A short pillar in the center of the cavernous room supported the coffin itself, making it look as if it floated above the floor of white marble. The gold-enshrouded coffin glowed softly in the wavering, warm light of the four torches. The way the walls were covered in polished crystalline granite that ran up and completely across the vaulting, Verna imagined that when all the torches around the room were lit the coffin must glow in golden glory as it floated all by itself in the center of the room.
Words carved in the ancient language of High D’Haran covered the sides of the coffin. Cut into the granite beneath the torches and gold vases, an endless ribbon of words in the same nearly forgotten language ringed the room. The deeply incised letters shimmered in the torchlight, almost making them look as if they were lit from within.
What ever was causing the white stone that had once blocked the entrance to the tomb to melt was beginning to affect the room itself, although not to the same extent. Verna suspected that the white stone used to wall over the entrance was a stopgap, a sacrificial substance deliberately selected to draw and absorb the invisible force responsible for the trouble. Now that the white stone was almost all melted away those forces were beginning to attack the tomb itself.
The stone slabs of the walls and floor hadn’t melted or cracked, but they were just beginning to distort, as if they were being subjected to great heat or pressure. Verna could see that the joints between the ceiling and walls out in the hall were splitting open under the pressure of the deformation from within the room itself. What ever was causing such an event, it was obvious that it was not a construction defect, but rather some kind of external force.
Nicci had said that she wanted to see the tomb because she thought she knew why it was melting. Unfortunately, she hadn’t revealed the nature of her suspicion. There was no sign that she and Ann had visited the tomb.
Verna was impatient to find both women so that the whole mystery could be solved. She couldn’t imagine what the trouble with the tomb of Richard’s grandfather could be, or how much worse it would get, but she didn’t think it would turn out to be anything good. Nor did she think that there was much time left to answer the riddle—any part of it.
“Lord Rahl,” a voice called.
They all turned back. A messenger came to a halt not far away. All the messengers wore white robes trimmed around the neck and down the front with a design of intertwined purple vines.
“What is it?” Nathan asked.
Verna thought that as long as she lived she would never get used to hearing people call Nathan “Lord Rahl.”
The man bowed briefly. “There is a delegation from the Imperial Order waiting on the other side of the drawbridge.”
Nathan blinked in surprise. “What do they want?”
“They want to speak to Lord Rahl.”
Nathan glanced to Cara and then Verna. Both were just as surprised as he.
“It could be a trick,” Adie said.
“Or a trap,” Cara added.
Nathan’s face bent into a sour expression. “What ever it is, I think I’d better go look into it.”
“I’m going, too,” Cara said.
“As am I,” Verna added.
“We’ll all go,” Nathan said as he started away.
Verna and the small clutch of people with her followed Nathan out of the grand entrance of People’s Palace and into the bright late-afternoon sunlight. Long shadows cast by the towering columns cascaded down the hillside of steps before them. In the distance, across the expanse of grounds, the great outer wall stood at the edge of the plateau. Men patrolled a walkway between crenellated battlements along the top of the massive wall.
It had been a long journey up from the tombs deep within the palace and they were all winded. Verna shaded her eyes with a hand as they descended the grand stairs in the wake of the long-legged prophet. Guards posted on each of the expansive landings saluted the Lord Rahl with a fist to their hearts. There were greater numbers of soldiers in the distance patrolling the broad sweep of grounds leading to the outer wall.
The stairs ended in a broad area of bluestone that took them to a roadway winding up from around the side where stables and carriages would be. Tall cypress trees lined the short road as it led toward the outer walls.
Beyond the gates through the massive wall the road was
less grand as it followed the sheer walls of the plateau down in a series of switchbacks. Each turn gave the silent company an unbroken view of the Imperial Order spread out far below.
The drawbridge was guarded by hundreds of troops of the First File. These were all well-trained, heavily armed soldiers committed to insuring that no one came up the road to assault the People’s Palace. There was little chance of that, though. The road was too narrow to mount any kind of meaningful attack. In such tight confines a few dozen good men could hold off an entire army. More than that, though, the drawbridge was up. The sheer drop was dizzying. It was too far across for assault ladders or ropes with grappling hooks. Without the bridge down no one could cross the chasm and approach the palace.
Beyond the drawbridge a small delegation waited. By their simple dress they looked to be messengers. Verna did see a few dozen lightly armed soldiers, but they remained well back from the messengers so as not to appear threatening.
Nathan, his cloak buttoned back on one shoulder even though it was a cold day, came to a halt at the edge of the chasm, feet spread, fists on his hips, looking imposing and commanding.
“I am Lord Rahl,” he announced to the party across the drop. “What do you want?”
One of the men, a slender fellow wearing a simple tunic of darkly dyed leather, shared a look with his comrades and then stepped a little closer to his side of the brink.
“His Excellency, Emperor Jagang, has sent me with a message for the D’Haran people.”
Nathan glanced around at the others behind him. “Well, I’m Lord Rahl, so I speak for the D’Haran people. What is the message?”
Verna eased up beside the prophet.
The messenger was looking more displeased by the moment. “You are not the Lord Rahl.”
Nathan eyed the man with a Rahl scowl. “Would you like me to use a bit of conjured wind and blow you off that road? Would that settle the matter to your satisfaction?”
The men across the way stole glances down the drop.
“It’s just that we were expecting someone else,” the messenger said.
“Well, I’m Lord Rahl so I’m what you get. If you have something to say, then say it, otherwise I’m busy. We have a banquet to attend.”
The man finally bowed slightly. “Emperor Jagang is prepared to make a generous offer to those in the People’s Palace.”
“What sort of offer?”
“His Excellency has no desire to destroy the palace or its inhabitants. Surrender peacefully, and you will be allowed to live. Fail to surrender and each of them will die a slow and agonizing death. Their bodies will be thrown off the walls to the plain below, where they will feed the vultures.”
“Wizard’s fire,” Cara said under her breath.
Nathan frowned back over his shoulder. “What?”
“Your power works here. Theirs, if they are gifted, wouldn’t work as well up here, so their shields would be less effective. You can incinerate the lot of them from here.”
Nathan waved his arm in a grand gesture to those across the way. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”
The man bowed his head indulgently.
Nathan led Cara and Verna back up the road to where Adie, several other Mord-Sith, and the escort of soldiers waited.
“I agree with Cara,” Verna said before the prophet could say anything. “Give them our answer in the only way the Order understands.”
Nathan’s bushy brow drew down over his azure eyes. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Cara folded her arms. “Why not?”
“Jagang is probably watching our reaction through the eyes of those men,” Verna said. “I agree with Cara. We need to show him strength.”
Nathan frowned. “I’m surprised at you, Verna.” He smiled politely at Cara. “I’m not surprised at you, however, my dear.”
“Why are you so surprised?” Verna asked.
“Because it would be the wrong thing to do. You usually don’t give such poor advice.”
Verna restrained herself. This was not the time to launch into a heated lecture—especially not in front of Jagang’s eyes. She also recalled all too vividly how she had thought for most of her life that the prophet was mad. She wasn’t entirely sure that her assessment had been wrong. She also knew from past experience that lecturing Nathan was like trying to talk the sun out of setting.
“You can’t seriously be considering surrender,” she said in a low voice that those across the way wouldn’t hear.
Nathan made a sour face. “Of course not. But that doesn’t mean that we should kill them for asking.”
“Why not?” Cara spun her Agiel up into her fist as she leaned toward the prophet. “I, for one, think that killing them is an excellent idea.”
“Well, I don’t,” Nathan huffed. “If I incinerate them that will tell Jagang that we have no intention of considering his offer.”
Verna contained her fury. “Well, we don’t.”
Nathan turned an intense look on her. “If we tell them that we have no intention of considering the offer then the negotiations are ended.”
“We’re not going to negotiate,” Verna said with rising impatience.
“But we don’t have to tell them that,” Nathan explained with exaggerated care.
Verna straightened and fussed with her hair, using the moment to take a deep breath. “What would be the purpose of not telling them that we have no intention of seriously considering their offer?”
“To buy time,” Nathan said. “If I blast them off that road Jagang would have his answer, now wouldn’t he? But if I take the offer under consideration we can string out the negotiations.”
“There can be no negotiations,” Verna said through gritted teeth.
“To what end?” Cara asked, ignoring Verna. “Why would we want to do such a thing?”
Nathan shrugged as if it were obvious and they were all idiots for not seeing it. “Delay. They know how difficult it is going to be to take the palace. With every foot of elevation that ramp of theirs gains it becomes exponentially more difficult to construct. It could easily take them the winter, and possibly a great deal longer, to build that thing. Jagang can’t be looking forward to an army that massive sitting out there on the Azrith Plain for the entire winter. They are a long way from home and supplies. He could lose the whole army to starvation or a virulent sickness, then where would he be?
“If they think we might consider surrender then they might put thought and effort into winning the palace in that way. Our surrender would solve their problem. But if they think there is no way but to rout us from the place then they will put all their efforts into that method. Why push them to it?”
Verna’s mouth twisted. “I suppose that makes some sense.” When Nathan smiled at the small triumph, she added, “Not a lot, but some.”
“I’m not at all sure it does,” Cara said.
Nathan spread his arms. “Why turn them down? There is nothing to be gained by doing so. We should keep them guessing, keep them wondering if we might be considering giving up without a fight. Enough cities have surrendered to make it seem like a reasonable possibility that we might do the same. If they think there is a chance we might surrender then that hope will keep them from being fully committed to finishing their ramp and ending it with a rout of the palace.”
“I must admit,” Cara said, “there is value in stringing people along so that they fall into waiting for an answer they really want.”
Verna finally gave him a nod. “I guess that for now it can’t hurt to let them wonder.”
Finished with the task of bringing them around to his way of thinking, Nathan brushed his hands together. “I will tell them that we will take their offer under advisement.”
Verna wondered if Nathan had another reason for wanting to say he would consider the offer. She wondered if he could actually be contemplating surrendering the palace. While Verna held no illusions that Jagang would actually keep his word not to harm those in the palace if they surrendered, she wondered if Nathan was thinking of secretly arranging his own surrender deal, a deal that would leave him as the permanent Lord Rahl of a vanquished D’Hara under the authority of the Imperial Order.
After all, once the war was over Jagang would need people to rule far-flung conquered lands.
She wondered if Nathan was capable of such treason.
She wondered how much his resentment had grown over nearly a lifetime of imprisonment in the Palace of the Prophets for no more of a crime than what the Sisters of the Light thought him capable of. She wondered if he could be thinking of revenge.
She wondered if the Sisters of the Light, by their well-intentioned treatment of a man who had done them no harm, might have sown the seeds of destruction.
As Verna watched a smiling Lord Rahl marching back to the edge of the chasm, she wondered if the prophet was scheming to throw them all to the wolves.
Richard was growing ever more concerned. He had expected that at one of the games he would see his chance. But after Jagang and Kahlan had come to the first Ja’La match a dozen days before, the emperor had not again shown up to watch a game.
Richard was frantic with worry over the reason. He tried not to think about what Jagang might be doing to Kahlan, and yet he couldn’t keep himself from imagining the worst.
Sitting chained to the wagon, surrounded by a ring of guards, there was not much Richard could do about it. Despite how desperately he wanted to act, he had to use his head and look for the right opportunity. It had always been a risk that a good opportunity might not come along and then he would be forced to act, but doing something out of frustration alone was not likely to accomplish anything except maybe ruin any chance he would otherwise have of getting the opportunity he needed. Still, waiting was driving him crazy.
As sore as he was from the Ja’La match that day, he longed to lie down and get some rest. He knew, though, that his anxiety was going to keep him from getting much sleep, just as it had kept him from getting sleep for days. He was going to need the sleep, though, because the next
day was their most important game yet—a game that he hoped would get him to the opportunity he was looking for.
He glanced up when he heard the soldier coming with their evening meal. As hungry as Richard was, even the usual hard-boiled eggs sounded good. The soldier, pulling the small cart he always used to haul their food, made his way through the ring of guards around the captive members of Richard’s team. The soldiers gave the man only a cursory look. The wheels of the cart squeaked with a familiar rhythm as the man plodded across the hardscrabble ground. He stopped in front of Richard.
“Hold out your hands,” he said as he picked up a knife and started sawing away on something in his cart.
Richard did as he was told. The man lifted something from the cart and tossed it to Richard. To his surprise, it was a hefty slice of ham.
“What’s this? A last good meal before tomorrow’s fateful game?”
The man lifted the handles on his cart. “Supplies came in. Everyone eats.”
Richard stared at the soldier’s back as he wheeled his cart up the row to feed the other men. Not far away, Johnrock, his face and body covered with the network of lines in red paint, whistled with satisfaction to find himself getting something other than eggs. This was the first time since they’d been in camp that they had been given any quantity of meat. Up until now they had usually been fed eggs. Sometimes they’d been given stew with precious few chunks of lamb. Once it had been beef stew.
Richard wondered how supplies had gotten through to the encampment. The D’Haran army was supposed to stop any supplies from reaching the Order’s army. Starving Jagang’s men was their only real chance to stop them.
If Richard hadn’t already been worried enough, the thick slice of ham in his hand represented a grave new concern.
He supposed that it only made sense that an occasional supply convoy would get through. With food running low, this resupply had been timely.
The Old World was a big place. Richard knew that there was no way that the D’Haran army could cover the whole countryside. On the other hand, he wondered if the ham he was holding could be a sign that things weren’t going so well for General Meiffert and the men he had taken south.
Johnrock scooted closer, dragging his chain behind. “Ruben! We get ham! Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Being free would be wonderful. Eating well as a slave is not my idea of wonderful.”
Johnrock’s face sagged a little, then brightened. “But being a slave eating ham is better than being a slave eating eggs, don’t you think?”
Richard wasn’t in the mood to discuss it. “I guess you have a point.”
Johnrock grinned. “I thought so too.”
In the gathering gloom of dusk the two of them ate in silence. Savoring the ham, Richard had to admit to himself that Johnrock did indeed have a point. He’d almost forgotten how good something other than eggs could be. This, too, would help give him and his team strength. They were going to need it.
Johnrock, chewing a big mouthful of ham, scooted just a little closer. He swallowed and then sucked juice off his fingers.
“Say, Ruben, is there something wrong?”
Richard glanced over at his big right wing man. “What do you mean?”
Johnrock pulled off a strip of meat. “Well, you didn’t do so good today.”
“We won by five points.”
Johnrock looked up from under his thick brow. “But we used to win by more.”
“The competition is getting tougher.”
Johnrock shrugged with one shoulder. “If you say so, Ruben.” He thought it over a moment, clearly not satisfied. “But we won by more points against that one big team…back a few days. Remember? The ones who called us names and started the fight with Bruce before the game even started.”
Richard remembered the team. Bruce was the new left wing man, replacing the original man, who had been killed during the game Jagang and Kahlan had been at. Richard had at first worried that a regular Imperial Order soldier would not do as well serving under a captive point man, but Bruce had risen to the occasion.
On the day Johnrock was talking about, the other team’s wing man had called the regular soldiers on Richard’s team names for serving under a captive. Bruce had answered the insults by calmly walking over and breaking the man’s arm. The fight that ensued had been ugly but it had been quickly broken up by the referee.
“I remember. What of it?”
“I think they were tougher than the team today and we beat them by eleven points.”
“We won today’s match. That’s what matters.”
“But you told us how we must crush all opposition if we are to get to play the emperor’s team.”
Richard took a deep breath. “You all did good, Johnrock. I guess I just let everyone down.”
“No, Ruben—you haven’t let us down.” Johnrock grunted a laugh and smacked the side of Richard’s shoulder with the back of his big hand. “Like you say, we won. If we win tomorrow then we play the emperor’s team.”
If nothing else, Richard was counting on Jagang at least showing up to watch his own team play for the camp championship. Surely, he would never miss seeing that game.
Commander Karg had told Richard that the emperor
was well aware of their team’s growing reputation. Richard worried about why Jagang hadn’t come to see for himself. Richard had thought that the man would want to size up the likely challengers to his team and so would attend at least the last few games before the final match.
“Don’t worry, Johnrock. We’re going to beat that team tomorrow and then we’re going to get to play the emperor’s team.”
Johnrock shot Richard a lopsided grin. “And then, when we win, we get our choice of a woman. Snake-face promised us.”
Richard chewed ham as he watched the man covered in designs meant to increase strength and power intertwined with symbols of aggression and conquest.
“There are more important things than that.”
“Maybe so, but what other rewards are there for us in life?” Johnrock’s grin returned. “If we win against the emperor’s team, we get a woman.”
“Have you ever thought that your reward might be nothing but a terrifying nightmare for the woman you choose?”
Johnrock frowned, staring at Richard a moment. In silence, he went back to eating ham.
“Why would you say that?” Johnrock finally asked, unable to contain his annoyance. “I wouldn’t hurt a woman.”
Richard glanced over at the man’s sour expression. “What do you think of the camp followers?”
“The camp followers?” Johnrock, surprised by the question, scratched his shoulder as he considered. “Most of them are ugly old hags.”
“Well, if you aren’t interested in them, then that leaves the captive women, the women taken from their homes, their families, their husbands, their children, everything they ever loved. The ones forced to serve as whores for soldiers who very likely were the same ones who slaughtered those fathers, husbands, and children.”
“Well, I…”
“The women we often hear crying out at night. The ones we hear weeping.”
Johnrock’s gaze fell away. He picked at his piece of ham. “It keeps me awake, sometimes, listening to the sounds of those women sobbing.”
Richard looked out between the wagons and guards at the camp beyond. In the distance the work on the ramp continued. He imagined that the people up in the People’s Palace, the last holdout against the Imperial Order, could do nothing but wait for the horde to come. There was nothing they could do. There was nowhere safe left for them to go. The beliefs driving the Imperial Order were swallowing all of mankind.
Down in the encampment knots of men were gathering around cook fires. Among the shadows and gloom Richard could see a woman being dragged to a tent. She’d once had her own dreams and hope for her future; now that the Order was prescribing their vision for mankind, she was merely chattel. Already men were lining up outside, the victors waiting for their reward in return for serving the Imperial Order. Ultimately, despite all the grand pretensions, this was all that it was really about: the lust of some to rule over all others, to impose their will, the pretension of a moral license that they believed gave them the right to take, by any means, what they wanted.
In other places Richard could see men were gathered around drinking and gambling. The supply train must have brought liquor. It was going to be a noisy night.
Kahlan was somewhere out in that sea of men.
“Well then,” Richard said, “unless you want to be a party to the abuse of those women, that leaves the camp followers, who are willing.”
Johnrock thought in silence for a time as he nibbled at his ham. If quiet anger could cut steel, Richard would have
his collar off and he would be doing something to get Kahlan out of this place and to safety—to what safety there was left in a world gone mad over a cause.
“You know, Ruben, you have a way of spoiling things.”
Richard glanced over at the man. “Would you rather I lie? Make up something just to soothe your conscience?”
Johnrock sighed. “No. But still…”
Richard realized then that he had better not discourage his right wing man or the man might very well not play his best. If they lost the next game there would be no chance to play the emperor’s team and then Richard might not get a chance to see Kahlan again.
“Well, you are getting pretty famous, Johnrock. Men are beginning to cheer when they see you come on the field. It could be that there will be a lot of pretty women who will be eager to be with the big, handsome wing man on the champion team.”
Johnrock finally grinned. “That’s true. We are winning a lot of soldiers over to our side. Men are beginning to cheer for us.” He waved his ham at Richard. “You are the point man. You will have a lot of pretty women who will want to be with you.”
“There is only one I want.”
“And you think she will be willing? What if she wants nothing to do with you?”
Richard opened his mouth, but then closed it. Kahlan didn’t know him. If he did get a chance to try to get her away from Jagang, what was he going to do if she thought he was just another stranger trying to capture her? After all, why wouldn’t she? What if she wasn’t willing to go along with him? What if she resisted? There would certainly be no time to try to explain things to her.
Richard sighed. Now he had another thing to keep him awake with worry.