tell me about the palace,” she said, preferring his voice to the silent scrutiny of his nightmare eyes.

He kissed her first, the way a man kisses a woman, not the way a brute kisses a victim. She endured it with no more favor than any of the rest of it. He seemed not to notice, this time, and by the smile of his face, appeared to have enjoyed it.

“It will be a walk of nearly fifteen miles to walk all the halls.” He swept a hand out and began to give shape to the grand palace in the air before them. As he went on, he stared off at his imaginary outline, hanging there in space.

“The world has never seen anything to match it. While I carry on with our work of bringing the hope of the Order to the New World, of bringing the true word of the Creator to the wicked and the greedy, of banishing the selfish ideals of the ancient religion of magic, back in my homeland the work of building the palace will go on.

“Quarries will be busy for years extracting all the rock that will go into the construction. The variety of stone will leave no doubt about the glory of the place. The marble will be the finest. The woods will be only the best. Every material going into the palace will be exceptional. The best craftsmen will shape it all into a grand structure.”

“Yes, but, despite the fact that others may live there,” she mocked in cool disdain, “it will be but a pompous monument to only one man: the great and powerful Emperor Jagang.”

“No, it will be devoted to the glory of the Creator.”

“Oh? And will the Creator be taking up residence there, too, then?”

Jagang scowled at her blasphemy. “Brother Narev wishes the palace to be instructional to the people. He is contributing his spiritual guidance to the undertaking, and will personally oversee the construction while I cleanse the way for the Order.”

That was what she wanted to know.

He stared off at the invisible shape still hanging in the air before them. His voice took on a reverent tone.

“Brother Narev shares my vision in this. He has always been like a father to me. He put the fire in my belly. His spiritual direction has been a lifelong inspiration. He allows me to stand at the fore, and take the glory of our victories, but I would be nothing without his moral teachings. What I win is only as the fist of the Order, and a fist is but one part of the whole, as we are all but insignificant fragments of society as a whole. You are right: many others could stand in my place for the Order. But it is my part to be the one to lead us. I would never do anything to betray the trust Brother Narev has placed in me—that would be like betraying the Creator Himself. He guides the way for all of us.

“I only thought to build a fitting palace for us all, a place from which to govern for the benefit of the people. It was Brother Narev who took up the dream and gave it moral meaning by envisioning everyone, when they see the vast structure, as seeing man’s place in the new order—seeing that man can never live up to the glory of the Creator, and that, individually, he is but a meaningless member of the greater brotherhood of man and thus can have no greater part to play than to uplift all his brothers in need so all will thrive together. Yet, it will also be a place that will humble every man before it, by showing him his utter insignificance before the glory of his Creator, by showing man’s depravity, his tortured, contorted, inferior nature, for all men in this world are such as this.”

Nicci could almost see such a place when he spoke of it. It would indeed be a humbling inspiration to the people. He came near to inspiring her with such talk, as Brother Narev had at one time inspired her.

“This is why I have stayed,” she whispered, “because the cause of the Order is righteous.”

The piece that had been missing was now found.

In the quiet, Jagang kissed her again. She allowed him to finish it, and then pushed away from his embrace. With a distant smile, he watched as she rose and began dressing.

“You’re going to love it there, Nicci. It will be a place befitting you.”

“Oh? As the Slave Queen?”

“As a queen, if you wish it. I plan to give you the kind of authority you’ve never before had. We’ll be happy there, you and I, truly happy. For a long, long time, we’ll be happy there.”

She drew a stocking up her leg. “When Sister Ulicia and the four with her found a way to leave you, I chose to ignore their discovery and stay, because I know the Order is the only moral course for mankind. But now I—”

“You stayed because you would be nothing without the Order.”

She looked away from his eyes. She tugged her dress down over her head, poked her arms through the sleeves, and worked the skirt over her hips. “I am nothing without the Order, and I am nothing with it. No one is. We are all inadequate, miserable creatures; that is the nature of man; that is what the Creator teaches. But the Order shows man his duty to make a better life for the good of all.”

“And I am the emperor of the Imperial Order!” His red face cooled more slowly than it had heated. He gestured vaguely in the hollow silence and he went on in a more mellow tone. “The world will be one under the Order. We’ll be happy at the palace when it’s finished, Nicci. You and I, under the spiritual guidance of our priests. You’ll see. In time, when—”

“I’m leaving.” She drew on a boot.

“I will not permit it.”

Nicci paused at pulling on her other boot and glanced up into his dark eyes. She flicked a finger toward a stone vase on a table against the far wall. Light flashed. The vase exploded in a cloud of dust and chips with a sound that rocked the room. The draperies shuddered. The panes in the windows chattered.

When the dust had settled, she said, “
You
will not permit it?” She bent forward and began doing up the laces on her boots.

Jagang strolled over to the table and dragged his fingers through the dust that was all that remained of the stone vase. He turned back to her in all his naked, hairy, imperial glory.

“Are you threatening me? Do you actually think you could use your power against me?”

“I do not think it”—she yanked the laces tight—“I know it. The truth is I choose not to.”

He struck a defiant pose. “And why is that?”

Nicci stood and faced him. “Because, as you said, the Order needs you, or rather, a brute like you. You serve the ends of the Order—you are their fist. You bring that cleansing fire. You perform that function very well. It could even be said that you perform that service with extraordinary talent.

“You are Jagang the Just. You see the wisdom in the title I have given you, and will use it to further the cause of the Order. That is why I choose not to use my power against you. It would be like using my power against the Order, against my own duty to the future of mankind.”

“Then why do you want to leave?”

“Because I must.” She gave him a look of icy determination, and deadly threat. “Before I go, I will be spending some time with Sister Lidmila. You are to immediately and completely withdraw from her mind and remain out of it the entire time I am with her. We will use your tents, since you are not using them. You will see to it that everyone leaves us entirely alone for however long it takes us. Anyone who enters, without my express permission, will die. That includes you. You have my oath, as a Sister of the Dark, on that. When I’m finished, and after I leave, you may do what you will with Sister Lidmila—kill her if that is your wish, although I don’t see why you would want to bother, since she is going to be doing you a great service.”

“I see.” His huge chest rose. He let the deep breath out slowly. “And how long will you be gone, this time, Nicci?”

“This is not like the other times. This is different.”

“How long?”

“Perhaps only a short time. Perhaps a very long time. I don’t yet know. Leave me alone to do as I must, and, if I can, I will one day return to you.”

He gazed into her eyes, but he could not look into her mind. Another man protected her mind, and kept her thoughts her own.

In all the time she had spent with Richard, Nicci had never learned that which she hungered most to know, but in one way, she had learned too much. Most of the time she was able to entomb that unwanted knowledge under the numb weight of indifference. Occasionally, though, it would, like now, unexpectedly rise up out of its tomb to seize her. When it did, she was helpless in its grip, and could do nothing but wait for the oblivion of numb detachment to bury it yet again.

Staring into the long dark night of Jagang’s inhuman eyes, eyes that revealed nothing but the bleakness of his soul, Nicci touched her finger to the gold ring Jagang had ordered pierced through her lower lip to mark her as his personal slave. She released a thread-thin channel of Subtractive Magic, and the ring ceased to exist.

“And where are you going, Nicci?”

“I am going to destroy Richard Rahl for you.”

Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander had been able to talk and smile his way past the other soldiers, but these were not moved by his explanation that he was Richard’s grandfather. He supposed he should have entered the camp in the daylight—it would have avoided a lot of the suspicion—but he was tired and hadn’t thought it would be that much trouble.

The soldiers were properly suspicious, which greatly pleased him, but he was weary and had more important things to do than answer questions: he wanted to ask them, instead.

“Why do you want to see him?” the bigger guard repeated.

“I told you, I’m Richard’s grandfather.”

“This is the Richard Cypher, you’re talking about, who you now say—”

“Yes, yes, that was his name when he grew up and that’s what I’m used to calling him, but I meant Richard Rahl, who he is now. You know, Lord Rahl, your leader? I would think being the grandfather of someone as important as your Lord Rahl would accord me some respect. Maybe even a hot meal.”

“I could say I’m Lord Rahl’s brother,” the man said, keeping a tight grip on the bit in the mouth of Zedd’s horse, “but that doesn’t make it so.”

Zedd sighed. “How very true.”

As vexing as it was, Zedd, at some dim inward level, was pleased to see that the men weren’t stupid, nor easily duped.

“But I’m also a wizard,” Zedd added, drawing low his eyebrows for dramatic effect. “If I wasn’t friendly, I could simply do you up crisp and be on my way past the both of you.”

“And if I wasn’t friendly,” the man said, “I could give the signal—now that we’ve let you venture in this far so that you’re completely surrounded—and the dozen archers hiding all around you in the dark would let fly the arrows that are at this moment trained on you, as they have been ever since you approached our encampment.”

“Ah,” Zedd said, holding up a finger in triumph, “all very well and good, but—”

“And even if I were to die in a final flame of service to the Lord Rahl, those arrows will let fly without me needing to give any signal.”

Zedd harrumphed, lowering his finger, but inwardly he smiled. Here he was, First Wizard, and if he weren’t entering a friendly camp, he would have been bested in this game of banter by a simple soldier.

Or maybe not.

“In the first place, Sergeant, I am, as I said, a wizard, and so I knew of the archers and have already dealt with the threat by spelling their arrows so they will fly no truer and with no more deadly effect than wet dishrags. I have nothing to fear from them. In the second place, even if I’m lying—which is precisely what you are considering at this very moment—you have made a mistake by telling me of the threat, which enables me, as a wizard of great repute, to now use my magic to nullify it.”

A slow smile came to the man’s face. “Why, that’s remarkable.” He scratched his head. He looked to his partner and then back to Zedd. “You’re right, that was exactly what I was thinking: that you could be lying about knowing the archers were back there in the dark.”

“You see there, young man? You’re not so smart after all.”

“You’re right, sir, I’m not. Here I was, so busy talking to you and being so intimidated by your wizardly powers and all, that I plumb forgot to tell you about what else was out there in the dark, watching you…”—the soldier’s brow lowered—“and it would be a mite more trouble than any simple arrows, I dare say.”

Zedd scowled down at the man. “Now see here—”

“Why don’t you do as I ask and come down here in the light, where I can see you better, and answer some of our questions?”

With a sigh of resignation, Zedd dismounted. He gave Spider a reassuring pat on her neck. Spider, a chestnut-colored mare, had a leggy black splotch on her creamy rump, from which she had acquired her name. Young, strong, and possessing an agreeably spirited nature, she made a pleasant traveling companion. The two of them had been through a great deal together.

Zedd stepped into the intimate circle of light from the watch fire. He turned his hand up and brought a white-hot flame to life just above the flesh of his palm. The two soldiers’ eyes widened. Zedd scowled.

“But, I have my own fire, if you need to see better. Does this help you see things better, Sergeant?”

“Uh…why, yes it does, sir,” the man stammered.

“Yes, it does indeed,” a woman said as she stepped into the light. “Why didn’t you simply use your Han and give a display of your craft in the first place?” She motioned into the darkness, as if signaling for others to stand down. She turned back with a smile that was no more than courteous. “Welcome, wizard.”

Zedd bowed from the waist. “Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander, First Wizard, at your service…?”

“Sister Philippa, Wizard Zorander. I am aid to the Prelate.”

She gestured and the sergeant took the reins from Zedd’s hand to lead the horse away. Zedd clapped the man on the back to let him know there were no hard feelings, and then gave a similar pat to Spider to let her know it was all right to go with the men.

“Treat her especially well, Sergeant. Spider is a friend.”

The sergeant saluted by tapping his fist to his heart. “She’ll be treated as a friend, sir.”

After the soldiers had led Spider away, Zedd said, “The Prelate? Which one?”

The narrow-jawed Sister clasped her hands together. “Prelate Verna, of course.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Prelate Verna.”

The Sisters of the Light didn’t know Ann was still alive. At least, she had been alive when Zedd last saw her, several months past. Ann had written in her journey book, telling Verna that she was alive, but also asking her to keep that information private for the time being. Zedd had been hoping that perhaps Ann had turned up at the D’Haran army camp, with her Sisters of the Light. He was sorry to learn she hadn’t. It boded ill for her.

Zedd held no favor with the Sisters of the Light—a lifetime of disapproval was not easily forgotten—but he had come to respect Ann as a woman of self-discipline and resolve, even if he took a dim view of some of her convictions and past objectives. He knew that, at the least, he and Ann shared many important values. He didn’t know about the rest of the Sisters, though.

Sister Philippa appeared middle-aged, but with Sisters that meant little. She might have lived at the Palace of the Prophets for only a year, or for centuries. With dark eyes and high cheekbones she was an exotic-looking woman. As in the Midlands, there were places in the Old World where the people had unique physical characteristics. Sister Philippa moved the way high-minded women tended to move, like a swan taken to human form.

“How may I be of service, Wizard Zorander?”

“Zedd will do. Is this Prelate of yours awake?”

“She is. This way, Zedd, if you please.”

He fell in behind the woman as she glided off toward the dark shapes of tents. “Got anything to eat around here?”

She looked back over her shoulder. “This late?”

“Well, I’ve been traveling hard…. It’s not really all that late, is it?”

In the dark, she assessed him briefly. “I don’t believe it’s ever too late, according to the teachings of the Creator. And you do look emaciated—from your travels, I’m sure.” Her smile warmed a little. “Food is always at the ready; we have soldiers who are active through the night and need to be fed. I believe I could find something for you.” She returned her gaze to the indiscernible path.

“That would be a kindness,” Zedd said in a jovial voice as he scowled at her back. “And I’m not emaciated; I’m wiry. Most women find lean men appealing.”

“Do they? I never knew that.”

Sisters of the Light were a lofty lot, Zedd thought ruefully. For thousands of years it had been a death sentence for them to even set foot in the New World. Zedd had always been a little more lenient—but not by much. In the past, the Sisters only came into the New World to steal boys with the gift—they claimed to be saving them. It was a wizard’s task to train wizards. If they came for the reason of taking a boy back beyond the great barrier to their palace, Zedd viewed it as the gravest of crimes.

They had come for that very reason only the winter before, and taken Richard. Sister Verna was the one who had captured him and taken him to the Old World. Under the spell of their palace, he could have ended up being there for centuries. Leave it to Richard to make friends with the Sisters of the Light, of all people.

Zedd guessed he and the Sisters were even—that they had good reason to view him in a harsh way. He had, after all, set the spell that Richard had used to destroy their palace. But Ann had helped, knowing it was the only way to prevent Jagang from capturing the palace and acquiring the prophecies therein for his own purposes.

All around, guards, big guards, prowled the encampment. In chain mail and leather armor, they were an imposing sight. They watched everything as they slipped through the darkness. The camp was relatively quiet, considering its size. Noise could give away a variety of information to an enemy. It was not easy to see to it that this many men kept quiet.

“I’m relieved that our first incursion by someone possessing the gift turned out to be a friend,” the Sister said.

“And I’m glad to see that the gifted are helping to keep watch. But there are types of enemy forays that the regular sentries could not identify.” Zedd wondered if they were really prepared for those kinds of troubles.

“If magic is involved, we will be there to detect it.”

“I suppose you were watching me the whole time.”

“I was,” Sister Philippa said. “From the time you crossed the line of hills, back there.”

Zedd scratched his jaw. “Really? That far away.”

With a satisfied smirk she said, “That far.”

He peered over his shoulder into the night. “Both of you. Very good.”

She halted and turned to him. “Both? You knew there were two of us, watching?”

Zedd smiled innocently. “But, of course. You were just watching. She was farther away, following, conjuring some little nasty should I prove hostile.”

Sister Philippa blinked in astonishment. “Remarkable. You could sense her touching her Han? From that distance?”

Zedd nodded with satisfaction. “They didn’t make me First Wizard just because I was wiry.”

Sister Philippa’s smile finally looked sincere. “I am relieved you came as a friend, rather than one intent on harm.”

There was more truth in that than the woman knew; Zedd had experience in the unpleasant, dirty business of magic in warfare. When he’d come near their camp, he saw the holes in their defense and the weaknesses in the way they used the gift for their purpose. They were not thinking as their enemy would think. Had he been intent on harm, the entire camp would be in an uproar by now, despite what they had done to prepare for one such as he.

Sister Philippa turned back to the night to lead him on. It was somewhat unsettling for Zedd to walk through a D’Haran camp—even though he knew they were now fighting on the same side. He had spent a good deal of his life dealing with D’Harans as the deadly enemy. Richard had changed all that. Zedd sighed. He sometimes thought that Richard might make friends with thunder and lightning and invite them both to dinner.

Dark shapes of tents and wagons loomed all around. Pole weapons were stacked upright in neat ranks, ready, should they be suddenly needed. Some soldiers snored, and some sat around in the dark, talking in low voices or laughing quietly, while others patrolled the inky shadows. Those passed close enough for Zedd to smell their breath, but in the darkness he could not make out their faces.

Well-hidden sentries were stationed at every possible approach route. There were very few fires in the camp, and those were mostly watch fires set away from the main force, leaving the mass of the camp a dark whole of night. Some armies carried on a considerable amount of work at night, performing repairs or making things they needed, and letting the men do as they would. These men remained quiet throughout the night so watching eyes and listening ears could gain little if any help for an invading force. These were well trained, disciplined, professional soldiers. From a distance it was difficult to tell the size of the camp. It was huge.

Sister Philippa brought Zedd to a sizable tent, one tall enough to stand in. Light from lamps hanging inside gave the canvas walls and roof a soft amber glow. She ducked beneath a tent line and poked her head in under the flap.

“I have a wizard out here who wishes to see the Prelate.”

Zedd heard muffled, astonished acknowledgment from inside.

“Go on in.” Sister Philippa smiled while giving his back a gentle push. “I’ll see if I can find you some dinner.”

“I would be not only grateful, but greatly in your debt,” Zedd told her.

As he stepped inside the tent, the people were just coming to their feet to greet him.

“Zedd! You old fool! You be alive!”

Zedd grinned as Adie, the old sorceress known as the bone woman in their adopted homeland of Westland, rushed into his arms. He let out a grunt as she momentarily squeezed the wind from his lungs. He smoothed her square-cut, jaw-length black and gray hair as he held her head to his chest.

“I promised you’d see me again, now didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” she whispered into his heavy robes.

She pushed back, holding his arms, and looked him over. She reached up and smoothed down his unruly, wavy white hair.

“You look as lovely as ever,” he told her.

She peered at him with her completely white eyes. Her sight had been taken from her when she was but a young woman. Adie now saw by means of her gift. In some ways, she saw better.

“Where be your hat?”

“Hat?”

“I bought you a fine hat and you lost it. I see you still have not replaced it. You told me you would get another. I believe you promised.”

Zedd hated the hat with the long feather she’d bought for him when they’d acquired the rest of his clothes. He’d rather be wearing the simple robes befitting a wizard of his rank and authority, but Adie had “lost” them after he purchased the fancy maroon robes with black sleeves and cowled shoulders he now wore. Three rows of silver brocade circled the cuffs. Thicker gold brocade ran around the neck and down the front. A red satin belt set with a gold buckle gathered the outfit at his thin waist. Such clothes marked one with the gift as an initiate. For one without the gift, such clothes befitted nobility or in most places a wealthy merchant, so although Zedd disliked the ostentatious attire, it had at times been a valuable disguise. Besides, Adie liked him in the maroon robes. The hat, though, was too much for him. It had been “misplaced.”