Severed Souls (50 page)

Kahlan, as the Mother Confessor, had originally come to his home in Hartland in Westland to find the old wizard so that he could name a Seeker. Unbeknownst to Richard, the old wizard had turned out to be Zedd.

It didn't matter, though. Richard knew who Zedd really was. He was his grandfather, his teacher, his friend.

He was also the one who had named Richard the Seeker of Truth and given him the long-hidden sword that went with that duty. Zedd had told them that it was his responsibility as First Wizard to pick the right person, and Richard was the right person to carry that sword. While at first it hadn't seemed so, Richard now understood that Zedd had picked the right man.

As he looked into the eyes of the frightened people silently watching, he wondered how he could now turn his back on the responsibility with which Zedd had entrusted him. How could he turn his back on those who had made this sword? Or any of those who had left him clues to help him along the way in his struggle to see justice prevail? How could he fool himself into thinking that he could go off somewhere safe and be left alone to live his life while turning his back on a firestorm and pretend it didn't exist? How could he live a lie?

The happiest time of his life had been living with Kahlan back in the wilderness. He had tried turning his back on the world. He had tried to give it up to live his life with Kahlan.

When she had recovered, Kahlan had become ever more restless and uneasy, continually trying to convince him that they needed to return to the world and their place in it.

Nicci had shown up and captured him. She had taken him away to a long ordeal of captivity. Richard knew that he had only been fooling himself to think that they could quit the world and find a place to hide, to think they could live in peace without someone coming for him. Someone would always come.

Whether or not he wanted to admit it, the reality was that too many things were connected to him. His only chance at life was to face reality, not hide from it. You either had to fight evil as you encountered it, or evil would come to control your life. Even these people here, way out in the wilds of the Dark Lands, could not escape it.

Nests of depravity always grew stronger and spread if not fought.

What really bothered him, though, was that Kahlan was his rock. He was stronger, physically, than she was, but she was his emotional stability, always steadfast in what was right. There had been times when he had felt too weak to go on. In those times Kahlan had always been his strength. He had always gotten to his feet for her.

It rattled him to see her strength falter.

He knew, though, that she was too strong, too committed, to feel this way for long. He supposed it was unreasonable to expect her to be strong every moment. She was only human.

As much as he wished he could do what Zedd had advised, what she had begged him to do in a moment of human weakness, he knew that in the end she couldn't really live that way. Sooner or later, and likely sooner, she would start to get uneasy and need to return to life's struggle.

He was the Seeker, but she was the Mother Confessor. She was born to it, and for better or worse she couldn't escape it any more than he could escape who he was. In the end, she wore the white dress of office because it belonged on her the same way the Sword of Truth belonged on his hip. Neither was ceremonial. Both were made for battle. Both were weapons meant to be used to fight for truth.

He told himself not to be too discouraged by her weakness the night before. There were times when he had been weak, too. He always picked himself up and so would Kahlan. In fact, when they had started out that morning, he had already begun to see her strength coming back. She had looked determined once again.

He still wished he knew what the oracle had told her.

“Look sharp, boys,” Commander Fister said in a low voice as they passed some of the citadel guard in brown tunics standing to either side of the cobblestone road leading up the hill. The dozen men on each side of the road stood at attention, chins up, fists to hearts. They certainly didn't look like they entertained any thoughts of a fight.

But that had been by design. The commander had sent men ahead to announce the arrival of the Lord Rahl and tell the guards to prepare to receive him and his escort. The scouts reported that the men defending the citadel had been surprised, but friendly and eager to welcome the Lord Rahl and his party. Even though he was from far away, Richard wouldn't be entirely a mystery to the people here. There had been a number of men from distant parts of D'Hara who had fought in the long war, and they would have returned with stories about the Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor leading them to victory.

Richard tried not to see these men, these people of Saavedra, as a threat, but as people much like any others with the same hopes and dreams. Maybe now that he had come to their part of the world, and Hannis Arc was gone, they would feel more a part of a free D'Hara.

At the top of the road, up the hill beyond the city proper, they finally reached massive iron gates in a high stone wall. In another good sign, the gates stood open. More men lined the road at the top, standing in neat ranks to either side.

Despite every indication, he couldn't help feeling like a bug approaching a spiderweb.

Richard leaned closer to Commander Fister. “Don't forget what I told you.”

“Every man's life before any threat gets to Nicci.” He cast Richard a look. “And of course you and the Mother Confessor.”

It would do them no good to get to the containment field at the citadel if a foolish, jumpy soldier put an arrow through Nicci's heart. Even the most gifted could be felled with a simple blade or arrow. Without Nicci, the containment field wouldn't do them any good.

From what he had learned, to stop the threat Emperor Sulachan and Hannis Arc had unleashed on the world, Richard had to end prophecy. He wished he could have ended prophecy before Kahlan had spoken with the oracle.

“Looks peaceful,” Commander Fister said as he scanned the citadel guard, “but every man is ready if that changes.”

The men all knew the importance of being the steel against steel so that Richard could be the magic against magic.

Richard just wished that he had some clue as to how he was supposed to end prophecy.

 

CHAPTER

72

The main force of the Fajin garrison stood at attention in a cobblestone square beyond the main gates. Beyond rows of soldiers in chain mail, their swords sheathed, stood a row of archers in brown tunics, all their bows shouldered beside their quivers. Lancers stood in a neat line to the other side of the square, their lances pointing straight up toward the leaden sky with the butts resting on the cobbles left wet and slick by the steady, light drizzle.

All of the men were arranged in such a way as to funnel Richard and those with him down to a man waiting in the center of the road that led up to the citadel.

Richard didn't like being funneled. By his scowl, neither did Commander Fister.

Beyond all the guards, terraces with shaggy olive trees lined the road the rest of the way up to the stone citadel at the top of the hill. Although it would be nothing too special in most cities of any size, in a place like Saavedra the citadel was a magnificent structure that sat like a jewel overlooking the dingy city below. Richard imagined that with Hannis Arc living there, it stood as a symbol of repression, much the way the People's Palace had when Darken Rahl had ruled.

To Richard, a building was just a building, and didn't carry the passions and personality of its occupants. All he cared about with this particular building was the containment field it held down under ground. That was Kahlan's salvation. He could see in her green eyes the weight of the poison within. He felt the same dead weight dragging him down.

When Richard, flanked by a number of heavily armed men carrying battle-axes in addition to knives and swords, some wearing dark, molded leather chest plates and some wearing chain mail over leather tunics, all came to a halt, the man at the center of the square, fist to his heart, bent deeply from his waist.

“I'm General Wolsey,” he said when he straightened. “Welcome to the citadel … Lord Rahl, I presume?”

“That's right,” Richard said with a nod.

“The advance party of your men informed us of your arrival. I can't tell you how honored we are to have you come to our humble city. We are at your disposal. Anything you want—anything at all—you have but to ask, and if it is within our power to provide it, we will.”

“Thank you, General, I will keep that in mind,” Richard said.

The man glanced around. “You all look, well, like you could use a bit of rest. There are rooms, if you would like, and—”

“Thank you,” Richard said, cutting the man off before he was finished trying to ingratiate himself. “As you noted, we have been traveling hard, coming over the pass from up north.”

“The pass!” The general blinked. “No one comes over the pass. It's not … safe.”

“The people there are part of D'Hara, as are you. They were polite and gracious and showed us the way through.”

His mouth opened a little as he stared. “That's … remarkable.”

Richard thought the man seemed a little too tense to be a general, but then again, this was a pretty small place, so a general here wasn't necessarily what Richard would expect elsewhere. This man was probably adequate for the responsibility in the remote city of Saavedra. Besides, people were sometimes more than they appeared to be.

Before General Wolsey could begin talking again, Richard started giving instructions.

“While we are sure that you are prepared to protect the citadel, there are threats that I'm afraid none of you here are prepared to deal with.” He held his hand out to the side. “Therefore, Commander Fister, here, will be in charge. You will be taking orders from him.”

The man frowned. “But I'm a general. He is just a commander.”

“No,” Richard said, “you are the general of the citadel guard in Saavedra. He is a commander of the First File from the People's Palace.”

“The First File!” The man quickly looked around again at the men with Richard, all dressed in dark armor. “I had no idea, Lord Rahl. I've never met any of the First File before. Of course, we will cooperate in every way.”

“Good. That means that any of these men, who are my personal guards, in order to do what they must to protect me, have authority over everyone here should it be necessary. You will all follow their instructions. We have no intention on usurping your authority in your protecting the citadel or the city, and will return command to you once we are rested and can be on our way. It shouldn't be more than a day or two.”

“Of course, Lord Rahl.”

Richard deliberately looked over at the knot of officers standing to the side. They got the message and clapped fists to hearts. He then looked at the soldiers standing in ranks, watching, and they did the same. There didn't appear to be any dissent or grumbling.

“Thank you all for understanding the importance of our safety,” Richard said. “There are threats about that we need to be ready for.”

The general lifted a hand. “What sort of threats?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, if I may be so bold as to ask.”

Richard met the man's gaze. “Have you ever seen the dead rise up out of graves and attack the living, ripping them limb from limb?”

The man's eyes widened. “The dead…?”

“That's right. Being already dead, they can't be killed in the ordinary sense. My men know how to deal with the threat, so I suggest that you stay out of their way and let them handle any trouble.”

The man nodded furiously. “Of course, Lord Rahl.”

“Now, we've been traveling for a long time through some very hostile land. We need to get in out of this wet weather for a bit and get some needed rest.”

The young General Wolsey held an arm out in invitation. “Then please, Lord Rahl, allow me to show you the way.”

Without further word, Richard and all those with him followed the man up the curving cobblestone road toward the citadel at the top. He looked back over his shoulder from time to time to make sure they weren't getting lost along the way.

Richard deliberately hadn't introduced Kahlan, or anyone else. He didn't want them to know exactly who they were. He supposed it was possible he was being overly cautious, but if an assassin had been told to hide and then put an arrow in the Mother Confessor, or Nicci, or Irena, Richard didn't want them identified as targets. Since they all knew his reasoning, they stayed quiet and let him do the talking.

The general opened one of the big double doors and stood to the side to let Richard and everyone with him pass into the grand greeting hall.

Once inside, he gestured to some of the women in uniforms to the side and more across the room. “The staff can show you all to your rooms and get you anything you might need. With the bishop gone for an extended time, we have plenty of room for you and you can have free use of the citadel. We have some lovely guest rooms where I am sure you will be comfortable. Perhaps not as comfortable as you are used to, Lord Rahl, but I trust you will find the accommodations adequate.”

The more the general talked, the more nervous he was making Richard. He supposed that in this outpost of civilization the general simply didn't get the chance to meet many important people. Richard saw men and women of the staff lined up at the far end of the room, looking equally nervous, awaiting orders.

“Thank you,” Richard said to the general. “We can take care of it from here. Please go back down with your men, close the gates, and see to it that no one comes to visit while we are here.”

The general glanced around at the towering, dirty, grimy, armored, battle-hardened D'Haran soldiers of the First File, all bristling with weapons and smelling of sweat, standing in the pristine grand greeting room.