Death's Mistress

by Terry Goodkind

  Nathan finished his biscuit and absently munched on another from the plate. He finished skimming the volume in front of him just as a shy young female scholar delivered more. Mia was one of the students assigned to assist him. About nineteen years old, she had short mouse-brown hair and darting eyes that seemed more accustomed to reading than making contact with other people.

  “I found these for you, Wizard Nathan. They might contain viable lines of investigation.” She was a daughter of a canyon-dwelling family, and she had grown up learning to read and study. She had been born just after Roland fled Cliffwall and began to drain the life out of the world.

  “Thank you, Mia,” he said with an appreciative smile. Whenever he asked her to find books or scrolls on a particular subject, she would hurry off and return with possibilities. As he ran his fingers down the words in ancient languages, Mia would often sit quietly beside him, reading books that had captured her own interest, hoping to help.

  Now he picked up the top volume and opened the scuffed cover. “Ah, a treatise on enhancing plant growth.”

  Mia nodded. “I thought it might offer some possible counteraction to the Lifedrinker’s magic that drains life. The foundational spell-forms might have some commonalities.”

  “Excellent suggestion,” Nathan said, although he thought it unlikely.

  The next volume in the stack was covered in letters he did not recognize, angled symbols and swooping curves of runes. The words seemed to exude a kind of power, and he touched the writing as if he could let the foreign alphabet seep into his fingertips. “Do you recognize this language?” he asked Mia. “It is not High D’Haran, nor any of the languages of the Old World that I know.”

  The young woman pushed her short hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ears. “Some of our oldest scrolls are written in those letters, but no one can read them anymore. Some say they were part of an ancient library stolen from the city of Ildakar.”

  Nathan set the volume aside, since the incomprehensible writing rendered it useless to him. He was delighted to see that the next book contained maps of a broad land area, although without any frame of reference. One chart showed a range of mountains extending from rolling foothills to sharp crags. Dotted lines indicated winding, treacherous paths that led up to a summit. The exotic names of peaks and rivers were unfamiliar—until his eyes fixed on a pair of words.

  Kol Adair.

  He caught his breath. So, his destination truly existed—in that much, at least, the witch woman had been right. He wondered if the broad valley on the map represented the once-fertile basin that had become the Scar.

  Nathan felt a desperate longing to have his magic back, if only to help in the fight against the Lifedrinker. Nicci couldn’t be required to save the world on her own. Upon beginning this journey, he had not cared overmuch about losing his gift of prophecy, since all the forked paths and dire warnings had caused him nothing but grief. But his gift of magic was such an integral part of him that he had taken it for granted. It made him whole.

  He tapped on the map, but his own needs would come later. He set aside the volume and pondered the Lifedrinker’s spreading desolation. Nathan went back to his books, still searching for the answer.

  * * *

  Nicci, Bannon, and Thistle reached the sheer rock wall below the mesa, glad to leave the bleak Scar behind. Thistle climbed up the steep slope, easily finding half-hidden trail markers and ledges on the way to the alcove opening high above that led back into the plateau and the archive city.

  As she climbed, Nicci looked back the way they had come. The powdery dust whipped across the desolate crater like a miasma. When Bannon stopped beside her at the entry alcove high up on the plateau wall, they all stood together looking out at the devastation. The Lifedrinker was somewhere deep at the center of the crater.

  “Are you anxious to go back there, Sorceress?” he asked.

  “No,” she answered honestly, “but I know we must.”

  Nicci could still feel a tendril in her mind of a prowling feline presence—a lonely presence. Mrra was out there, roaming the uninhabited wilderness. The spell-bonded cat had spent her life as part of a troka with two sister panthers, both now gone. The healing magic had filled that void with Nicci, but she didn’t know how to help.…

  When they returned to the Cliffwall gathering chambers, Nathan hurried out to join them, glad to see them back safe. Hearing about their battles with dust people and sand panthers, he gave Bannon’s shoulder a paternal pat. “Did you use the swordcraft I taught you?”

  Bannon nodded. “Yes, I remembered everything you showed me.”

  Nicci remembered how wildly the young man had flailed with his blade, but he had fought the enemies, as needed. She couldn’t fault Bannon for that.

  “I killed as many as he did,” Thistle boasted.

  “Of course you did, child,” Nathan replied with a wry smile. “And that is exactly what we expect of you. But Bannon is my protégé, and I wanted to make sure he acquitted himself well. As you did.”

  “Even though you weren’t supposed to come along,” Nicci said, though her reprimand had no sting. “I’m glad you know how to take care of yourself.”

  The girl looked up at her. “Am I your protégée, Nicci?”

  The idea surprised her. This orphan girl was certainly useful, and eager to help, but Thistle hadn’t shown any particular aptitude for the gift. “A protégée in what way? I cannot train you to be a sorceress.”

  “But my reading is better now. I can help you find books in the library. You said you needed to do a lot of research.”

  Nicci was surprised to realize she wasn’t averse to the idea. “You can help, so long as you don’t get in the way.”

  “I won’t!”

  When the scholars gathered, Nicci gave a more detailed report of the desolation, the cracked canyons, the fumaroles and mud pots, as well as the Lifedrinker’s defenders. She sketched out a map, as best she could remember. “I am sure there will be more powerful guardians closer to the evil wizard’s lair. We must be ready.” She raised an eyebrow at Nathan and all the eager scholars. “As soon as you find me a weapon I can use to kill him.”

  Simon lifted his chin. “I am confident the answer resides here in the archives.” His fellow scholars gave intent nods and muttered among themselves. “We just have to find the right records.”

  In the dining hall, they all sat down as servers brought in the evening meal. Thistle ate with her hands—both hands, since she was voraciously hungry. Victoria led her student memmers into the room, taking them to Nathan so they could describe some of the subjects they had committed to memory.

  The three beautiful acolytes sat next to Bannon, leaning close and listening to his every word. Audrey, Laurel, and Sage found excuses to feed him morsels of food from his plate: roasted vegetables, freshly baked rolls, skewers of spiced lamb. Warming to his tale, the young man talked with exaggerated gestures. Sage picked up a cloth napkin and dabbed the side of his mouth. His cheeks turned pink.

  Audrey giggled. “Look how his freckles stand out when he blushes!”

  The comment only made him turn brighter red. “I appreciate your attentions. I don’t often have such a … beautiful audience.” He swallowed hard, then gulped from a goblet of spring water, muttering, “Sweet Sea Mother!”

  Victoria stepped up behind Bannon and gave the acolytes an encouraging smile. “I understand your attraction to the young man,” she said, as if Bannon weren’t there. “I hope you three don’t turn out to be barren and childless, as I am.”

  Bannon blinked. “I—I don’t want to stay here and marry anyone.” He looked at Nicci as if hoping that she would save him. “We’re on a mission.”

  Nicci regarded him coolly. “After I saved you from the cutthroats in Tanimura, I told you to rescue yourself from then on. You will have to meet this challenge on your own.”

  Bannon blushed again.

  Victoria sounded sad as she stood like a mother hen beh
ind the three young women. “Dry, dusty scrolls cannot possibly make up for carrying a life inside you, or holding a newborn baby. Someday you’ll know.”

  The three acolytes smiled.

  Victoria stepped over to Thistle, who was finishing a second handful of grapes. The girl still wore her dusty, raggedy clothes from the journey out into the Scar. “I have good news for you, child.” She set a cloth-wrapped parcel onto the table and began to undo the knotted twine that held the edges together. “We have very few young children here in Cliffwall, and certainly no suitable clothes, so therefore I asked a skilled seamstress to make this new for you.”

  She held up the garment, shaking the fabric to unfold a small, trim dress made to fit Thistle’s scrawny form. It had been dyed bright pink.

  Thistle stopped chewing a mouthful of grapes. “A new dress?” She frowned uncertainly, not sure how to react. “I’ve never had a dress like that before.”

  Victoria continued to smile. “You no longer need to wear rags. You are such a pretty girl, and this will make you even prettier. Do you like the pink? It comes from cliff roses that grow in the canyons.”

  The dainty dress seemed unsuited for the girl’s life of running through the desert and hunting lizards. Thistle looked at Nicci, who responded with a hard honesty. “In general, I dislike the color pink.” So much so, in fact, that Nicci had once used Subtractive Magic in a wildly inappropriate fashion just to erase the pink dye from a satiny nightdress she had been made to wear in the Wizard’s Keep.

  “I think I like my old dress better,” Thistle said. “This one is very nice, but I wouldn’t want it to get dirty when I follow Nicci on her explorations. We’ve got the whole world to see after we kill the Lifedrinker.”

  Victoria chuckled. “But, child, you’re with us now, here at Cliffwall. You will stay and be one of my acolyes. I will teach you how to read and understand the spells, and soon enough you will be able to memorize hundreds of books. You will become our newest memmer.” She patted the girl’s arm.

  Nicci felt on edge. “But is that what the girl wants?” Thistle looked back and forth from the matronly memmer woman to the sorceress.

  “Of course it is,” Victoria said. “I will take you under my wing, child, clean you up, and train you.”

  Thistle squirmed on her bench. “I want to read better, and I want to learn things, but I won’t just stay in Cliffwall. Nicci can teach me while we’re out exploring the world. For Lord Rahl. It’s an important mission.”

  Victoria gave a dismissive gesture. “Flights of fancy, child. Better to read adventures than have them for yourself. I can protect you.” She gripped the girl’s bony shoulders, squeezing hard.

  Thistle ducked and slid closer to Nicci, leaving the pink dress on the table. Nicci rose to her feet, on her guard. “Enough, Victoria. The girl is with us.”

  The memmer woman looked angry, as if unaccustomed to anyone defying her wishes. She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “You know the child needs care and an education. We’ll train her how to remember.”

  Nicci’s voice was as hard as forged steel. “Thistle must make her own choice. Her life is her own to control.”

  “I want to hunt lizards and climb the canyon walls,” she interjected. “Nicci promised to take me across the Old World.”

  Nicci assessed the increased level of tension in the room. The scholars had stopped eating, listening to the escalating verbal battle.

  Victoria fixed her gaze on the sorceress. “Are you the girl’s mother? By what right do you make decisions for her?”

  “No, I am not the girl’s mother. I was never meant to be a mother. That was a choice I made.”

  Victoria’s mood shifted in an unexpected direction. “And have you ever thought it might be the wrong choice? Why would a beautiful, strong, and obviously fertile woman like yourself choose not to create life? I wanted so badly to have children but wasn’t able to!” Her voice rose as she grew more incensed. “No one has ever denied me an acolyte before. Who are you to deny me?”

  Nicci thought of many answers, but chose the one with the most power. “I am Death’s Mistress.”

  CHAPTER 48

  After the satisfying meal in the warm banquet hall, Bannon could still taste the sweetness of the honeyed fruit from dessert. He patted his belly on his way back to his quarters. After sleeping outside in the dying foothills the previous night, he found the simple stone-walled room with its sleeping pallet wonderfully safe and homey. It reminded him of his own room back on Chiriya, when he’d been a young man, when he and his best friend Ian had talked about their dreams … before his father had started beating him, before the Norukai slavers took Ian, before the world fell apart.

  Bannon closed his eyes and blocked those thoughts. He cleared his mind, breathed in and out, and repainted his memories with bright, if false, colors. Ready for a good night’s sleep, he dropped the fabric door curtain for privacy and removed his homespun shirt, which was still encrusted with harsh white powder and dried sand-panther blood. Humming to himself, he tossed the shirt to the side of the room; tomorrow, he would take it to the Cliffwall laundry. In the meantime, he had a spare shirt and trousers, neatly folded on the unused writing desk.

  Someone had delivered a fresh basin of water for him, along with a soft rag he could use as a washcloth. It was the sort of thing his mother would have done to take care of him. He dipped the rag in the water and used it to scrub his face. It felt refreshing and wonderful. Someone had even put herbs in the wash water to make his skin tingle. He soaked the rag in the basin again, rinsing out the grit and grime. He squeezed out the excess water, then looked up, startled as the hanging cloth moved aside from the door.

  Audrey slipped in, her dark brown eyes glittering. She did not knock or ask to enter. Shirtless, Bannon was instantly embarrassed. He dropped the rag back into the basin. “I’m sorry—” he said, then wondered what he was apologizing for. “I was just washing up.”

  “I’ve come to help you,” Audrey said with a smile and let the cloth hanging fall back into place.

  As she moved toward him, her deep brunette hair was long, loose, and lush. Unlike the white woolen gown she usually wore, her dress seemed tighter than usual, its bodice cinched at her narrow waist and below her breasts to emphasize their swell. “After all you’ve been through, Bannon Farmer, you shouldn’t have to wash yourself.”

  “I—I’m fine.” He felt his cheeks grow warm again. “I’ve been washing myself all my life. It’s not … usually a job that requires more than one person.”

  “Maybe you don’t require it,” Audrey said, taking the wet rag and dipping it into the herbed water, “but why turn down help? This is a much more pleasurable way to bathe.”

  All arguments vanished from his mind, and he realized he had no worthwhile objections anyway.

  Audrey drew the moist cloth across his chest to wipe away the grit. She moved more slowly than necessary, but her intention was not merely to clean him. She wet the rag again and used it to caress his chest, then down along his flat stomach.

  Bannon realized his throat had gone entirely dry. He bent away in further awkwardness as he realized that he had become aroused, prominently pressing out from his canvas trousers.

  Audrey discovered it as well. She pressed her hand against his trousers, and a low groan came out of his throat without him even realizing it. He quickly touched her wrist. “There’s no need—”

  “I insist. I want to make sure you’re thoroughly bathed.” She undid the rope at his waist to loosen his pants, which had become remarkably tight.

  Bannon squirmed. “Please, I—” He stopped and swallowed again. If anything, his throat had become drier. He wasn’t sure whether he was asking her to please stop, or please continue. Audrey reached into his loose pants and used the washcloth to stroke him with its moist softness.

  “I want you completely clean,” she said, then pushed him back to the pallet, but Bannon’s knees were weak and he was ready to collapse an
yway. As he lay there looking up at her with shining eyes, Audrey loosened the laces of her bodice, removed it, then slipped out of her white shift, letting the soft wool slide away from her creamy shoulders to expose her ample breasts. The dark circles of her nipples reminded him of the berries she had fed him at the banquet table not long before.

  He gasped with wonder at the sight, and she turned to him let him admire the curve of her back, the gentle swell of her perfect buttocks. But Audrey wasn’t going away from him. She just wanted to snuff one of the candles, leaving only a single orange flame flickering in its pot. It was enough light for them to see, but most of the time Bannon had his eyes closed. He gasped many more times as she joined him on the pallet, pressing him down on his back. She slid one leg over his waist and straddled him.

  When returning to his quarters, Bannon had been exhausted and sleepy, but now sleep was the farthest thing from his mind.

  He touched Audrey’s skin, felt its warmth, then reached up as she leaned forward, inviting him to cup her breasts. When she shifted her hips to settle on top of him and he slid inside her, he felt as if he had fallen into the embrace of paradise. And it was.

  Bannon lost all sense of time, hypnotized by the sensations that Audrey showed him. And when she was done and climbed off of him, she leaned forward to kiss him long and full on the lips, then trailed her lips down his cheek, and his neck. He let out a long, shuddering sigh of ecstasy. He was even more exhausted now and not at all tired. His entire world had changed.

  As Audrey picked up the supple white shift and pulled it over her head, his heart already ached for her. “I … I don’t know what to say.”

  She giggled. “At least you knew what to do.”

  “Does this mean that you—you’ve chosen me? I’m sure I’d be a good husband. I didn’t know that I wanted to get married, but you’ve made me—”

  She laughed again. “Don’t be silly. You can’t marry all of us.”

  “All?” he asked, not understanding.

  After Audrey finished dressing, she came back to his pallet, where he lay drifting and happy, his entire body tingling. She kissed him again. “Thank you,” she said, then slipped out of his chambers, darting silently into the corridors.