When she had sat, and started signing her name, Richard pushed his sword out of the way and sat beside her, in the Mother Confessor’s chair. He settled his gaze on the people watching, and kept it there as he listened to the pen scratching. He kept the rage on a slow boil in order to concentrate.
Richard turned back to the smiling Keltish officials behind and to each side of her chair. “You’ve all performed a valuable service this morning, and I would be honored if you would be willing to continue in an official capacity. I’m sure I could use your talents in administering the growing D’Hara.”
After they had all bowed and thanked him for his generosity, he once again turned his attention to the silent group watching the proceedings. The D’Haran soldiers, especially the officers, having spent months stationed in Aydindril, had learned a great deal about trade in the Midlands. In the four days he had been with them searching for Brogan, Richard had learned all he could, and had added to that knowledge earlier that morning. When he knew the questions to ask, Mistress Sanderholt had proven to be a woman of vast knowledge gathered over years of having prepared the dishes of many lands. Food, as it turned out, was a reservoir of knowledge about a people. Her keen ear didn’t hurt, either.
“Some of the papers the duchess is signing are trade instructions,” Richard told the officials as Cathryn bent over her work. His eyes lingered on her shoulders. He willed them away. “Since Kelton is now part of D’Hara, you must understand that there can be no trade between Kelton and those of you who have not joined with us.”
He turned his gaze on a short, round man with a curly black and gray beard. “I realize, Representative Garthram, that this will put Lifany in an uncomfortable position. With Galea and Kelton’s borders now ordered sealed to anyone not part of D’Haran, you will have a very difficult time with trade.
“With Galea and Kelton to your north, D’Hara to your east, and the Rang’Shada Mountains to the west, you will be hard-pressed to find a source of iron. Most of what you purchased came from Kelton, and they bought grain from you, but Kelton will just have to buy their grain from the Galean warehouses now. Since they’re now both D’Haran there is no longer any reason for past animosity to hinder trade, and their armies are under my command so they won’t be wasting effort worrying about one another and instead will devote their attention to sealing the borders.
“D’Hara, of course, has a use for Keltish iron and steel. I suggest you find another source, and quickly, as the Imperial Order will probably attack from the south. Possibly right through Lifany, I would suspect. I will have no man spilling blood to protect lands not yet joined with us, nor will I reward hesitation with trade privileges.”
Richard turned his gaze to a tall, gaunt man with a ring of wispy white hair around the base of his knobby skull. “Ambassador Bezancort, I regret to inform you that the letter, here, to Kelton’s Commissioner Cameron, instructs him that all agreements with your homeland of Sanderia are hereby canceled until and unless you, too, are part of D’Hara. When spring comes, Sanderia will not be allowed to drive their herds up from your plains to spring and summer on the highlands of Kelton.”
The tall man lost what little color he had to begin with. “But, Lord Rahl, we have no place to spring and summer them; while those plains are a lush grassland in the winter, they are a brown and barren wasteland in the summer. What would you have us do?”
Richard shrugged. “I would suppose you’ll have to slaughter your herds in order to salvage what you can before they starve.”
The ambassador gasped. “Lord Rahl, these agreements have been in place for centuries. Our whole economy is based on the husbandry of our sheep.”
Richard lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not my concern; my concern is with those who stand with us.”
Ambassador Bezancort raised his hands in an imploring gesture. “Lord Rahl, my people would be ruined. Our whole country would be devastated if we were forced to slaughter our herds.”
Representative Theriault took an urgent step forward. “You can’t allow those herds to be slaughtered. Herjborgue depends on that wool. Why, why… it would ruin our industry.”
Another spoke up. “And then they couldn’t trade with us, and we would have no way to buy crops that won’t grow in our land.”
Richard leaned forward. “Then I suggest you impress these arguments on your leaders, and do your best to convince them that surrender is the only way. The sooner the better.” He looked out at the other dignitaries. “As interdependent as you all are I’m sure you will soon come to realize the value of unity. Kelton is part of D’Hara, now. The trade routes will be closed to any who fail to stand with us. I told you before, there are no bystanders.”
A riot of protests, appeals, and supplications filled the council chambers. Richard stood, and the voices fell to silence.
The Sanderian ambassador lifted a bony finger in accusation. “You are a ruthless man.”
Richard nodded, the magic heating his glare. “Be sure to tell that to the Imperial Order, if you choose to join with them.” He looked down on the other faces. “You all had peace and unity through the Council and the Mother Confessor. While she was away, fighting for you and your people, you threw that unity aside for ambition, for naked greed. You acted like children fighting over a cake. You had a chance to share it, but instead chose to try to steal it all from your smaller siblings. If you come to my table, you will have to mind your manners, but you each will have bread.”
No one offered an argument this time. Richard straightened his mriswith cape on his shoulders when he realized Cathryn had finished signing and was watching him with those big brown eyes. He couldn’t maintain the grip on the sword’s anger in the glow of her sweet gaze.
He turned back to the representatives, the rage gone from his tone. “The weather is clear. You had best be off. The sooner you convince your leaders to agree to my terms, the less inconvenience your people will suffer. I don’t want anyone to suffer.…” His voice trailed off.
Cathryn stood next to him and looked down at the people she knew so well. “Do as Lord Rahl asks. He has given you enough of his time.” She turned and addressed one of her aides. “Have my clothes brought over at once. I’ll be staying here, at the Confessors’ Palace.”
“Why is she staying here?” one of the ambassadors asked as his brow wrinkled in suspicion.
“Her husband, as you know, was killed by a mriswith,” Richard said. “She is staying here for protection.”
“You mean there is danger for us?”
“Very possibly,” Richard said. “Her husband was an expert swordsman, yet he… well, I hope you will be careful. If you join with us then you are entitled to be guests of the palace, and the protection of my magic. There are plenty of empty guest rooms, but they will remain empty until you surrender.”
Accompanied by worried chatter, they headed for the doors.
“Shall we go?” Cathryn asked in a breathy voice.
His task done, Richard felt the sudden emptiness being filled with her presence. As she took his arm and they started away, he summoned the last shred of his will to stop at the end of the dais, where Ulic and Cara were standing.
“Keep us in sight at all times. Understand?”
“Yes, Lord Rahl,” Ulic and Cara said as one.
Cathryn tugged on his arm, urging his ear close. “Richard.” Her warm breath carrying his name sent a shudder of longing through him. “You said we would be alone. I want to be alone with you. Very alone. Please?”
It was from this moment that Richard had borrowed strength. He could no longer hold the image of the sword in his mind. In desperation, he put Kahlan’s face there in its stead.
“There is danger about, Cathryn. I can sense it. I won’t risk your life carelessly. When I don’t feel the danger, then we can be alone. Please try to understand, for now.”
She looked distraught, but nodded. “For now.”
As they stepped off the platform, Richard’s gaze snagged on
Cara’s. “Don’t let us out of your sight for anything.”
24
Phoebe plopped down the reports in a narrow vacant spot on the polished walnut table. “Verna, may I ask you a personal question?”
Verna scrawled her initials across the bottom of a report from the kitchens requesting replacements for the large caldrons that had burned through. “We’ve been friends for a good long time, Phoebe; you may ask me anything you wish.” She again scrutinized the request, and then above her initials she wrote a note denying permission and telling them to instead have the caldrons repaired. Verna reminded herself to show a smile. “Ask.”
Phoebe’s round cheeks flushed as she twisted her fingers together. “Well, I mean no offense, but you’re in a unique position, and I could never ask anyone else but a friend like you.” She cleared her throat. “What’s it like to get old?”
Verna snorted a laugh. “We’re the same age, Phoebe.”
She wiped her palms at the hips of her green dress as Verna waited. “Yes… but you’ve been away for more than twenty years. You’ve aged that much, just like those outside the palace. It will take me near to three hundred years to age to where you are right now. Why, you look like a woman of almost… forty.”
Verna signed. “Yes, well, a journey will do that to you. At least mine did.”
“I don’t want to ever go on a journey and get old. Does it hurt, or something, to so suddenly be old? Do you feel… I don’t know, like you’re not attractive and life is no longer sweet? I like it when men view me as desirable. I don’t want to get old like… It worries me.”
Verna pushed away from the table and leaned back in her chair. Her strongest urge was to strangle the woman, but she took a breath and reminded herself that it was a friend’s sincere question asked out of ignorance.
“I would guess that everyone views it in their own unique way, but I can tell you what it means for me. Yes, it hurts a bit, Phoebe, to know that something is gone and can never be recovered, as if I was somehow not paying attention and my youth was stolen from me while I was waiting for my life to start, but the Creator balances it with good, too.”
“Good? What good could come of it?”
“Well, inside I’m still myself, but wiser. I find that I have a clearer understanding of myself and what I want. I appreciate things I never did before. I see better what’s really important in doing the Creator’s work. I suppose you could say I feel more content, and worry less about what others think of me.
“Even though I’ve aged, that doesn’t diminish my longing for others. I find comfort in friends, and yes, to answer what you’re thinking, I still long for men much the same as I always did, but now I have a wider appreciation for them. I find callow youth less interesting. Men need not simply be young to stir my feelings, and the simple hold less appeal.”
Phoebe’s eyes were wide as she leaned forward attentively. “Reeeally. Older men stir longings in you?”
Verna checked her tongue. “What I meant by older, Phoebe, was men older like me. The men that catch your interest, now? Fifty years ago you wouldn’t have considered walking with a man the age you are now, but now it seems natural to you because you’re that age, and men now the age you were back then seem immature to you. See what I mean?”
“Well… I guess.”
Verna could read it in her eyes that she didn’t. “When we first came here as young girls, like the two down in the vaults last night, novices Helen and Valery, what did you think of women who were the age you are now?”
Phoebe covered a giggle with her hand. “I thought them impossibly old. I never thought I’d be this age.”
“And, now, how do you feel about your age?”
“Oh, it isn’t old at all. I guess I was just foolish at that young age. I like being this age. I’m still young.”
Verna shrugged. “It’s much the same for me. I view myself in much the way you view yourself. I no longer see older people as simply old, because I now know that they’re the same as you or I; they view themselves the same as you or I view ourselves.”
The young woman wrinkled her nose. “I guess I see what you mean, but I still don’t want to get old.”
“Phoebe, in the outside world you would have lived nearly three lives by now. You, we, have been given a great gift by the Creator to be able to have as many years as we do, living here at the palace, in order to have the time necessary to train young wizards in their gift. Appreciate what you were given; it’s a rare benevolence that touches only a handful.”
Phoebe nodded slowly and behind the slight squint Verna could almost see the labor of contemplative reasoning. “That’s very wise, Verna. I never knew you were so wise. I always knew you were smart, but you never seemed wise to me before.”
Verna smiled. “That’s one of the other advantages. Those younger than you think you wise. In a land of the blind, a one-eyed woman could be queen.”
“But it seems so frightening, to have your flesh go limp and wrinkly.”
“It happens gradually; you become somewhat accustomed to yourself growing older. To me, the thought of being your age again seems frightening.”
“Why’s that?”
Verna wanted to say because she feared walking around with such an underdeveloped intellect, but she reminded herself once again that she and Phoebe had shared a good part of their lives as friends. “Oh, I guess because I’ve been through some of the thorn hedges you have yet to face, and I know their sting.”
“What sort of thorns?”
“I think they’re different for each person. Everyone has to walk their own path.”
Phoebe wrung her hands as she leaned over even more. “What were the thorns on your path, Verna.”
Verna stood and pushed the stopper back into the ink bottle. She stared down at her desk, not seeing it. “I guess,” she said in a distant tone, “the worst was returning to have Jedidiah look at me with eyes like yours, eyes that saw a wrinkled, dried-up, old, unattractive hag.”
“Oh please, Verna, I never meant to suggest that—”
“Do you even understand the thorn in that, Phoebe?”
“Why, to be thought old and ugly, of course, even though you are not that.…”
Verna shook her head. “No.” She looked up into the other’s eyes. “No, the thorn was to discover that that was all that ever mattered, and that what was inside” —she tapped the side of her head— “didn’t hold any meaning for him, only its wrapping.”
Even worse than returning to see that look in Jedidiah’s eyes, though, was to discover that he had given himself over to the Keeper. In order to save Richard’s life as Jedidiah was about to kill him, Verna had buried her dacra in his back. Jedidiah had betrayed not only her, but the Creator, too. A part of her had died with him.
Phoebe straightened, looking a bit puzzled. “Yes, I guess I know what you mean, when men…”
Verna waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I hope I’ve been of help, Phoebe. It’s always good to talk to a friend.” Her voice took on the clear ring of authority. “Are there any petitioners to see me?”
Phoebe blinked. “Petitioners? No, not today.”
“Good. I wish to go pray and seek the Creator’s guidance. Would you and Dulcinia please shield the door; I wish not to be disturbed.”
Phoebe curtsied. “Of course, Prelate.” She smiled warmly. “Thank you for the talk, Verna. It was like old times in our room after we were ordered to be sleeping.” Her gaze darted to the stacks of papers. “But what about the reports? They’re falling further behind.”
“As Prelate, I cannot ignore the Light that directs the palace and the Sisters. I must also pray for us, and ask for His guidance. We are, after all, the Sisters of the Light.”
The look of awe returned to Phoebe’s eyes. Phoebe seemed to believe that in assuming the post, Verna had somehow become more than human, and could somehow touch the hand of the Creator in a miraculous way. “Of course, Prelate. I will see to the placement
of the shield. No one will disturb the Prelate’s meditation.”
Before Phoebe went through the door, Verna called her name in a quiet tone. “Have you learned anything yet about Christabel?”
Phoebe’s eyes turned away in sudden disquiet. “No. No one knows where she went. We’ve had no word on where Amelia or Janet have disappeared to, either.”
The five of them, Christabel, Amelia, Janet, Phoebe, and Verna had been friends, had grown up together at the palace, but Verna had been closest to Christabel, though they were all a bit jealous of her. The Creator had blessed her with gorgeous blond hair and comely features, but also with a kind and warm nature.
It was disturbing that her three friends seemed to have vanished. Sisters sometimes left the palace for visits home, while their families were still living, but they requested permission first, and besides, the families of those three would all have passed away of old age long ago. Sisters, too, sometimes went away for a time, not only to refresh their minds in the outside world, but also to simply have a break from decade upon decade at the palace. Even then, they almost always would tell the others that they had to leave for a time, and where they were going.
None of her three friends had done that; they had simply shown up missing after the Prelate died. Verna’s heart ached with the worry that they simply couldn’t accept her as Prelate, and had chosen instead to leave the palace, but as much as it hurt, she prayed it was that, and not something darker that had taken them.
“If you hear anything, Phoebe,” Verna said, trying to hide her concern, “please come tell me.”
After the woman had gone, Verna placed her own shield inside the doors, a telltale shield she had devised herself; the delicate filaments spun from the spirit of her own unique Han, magic she would recognize as her own. Should anyone try to enter, they probably wouldn’t detect the diaphanous shield, and would tear the fragile threads. Even if they did manage to detect it, their mere presence and the act of probing for a shield would still unavoidably tear it, and if they then repaired the weave with Han of their own, Verna would know that, too.
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