The man headed for the ring of guards, yelling at them as he went.
“Thanks, Johnrock,” Richard said after the commander had gone. “You showed up just in time.”
“I told you that I’d watch out for you.”
“You did good, Johnrock.”
Johnrock grinned. “You just do good tomorrow. Eh, Ruben?”
Richard nodded as he gulped air. “I promise.”
Verna glanced up when the Mord-Sith marched up to the other side of the small desk and came to a halt.
“What is it, Cara?”
“Any word in the journey book?”
Verna sighed heavily as she set down the watch reports she had been studying. They indicated that there was increasing activity surrounding the Ja’La matches down in the Order’s encampment. Verna remembered what seemed like a lifetime ago, back at the Palace of the Prophets, when Warren had first told her all about Ja’La Day, about how Emperor Jagang was bringing Ja’La dh Jin to all of the Old World. Like so many things, Warren had studied Ja’La dh Jin and knew a great deal about it.
She supposed that she wasn’t so much reading the reports as she was reminiscing about Warren. How she missed him. How she missed so many people who had been lost in this war.
“No, I’m afraid not,” Verna said. “I left a message in the journey book in case Ann should happen to take a look in hers, but she hasn’t answered, yet.”
Cara tapped an insistent finger on the desktop. “It’s obvious that something has happened to Nicci and Ann.”
“I don’t disagree.” Verna spread her hands. “But we can’t do anything about it if we don’t even know what happened to them. What are we to do? Where are we to look? We’ve searched the palace but the place is so vast that there is no telling how many places we might have overlooked.”
Cara’s expression was part anger, part worry, and part impatience. With this on top of Richard being nowhere to be found, Verna understood all too well how the woman felt.
“Have your Sisters found anything at all unusual?”
Verna shook her head. “The other Mord-Sith?”
“Nothing,” Cara said under her breath as she went back to pacing. She mulled over the situation for a moment, then turned back to Verna. “I still think that what ever happened had to have happened the night they went down to the tomb.”
“I’m not saying that you’re wrong, Cara, but we’re not even sure that they ever made it down to the tombs. What if they changed their mind for some reason and went somewhere else first? What if someone brought a message or something to Ann, and they rushed off somewhere else? What if something happened before they even went down to the tomb?
“I don’t think so,” Cara said as she folded her arms and paced. “I still think something down there is wrong. Something down in the tombs just feels wrong.”
Verna didn’t question what could be “wrong.” She had already done that to no avail. Cara didn’t know what was wrong. She simply had a vague feeling that something was not right down in the tombs.
“Your feeling doesn’t give us much to go on. Maybe if it was something a little more specific.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried to think of what could be the cause of it?”
Verna watched Cara slowly pace. “Well, if you don’t
know what’s giving you this feeling about the place, maybe there is someone else who would know why you think something is wrong down there.”
“That sounds like Lord Rahl. He always says to think of the solution, not the problem.” Cara sighed. “But no one ever goes down—” She spun around and snapped her fingers. “That’s it!”
Verna frowned suspiciously. “What’s it?”
“Someone who knows the place.”
“Who?”
Cara put both hands on the desk and leaned in with a cunning grin. “The crypt staff. Darken Rahl had people who took care of the tombs—took care of his father’s tomb, anyway.”
“What’s this about the tombs?” Berdine asked as she strolled into the room.
Nyda, a tall, blond, blue-eyed Mord-Sith, was with her. Verna saw Adie bringing up the rear.
“It just occurred to me that the crypt staff would know about the tombs,” Cara said.
Berdine nodded. “You’re probably right. Some of the writing down in the tombs is in High D’Haran, so Darken Rahl sometimes took me with him down there to help him with things he was having difficulty translating.
“Darken Rahl was quite picky about how his father’s tomb was cared for. He had people put to death for failing to properly care for the place. His father’s tomb, anyway.”
“It’s just stone vaults.” Verna was incredulous. “There’s nothing down there—no furniture, drapes, or carpeting. What is there to be picky about?”
Berdine rested a hip against the desk as she folded her arms and leaned in as if she was full of gossip.
“Well, for one thing he insisted that fresh white roses always fill the vases. They had to be pure white. He also demanded that the torches always be kept burning. The crypt
staff was not supposed to allow a rose petal to remain on the floor, or a torch that went out to go cold without being replaced with a fresh, burning one.
“If Darken Rahl was visiting his father’s crypt and he saw a rose petal on the floor, or if one of the torches burned out, he would get furious. People on the crypt staff were beheaded for such infractions, so, as you can imagine, they were quite attentive to their duties down there. They would be familiar with the place.”
“Then we need to go have a talk with the crypt staff,” Verna said.
“You can try,” Berdine said, “but I don’t think they will have much to say.”
Verna stood. “Why not?”
“Darken Rahl feared that they might speak ill of his dead father while down in the crypt”—Berdine made a snipping motion with two fingers—“so he had their tongues cut out.”
“Dear Creator,” Verna muttered as she touched her fingers to her forehead. “That man was a monster.”
“Darken Rahl is long dead,” Cara said, “but the crypt staff must still be around. They would know the place better than anyone.” She started for the door. “Let’s go see what we can find out.”
“I think you’re right,” Verna said as she made her way around the desk. “If we’re able to get any information out of them it will at least settle the matter. If there really is anything wrong down there we need to know about it. If not, then we need to put our efforts elsewhere.”
Adie caught Verna’s arm. “I only came to tell you that I be leaving.”
Verna blinked in surprise. “Leaving? Why?”
“It has been troubling me that there be no one at the Wizard’s Keep. What if Richard goes there seeking our help? He will need to know what be happening. He will need to know that the Keep be shut down. He will need to
know what Nicci has done by putting the boxes in play in his name. He will need to know about Ann and Nicci vanishing. He may even need gifted help. There should be someone there if he shows up at the Keep.”
Verna gestured off to the west before staring into Adie’s completely white eyes. “But the Keep is closed up. Where would you stay?”
Adie’s broad smile pushed aside a network of fine wrinkles. “Aydindril be deserted. The Confessors’ Palace be empty. I will hardly want for a roof. Besides, I be at home in the woods, not in this”—she waggled a finger at her surroundings—“this place. It weakens my gift the same as any other gifted person but a Rahl. I have difficulty using my gift here so that I might see. It be uncomfortable for me here. I would rather do something than sit here, useless in the darkness this place imposes.”
“You are hardly useless,” Verna objected. “You helped with a number of things we found in the books.”
Adie held up a hand to silence her. “You would have figured it out without me. I be useless here. I be an old woman who be underfoot.”
“That’s hardly true, Adie. All of the Sisters value your knowledge. They’ve told me so.”
“Maybe, but I would feel better if I felt I had a purpose rather than wandering around this, this”—she again gestured vaguely around her—“great stone maze.”
Verna sadly relented. “I understand.”
“I’ll miss you,” Berdine said.
Adie nodded. “True. And I shall miss you, too, child, and the talks we’ve had.”
Cara cast a suspicious look at Berdine but said nothing.
Adie reached out and gripped Nyda’s shoulder. “Nyda be here for you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep her company,” Nyda said as she gazed at Berdine. “I won’t let her get lonely.”
Berdine smiled appreciatively at Nyda and nodded to Adie.
“We’re surrounded by more enemy men than stars in the sky,” Cara said. “How do you expect that a blind woman is going to get through all of them?”
Adie pursed her lips as she gathered her thoughts. “Richard Rahl be a smart man, hmm?”
Cara looked surprised by the question, but she answered it anyway. “Yes.” She folded her arms. “Sometimes too smart for his own good.”
Adie smiled at the last part. “He be smart, so you always follow his orders?”
Cara snorted a brief laugh. “Of course not.”
Adie’s eyebrows lifted in mock wonder. “No? Why not? He be your leader. You just said that he be a smart man.”
“Smart, yes. But he doesn’t always see the danger around him.”
“But you do?”
Cara nodded. “I can see danger he cannot.”
“Ah. So you can see dangers that his sighted eyes cannot?”
Cara smiled. “Sometimes Lord Rahl is as blind as a bat.”
“Bats also see in the dark, do they not?”
Cara sighed unhappily. “I suppose so.” She went back to the subject at hand. “But Lord Rahl needs me to see the dangers all around him that he can’t see.”
With a long, thin finger, Adie tapped Cara’s temple. “You see with this, yes? See the dangers to him?” Adie arched an eyebrow. “See dangers that eyes alone cannot see? Sometimes not having eyes lets me see more.”
Cara frowned. “That may all be well and good, but still, how do you think you are going to be able to get past the Order’s army? Surely you can’t be thinking of trying to walk through the camp.”
“That be exactly what I must do.” Adie waved a finger
toward the ceiling. “There be clouds today. Tonight will be a dark night. With the thick overcast, once the sun goes down and before the moon rises, it be black as pitch. On such a night, those with eyes cannot see, but I be sighted in the darkness in ways they are not. I will be able to walk among them and they will not see me. If I keep to myself, and keep away from those who are awake and watchful, I will be no more than a shadow among shadows. No one will pay me any mind.”
“They have fires,” Berdine pointed out.
“The fire will blind their eyes to what be in the darkness. When there is fire men watch what is in the light, not what is in the darkness.”
“And what if by chance some of those soldiers do happen to see you, or hear you, or something?” Cara asked. “Then what?”
Adie smiled just a little as she leaned toward the Mord-Sith. “You would not want to meet a sorceress in the dark, child.”
Cara looked worried enough by the answer not to object.
“I don’t know, Adie,” Verna said. “I really would like you to be here, and safe.”
“Let her go,” Cara said.
When everyone looked at her in surprise, she went on. “What if she’s right? What if Lord Rahl does show up at the Keep? He will need to know everything that has happened. He will need to know that he shouldn’t enter the Keep or he could get himself killed by the traps Zedd set in the place.
“What if Lord Rahl needs her help? If she thinks he might need her, then she should be there for him. I wouldn’t want anyone to stop me from helping him.”
“Besides,” Berdine said as she shared a sad look with the old sorceress, “there is nothing safe about this place. She will probably be safer than any of us here. When that army
down there finally gets in the palace, it’s going to be anything but safe in here. It’s going to be one long bloody nightmare.”
Adie smiled as she reached out and touched Berdine’s cheek. “The good spirits will watch over you, child, and all those here.”
Verna wished she believed that.
She wondered what she was doing being the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light if she didn’t.
As he finished touching up their red battle paint, Richard tried not to let the men see how painful his injuries really were. He didn’t want anything to distract them from the job ahead.
His ankle throbbed, his left shoulder was sore, and the hits he’d taken to his head had left his neck muscles aching. After the brief but furious fight he hadn’t been able to get much sleep. As far as he could tell, though, nothing was broken.
He mentally set the pain and weariness aside. It didn’t matter if he hurt, or if he was tired. He had a job to do. It only mattered if he did it, if he succeeded.
If he failed he would have all eternity to sleep.
“Today we have our chance for glory,” Johnrock said.
Richard, holding Johnrock’s chin, turned the man’s head to the side a little so that he could see better in the failing light. He didn’t say anything. He leaned to the side and dunked his finger in the bucket of red paint and then added a symbol for watchfulness above the one for power that was already there. He wished he knew a symbol for common sense so he could paint it all over Johnrock’s skull.
“Don’t you think, Ruben?” Johnrock pressed. “Today we have our chance for glory?”
The rest of the men all listened quietly for what Richard might say.
“You know better, Johnrock. Get those thoughts out of your head.”
Richard paused in his work and swept the finger, coated in fresh red paint, around at all the eyes watching him.
“All of you know better, or at least you should. Forget thoughts of glory. Those men on the emperor’s team aren’t thinking of glory right now—they’re thinking of killing you. Do you understand that? They want to kill you.
“This is a day we have to fight to stay alive. That’s the glory I want: life. That’s the glory I want for all of you. I want you to live.”
Johnrock’s face twisted in disbelief. “But Ruben, after those men tried to bash in your head last night you must want to settle the score.”
The men all knew about the attack. Johnrock had told them all about it—told them how their point man had fought off five of the big men all by himself. Richard hadn’t disputed the account, but he wasn’t letting on as to how much he hurt. He wanted them worrying about their own necks, not wondering if he could hold up his end.
“Yes, I want to win,” Richard said, “but not for glory, or to settle a score. I’m a captive. I was brought here to play. If we win I live—simple as that. That’s all that really matters: living. Ja’La players—both captives and soldiers—die in games all the time; in that sense we are equals. The only true glory in winning in these games is the part about living.”
Some of the other captive men nodded their understanding.
“Aren’t you just a little worried about defeating the emperor’s team?” Bruce, his left wing man, asked. “Beating
the emperor’s team might not be the right thing to do. After all, they represent the power of the Imperial Order, and the emperor. Beating them might be seen as prideful and arrogant, even sacrilegious.”
All eyes turned to Richard.
Richard met the man’s gaze. “I thought that under the Order’s teachings everyone was equal.”
Bruce stared back a moment. A smile finally spread across his face. “You have a point, Ruben. They are just men, like us. I guess we ought to win, then.”
“I guess so,” Richard said.
At that, just as Richard had taught them, the men, as one, let out a collective bellow of agreement, a brief, deep roar of team spirit. It was a small thing, but it served to bond the men, to make them feel that, while they were all very different individuals, they all had a common goal.
“Now,” Richard went on, “we haven’t seen the emperor’s team play, so we don’t know their tactics, but they’ve watched us play. As far as I’ve been able to tell, teams don’t usually change the way they play, so they will be expecting us to do the same things they’ve seen us do in the past. That’s going to be one of our advantages.
“Remember the new plays we devised for each signal. Don’t fall back to the old plays for a signal or it will cross us up. Those new tactics are our best chance to keep them off balance. Concentrate on doing your part in each of those moves. That’s what will get us points.
“Remember, too, that these men, besides wanting to win, are going to be trying to hurt us. The teams we’ve been playing knew that what they gave they got back double. These men are different. They know that if they lose they will be put to death, just like the emperor’s last team was when they lost. They have no incentive to play clean. They have every incentive to try to tear our heads off.
“There is no doubt in my mind that they’re going to try to take out our players, so be ready for it.”
“You’re the one they’re going to be trying to take down,” Bruce pointed out. “You’re the point man. You’re the one they need to stop. They even tried to eliminate you last night before you could reach the Ja’La field.”
“That’s all true, but as point man I at least have you and Johnrock protecting me. Most of you men have no protection but your wits and your skill. I think they’re just as likely to go after one of you, first, so don’t let your guard down for a second. Keep an eye on each other and intervene if need be.”
In the distance Richard could hear the rhythmic chanting of countless soldiers eager for the match to start. It sounded like the entire camp was chanting. Richard suspected that every man not forced to work on the ramp, while if not all able to actually see the match, would probably at least be waiting for word to relay back to them.
More men than usual were going to be able to see this game because the emperor had directed the work gangs, who needed material for the ramp anyway, to scoop dirt from a large area to create a bowl in the Azrith Plain. The new Ja’La field, with its vast, gently sloped sides, would enable far more men than ever before to be able to watch Ja’La games.
Richard had thought that their game with the emperor’s team would have been held that afternoon, that it would have already taken place, but the day had worn on as other teams played in games leading up to the match for the championship. The games, after all, were show for the soldiers. The new Ja’La field was the emperor’s statement—right below the People’s Palace—that the Order was here to stay and now owned the place.
Richard glanced up at the iron gray overcast. The last feathery violets of the sunset had vanished. It was going to be a dark night.
Richard hadn’t counted on it being this late when the game started, but night suited him just fine. In fact, it was the one unexpected bit of good fortune in the face of the monumental obstacles that lay before him. He was used to the dark. As a woods guide he often walked the trails of his woods with only the moon and stars to light his way. Sometimes it was just stars. Richard was comfortable in darkness.
There was more to seeing than just using one’s eyes.
While in some ways those times in the woods seemed like only days ago, in other ways it also seemed like forever ago, almost like another life. He was a long way from his Hartland woods. A long way from the peace and security he had known.
A long way from having the woman he loved back in his arms.
As Richard was finishing with Johnrock’s paint, he spotted Commander Karg making his way through the ring of guards. After their complicity in the treachery of the night before, the men involved stayed well clear of the scowling officer. There were a few new faces among the guards, no doubt more trusted overseers. Commander Karg was leading an escort of troops, men dedicated to watching over the captive players to make sure that they played Ja’La and nothing more.
Mostly, though, the soldiers were there to watch over Richard. They were his special guards.
Last in line to be freed from his bonds, Richard was finally able to rub his sore neck after Commander Karg finally unlocked his iron collar. Without the heavy chain weighing him down, Richard felt light, almost as if he might float up into the air. It gave him a feeling of being weightless and inhumanly fast. He embraced the sensation, making it part of him.
The chanting of the soldiers in the distance had a
primeval feel to it. It was beyond eerie. It gave Richard goose bumps.
The spectators were expecting blood.
This night, they were going to get their wish.
As he followed Commander Karg, leading his team toward the Ja’La field, Richard put the growing noise out of his mind. He found a quiet center of focus.
As they moved through passages in the encampment lined with throngs of soldiers, hands all around reached out, wanting to touch the members of the team as they passed. Some of the men on Richard’s team smiled, waved, and touched the extended hands of the soldiers. Johnrock, being the biggest man and easy to spot, was the center of much of the attention. He grinned, waved, shook hands, and soaked it all in as he marched along. It seemed to Richard that what Johnrock had always wanted more than anything else was the adoration of the crowd. He loved pleasing them.
Words of both encouragement and hatred cascaded in from all sides. Richard turned his eyes ahead, ignoring the soldiers and shouting as he passed.
“Are you nervous, Ruben?” Commander Karg asked over his shoulder.
“Yes.”
Karg gave him a patronizing smile. “That will go away when it starts.”
“I know,” Richard said as he glared out from under his brow.
The vast depression of the Ja’La field was a cauldron of noise, the spectators a froth of faces over a churning sea of black.
The crowd out beyond the dense ring of flickering torches at the edge of the field chanted—not words, but a guttural grunt meant to express not only encouragement for the players but for the spectacle itself. In time with the chanting the throng stamped a foot. The deep, primordial noise
could be not only heard, but felt in the ground beneath Richard’s feet, almost like rolling thunder. The effect was deafening and, in a way, intoxicating.
It was a primal call to violence.
Richard was already lost to those feelings. He let the raw, savage sounds feed those passions he had already unleashed within himself. As he made his way through the seething masses of men, he was in his own private world, lost to inner drives.
Commander Karg brought the team to a halt at one end of the field just before the torches. Richard saw archers, with arrows nocked, stationed all around the field. Near midfield, to his right, he spotted the area reserved for the emperor.
Jagang wasn’t there.
Richard’s insides tightened with a knot of panic. He had thought that, surely, Jagang would be at this game, that Kahlan would be near.
But the roped-off section was vacant.
Richard schooled his emotions, setting aside his dismay. Jagang would not miss this game. Sooner or later he would show up.
When the emperor’s team strode onto the opposite end of the field the crowd erupted in a thunderous roar. These men were the best the Order had to offer. They were heroes to countless thousands of spectators. These were the men who could vanquish all who came before them, the players who crushed all opposition, the champions who were most deserving of victory. Many regarded the team as a tangible representation of their own power and virility.
As Richard and his men waited outside the torches, the other team, looking not merely determined but dangerous, stalked around the perimeter of the field, acknowledging the roar of the crowd with nothing more than bloodthirsty looks. The crowd loved such a visage of hate and menace, of things to come.
When the emperor’s team finished circling the field and finally gathered toward the other side of the field to wait for the challengers, the archers and other dedicated guards parted. Commander Karg waved Richard and his team through the gap in the line. As Richard passed, the commander whispered a warning to Richard that he had better win.
Richard stepped out onto the field. His concern for his plan was eased when the resounding cheers for his team were nearly as deafening as they had been for the emperor’s team. In the many games they had played since coming to the Imperial Order’s encampment, Richard’s team had won every game, and in so doing the respect of many. It didn’t hurt that Richard was well known for having killed an opposing point man. Probably even more than that, though, was the sight of the team covered with frightening designs in red paint. It was theater that fit the games. Richard was counting on that support.
He was also troubled when he finally got a good look at all of his opponents. They were some of the biggest men Richard had ever seen. They reminded him of Egan and Ulic, the personal guards to the Lord Rahl. It occurred to Richard that he could use Egan and Ulic right about then.
Leaving his men gathered at the end of the field, Richard crossed the empty ground alone to the referee at center field with the fistful of straws. The point man for the emperor’s team waiting beside the referee looked to be nearly a foot taller than Richard. His neck started at his ears and just kept getting wider until it met shoulders half again as wide as Richard’s.
A neat row of red, swollen marks running diagonally up along the side of his face recorded where the links of the chain had caught him. As Richard waited, the towering point man, glaring at Richard the entire time, drew a straw first.
When Richard drew, he came up with a shorter straw. The onlookers roared their approval that the emperor’s team would have the first chance to score. The man shot Richard a smirk before taking the broc and heading to his side of the field.
As Richard returned to his players waiting at their end of the field, his gaze swept over the endless masses of men, fists raised in wild emotion, all wanting the blood of either one side or the other. Men with arrows at the ready watched Richard’s solitary walk back to his team. He could feel the fevered emotions of hundreds of thousands of men all pressing in, trying to see what would happen—men who had gotten where they were by trampling over endless corpses of innocent men, women, and children who had only wanted to live their own lives, to better themselves and their families.
Richard felt caught up in a world gone mad.