“You and they have already begun, or I would not be alive.”
“So . . . you are a Sister of the Light again?” Kahlan asked.
Nicci shook her head. “No. I am Nicci. My ability as a sorceress is mine; it is who I am. My ability does not enslave me to others because they want it. It’s my life. It does not belong to anyone—except maybe to you two.
“You both have shown me the value of life, the rationale of freedom. If I am to serve beside anyone, now, it will be beside others who hold dear the same values.”
Richard placed his hand over Nicci’s. “Thank you for saving my life. For a while there, I thought I’d made a mistake when I let Kahlan run me through.”
“Richard,” Kahlan objected, “you don’t have to try to assuage my guilt by saying that.”
Nicci was gazing into his eyes, even as she addressed Kahlan. “He’s not. He’s telling you the truth. I saw him do it. He was forcing me to make a choice to save him, so that I would have to break the spell holding you. I’m sorry you had to endure such a thing, Richard; I’d already made the choice—the moment I saw your statue.”
Richard tried to sit up again. Nicci restrained him again.
“It is going to take time for you to recover fully. You are still suffering the lingering effects of the injury. Just because you are alive, that doesn’t mean it won’t take some time before you are completely recovered. You have gone through a formidable ordeal. You lost a lot of blood. You will need to rebuild your strength. You could yet die if you don’t go easy.”
“All right,” Richard conceded. He sat up carefully with Kahlan’s help.
“I’ll keep your words in mind, but I still have to get up there.” He turned to Kahlan. “By the way, what are you doing all the way down here? How did you know where I was? What’s happening to the north, in the New World?”
“We’ll talk about all that later,” she said. “I had to be with you. I decided that it was my life, and I wanted to be with you. You were right about the war in the New World. It took me a long time to come to understand that. I finally did. I came to be with you because that was all that was left for me.”
He looked to Cara. “And you?”
“I always wanted to see the world.”
Richard smirked as he rose with the help of Kahlan and Cara, both. He felt lightheaded, but was joyful to trade that for the way he had been before. Kahlan handed him his sword. He slipped the baldric over his head, laying the leather across his shoulder and the scabbard at his hip. Knowing the weapon a little more intimately, now, he had a new respect for it.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to return it to you,” Kahlan said. She smiled sheepishly. “Like this, I mean.”
Farther down the hall Kamil was anxiously waiting in the darkness pierced by only a couple of candles. There were a number of people with him.
Richard didn’t know any of the people, except Kamil. He put a hand to the grinning young man’s shoulder.
“Kamil. Good to see you.”
“Richard, I saw it. I saw the statue.” His smile faded. “I’m sorry it was destroyed.”
“It was only a piece of stone. It was the ideas it represented that were its true beauty.”
People in the dim hallway nodded. Richard saw, then, the woman with the wounded leg. He smiled at her. She returned a kiss, on the end of her fingers, to his forehead.
“Bless you for your bravery in carving that statue,” she said. “We are all joyful to know you survived the night, Richard.”
He thanked them all for their concern.
The ground shook—again.
“What is that?” Richard asked.
“The walls,” one of the men said. “The people are pulling down the walls with those carvings of death on them.”
Even as some people were pulling down the walls, others were still engaged in pitched battle. Richard could see in the faint light of dawn the fighting on the distant hillsides. It appeared that many people were not happy about the ideas Richard’s statue had represented. There were those who feared freedom, and preferred the numb existence of not having to think for themselves.
The palace grounds, though, were in secure hands. The fires of liberty were spreading outward, igniting a conflagration of change.
In the plaza, the semicircle of walls and all the columns but one still stood. It felt somehow different here. This was the place where people had seen the statue and had chosen life. They weren’t destroying this part of the palace.
Richard dragged his boot through the marble dust. In the center of the plaza, the layer of white dust was all that remained. Every precious fragment had been saved as a reminder.
From out on the grounds where several men were gathered, Victor spotted Richard, Kamil, and Nicci, whom he knew. He called out as he and Ishaq came running.
“Richard!” Victor raced up the steps. “Richard!”
Richard had Cara under one arm and Kamil under the other, supporting him. He didn’t have the strength to shout, so he simply waited until the two men were close, both panting from their run.
“Richard, we’re winning!” Victor said as he pointed at the hills. “All those officials, gone, and we—”
The blacksmith went silent as his eyes fell on Kahlan. Ishaq, too, stared at her, then swept his red hat off his head.
Victor’s mouth labored a moment before words finally worked their way out. His hand, usually so expressive, simply pointed at her as if she could not be real flesh.
“You . . .” he said to Kahlan. “You are Richard’s love.”
Kahlan smiled. “How do you know that?”
“I saw the statue.”
In the dawn light, Richard could see her face go red.
“It didn’t look exactly like me,” she protested, graciously.
“Not the way it looked, but the . . . character. You have that quality.”
Kahlan smiled, pleased by his words.
“Victor, Ishaq, this is Kahlan. My wife.”
Both men blinked dumbly and looked as one to Nicci.
“As you know,” Nicci said, “I am not a very good person. I am a sorceress. I used my power to force Richard to come here with me. Richard has shown me, along with many other people, the nobility of life.”
“Then you’re the one who saved his life?” Victor asked.
“Kamil told us you were hurt, Richard,” Ishaq said, “and that a sorceress was healing you.”
“Nicci healed me,” Richard confirmed.
Victor gestured expansively—at last. “Well, I guess that has to count for something, saving Richard Cypher.”
“Richard Rahl,” Richard said.
Victor’s rolling laugh rumbled up from deep inside. “Right. This day, we are all Richard Rahl.”
Nicci leaned in. “It really is Richard Rahl, Mr. Cascella.”
“Richard Rahl,” Kahlan said, adding her nod.
“Lord Rahl,” Cara said in ill humor. “Show the proper respect to the Seeker of Truth, the master of the D’Haran Empire, war wizard, and the husband to the Mother Confessor herself.” Cara lifted her hand in graceful, regal introduction. “Lord Rahl.”
Richard shrugged. He lifted the gleaming, silver-wound hilt of his sword, showing them the word TRUTH in gold, and then let it drop back into its scabbard.
“What a beauty!” Kamil shouted.
Victor and Ishaq both blinked again, and then dropped to a knee. They bowed their heads deeply.
Richard rolled his eyes. “Will you two stop it.” He shot Cara a scowl.
Victor peered up cautiously. “But we never knew. I’m sorry. You’re not angry I made fun of you?”
“Victor, it’s me, Richard. How many times have we eaten your lardo together?”
“Lardo?” Kahlan asked. “You know how to make lardo, Victor?”
Victor rose up, a grin growing across his face as he peered at her.
“You know of lardo?”
“Of course. The men who used to come to work on the white m
arble at the Confessors’ Palace used to eat lardo they made themselves — in big marble tubs. I used to sit and eat it with them when I was little. They used to say I would grow up to wear the white dress of the Mother Confessor one day because I ate their lardo and would grow strong from it.”
Victor thumped his chest with a big thumb. “I make lardo in marble tubs, too.”
“Do you let it age for a year?” Kahlan asked. “You have to let proper lardo age for a year.”
“Of course, a year! I make only proper lardo.”
Kahlan gave him her most beautiful, green-eyed smile. “I would love to taste it sometime.”
Victor draped his massive arm around Kahlan’s shoulders. “Come, Richard’s wife, I will give you a taste of my lardo.”
Cara, a dark look on her face, put a hand to the blacksmith’s chest to stop him. She lifted his arm from Kahlan’s shoulders.
“No one but Lord Rahl touches the Mother Confessor.”
Victor gave Cara a quizzical look. “Have you ever had lardo?”
“No.”
Victor slapped Cara on the back as he laughed. “Come, then, and I will give you lardo, too. Then you will see—anyone who eats lardo with me is my friend for life.”
Kahlan took Kamil’s place under one of Richard’s arms, Victor under the other, and they made their way across newly free ground up to the blacksmith’s shop, to have some lardo.
Chapter 71
Verna pulled the candle close. She warmed her hands over it a moment, then laid the journey book on the table. The sounds of the army camp outside her small tent were by now so familiar she almost didn’t hear them.
It was a cold D’Haran winter night, but at least they and all the people they had helped were safely over the mountains. Verna understood their quiet anxiety: it was a new and mysterious place, D’Hara, a land once only a source of nightmares. At least they were safe for the time being. In the distance the wolves’ long plaintive howls echoed through the frigid mountains, off the moonlit snow blanketing the seemingly endless, desolate, colossal slopes.
It was the proper phase of the moon, even if it was the moon in a new land, a strange and unknown land. Verna had checked for months, but there was never a message. She didn’t really expect one, since Kahlan had thrown Ann’s twinned journey book in the fire. But still, it was a journey book, an ancient thing of magic, and Ann was a resourceful woman. It didn’t hurt to look.
Verna opened the little book with no real hope.
There, on the first page, was a message.
All it said, was, Verna, I am waiting, if you are there.
Verna drew the stylus from the spine and immediately began writing.
Prelate! You have been able to fix the damaged journey book? That’s wonderful. Where are you? Are you well? Have you found Nathan?
Verna waited. Shortly, the reply began to appear.
Verna, I am well. I was able to restore the journey book with the help of some . . . people. Strange people. But the important part is that it is restored for the most part. I am still searching for the prophet. I have some good clues on Nathan’s whereabouts, and I am looking into them. But how are you, Verna? How goes the war? Warren? Kahlan? Is Zedd giving you much trouble? That man can try the patience of stone. Have you had word of Richard?
Verna stared at words on the page. A tear fell near Warren’s name. She picked up the stylus once more, and slowly began her reply.
Oh, Prelate, some terrible things have happened.
I am sorry, Verna, came the reply. Verna, I am here. I am going nowhere for the night. Take all the time you need. Tell me what happened. Tell me how you are, first. I worry so for you. Verna, I love you like a daughter. You know I do.
Verna nodded to the book. She did know it.
And I love you, too, Prelate, Verna began. I fear my heart is broken.
Kahlan stood silently beside him in the warm midday breeze as Richard looked out over the river, at the city beyond. The city was peaceful, now.
Battle had raged for weeks, various factions struggling for power, lusting to be the new local incarnation of the Order, each faction swearing that they had the best interest of the people at heart, each promising that they would be compassionate in their rule, each pledging that life would be easier under their mandate because they would see to it that everyone of means contributed to the common good.
After decades of such altruistic tyranny, decay and death had been the only product of the business of the common good. Despite graveyards full of evidence and a people left impoverished, these aspirants to power offered only more of the same, and yet many still believed them simply because they uttered such good intentions.
While a great number of brothers and officials had been killed, some had escaped. Some of those, who had not fled, thought to take advantage of the confusion and establish control, thinking they could rein in the hunger for freedom, the ideas loosed, and put things back to the way they were.
The free people of Altur’Rang, their numbers growing daily, eradicated each of these factions as they emerged from under their rocks. Nicci had been no small aid in the bloody battles. She knew the methods of such people, where they went to ground, and pounced on them like a wolf on vermin.
The forces lusting to oversee the welfare and betterment of mankind came to greatly fear that which they had in fact created: Death’s Mistress.
There was no telling, yet, if freedom’s flame, now ignited, would spread through the Old World. It was still a very small flame in a vast and dark place, but Richard knew that such a flame burned brightly.
To the north, matters were not nearly so auspicious. With Nicci’s magic withdrawn, Richard supposed that the D’Harans would know where he was, and send him messages. Cara was immensely relieved to be able to sense his location again through her bond.
He had listened quietly as Kahlan and Cara had told him all the details of the war, and how they had sent the people of Aydindril on a long and difficult journey to D’Hara before Jagang could march into the city in the spring. It would give them heart to know that Lord Rahl had struck a mighty blow against the Old World, to know that the Mother Confessor was with him, and that they were well. A number of men had requested the job of carrying that invaluable news north.
Soon, the D’Haran Empire and the people they were protecting who had fled their homes would know of the victory to the south. The messengers would actually be carrying a more precious commodity than that news: they would in reality be carrying hope.
Richard had also sent his grandfather the same word.
Richard could hardly believe that Warren, his friend, was gone. The terrible anguish, he knew, would be slow to fade.
Richard had sent one other thing north.
Nicci had told him of Brother Narev’s importance to Emperor Jagang, of their long history together, and of their shared vision of the future of mankind. In the spring when Jagang finally, triumphantly, rode in to seize the Confessors’ Palace, waiting for him there, before his empty victory, would be his mentor’s head on a pike, topped by his creased brown cap.
Nicci had woven a spell around it, to preserve it, to keep scavengers away. Richard wanted to be sure that when Jagang finally saw it, he would not mistake who it was.
In the teeming city of Altur’Rang, peace had returned, along with freedom. Life had returned. People had begun to open new businesses. In a matter of weeks, there was already a variety of bread available. New enterprises were starting every day. Ishaq was making a fortune hauling goods, but already had competitors vying for the business. Nabbi had gone to work for him. Ishaq had begged Richard to come work for him when he was strong enough. Richard had only laughed.
Faval, the charcoal maker, had beseeched Ishaq to ask Richard to come to visit and have dinner with him and his family. Faval had bought a cart, and his sons now delivered charcoal.
Richard leaned with his forearms on the railing at the edge of the pier and gazed down over the edge, to the swirling
water below, as if trying to divine what the future held.
The piers out into the river and the walkway atop them, along with the plaza, were about all that remained of the palace. Richard had seen to it that the spellforms were removed from the tops of the columns around the grounds, and had Priska melt them down.
Richard had regained most of his strength. Kahlan was strong, and as beautiful as he remembered her. She had changed, though. Her face had grown more mature in the year they had been apart. When he gazed at her, he hungered for a piece of marble and his chisels so he could carve her face in stone.
Flesh in stone.
He turned and looked back along the pier, toward the plaza, with its semicircle of columns behind it. The fallen column had been restored. The plaza had been renamed “Liberty Square,” Victor’s idea. Richard asked if it shouldn’t be called “Liberty Circle,” since it was round, and not square.
Victor thought it sounded better as Liberty Square, so Richard called it Liberty Square. After all, the first man to declare himself free, there, had been Victor.
Kahlan gazed with him back toward the plaza.
“What do you think?” Richard asked her.
She shook her head, looking at best a little uneasy. “I don’t know, Richard. It just seems so strange to see it so . . . big. So . . . white.”
“You don’t like it?”
She quickly put a hand on his arm to dispel the notion. “No, it isn’t that, it’s just that it’s so . . .” her uncertain gaze returned down the pier—“big.”
The center of the plaza, where the statue Richard had carved had briefly stood, now held a towering marble statue being worked on by a number of stone carvers who used to work at the site carving misery and death.
Kamil was down there, learning the craft of stone carving from masters. His education started with a broom.
Richard had hired the carvers. With the fortune he had made helping the Order build its palace, he could easily afford it. The carvers were glad for such work—to exchange value for value.
The expert carvers were working on scaling up the small statue of Spirit, which Richard had carved for Kahlan, way back in their mountain home when she needed to witness vitality, courage, and indomitable spirit. It emerged anew in the best white Cavatura marble.
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