“The man who promised you gold for nothing is dead. Dig him up and complain to him, if you wish. The men who will fight for your freedom will require provisions, and our troops will not steal them. Those of you who can provide food and services will be paid a fair price for your labor and goods. All will participate in attaining freedom and peace, if not with service under arms, then at minimum with a tax to support our troops.
“All, no matter their means, must have an investment in their freedom, and will pay their part. This principle is law, and inviolate.
“If you do not wish to comply, then leave Aydindril and go to the Imperial Order. You are free to demand gold of them, as it was they who made the promise; I will not keep it for them.
“You are free to choose: with us, or against us. If you are with us, then you will help us. Think carefully before you decide to leave, for if you leave, and decide later that you would rather not suffer the Order any longer, then you will pay double the tax for a period of ten years in order to earn your way back.”
The crowd in the balconies gasped. A woman on the floor, near the front, spoke up in a distraught voice.
“What if we choose neither? It is against our principles to fight. We want to be left alone to go about our lives. What if we choose not to fight, to simply go about our business?”
“Do you arrogantly believe that we want to fight because we would stop the slaughter, and you are somehow better because you wish not to? Or that we will carry the load by ourselves so that you, too, may enjoy the freedom to live by your principles?
“You can contribute in other ways without taking up a sword, but contribute you must. You can help tend the wounded, you can help the families of men gone to fight, you can help build and maintain roads to get supplies to them; there are any number of ways you can help, but you will help. You will pay the tax, the same as everyone else. There will be no bystanders.
“If you choose not to surrender, you will stand alone. The Order intends to conquer all people and lands. Because there is no other way to stop them, I can intend no less. Sooner or later, you will be ruled by one of us. Pray it is not the Order.
“Those lands that choose not to surrender to us will be placed under blockade and isolated until we have time to invade and conquer you, or the Order does. None of our people will be allowed to trade with you, under penalty of prosecution for treason, and you will not be allowed to transport trade or travel through our land.
“The opportunity of surrender I give now carries incentives: you will be able to join us without prejudice or sanctions. Once this peaceful offer to surrender has expired, and it becomes necessary to conquer you, you will be conquered, and you will surrender, but the terms will be harsh. Every one of your people will pay triple the tax for a period of thirty years. It wouldn’t be fair to punish future generations for the actions of this. Neighboring lands will prosper and grow, while you do not, burdened as you will be with higher costs to your surrender. Your land will eventually recover, but you will probably not live long enough to see it.
“Be warned: I intend to wipe the butchers called the Imperial Order from the face of the land. If you do more than try to stand aside, and are foolish enough to join with them, then you cast your fate with theirs; no mercy will be granted.”
“You can’t get away with this,” an anonymous voice in the crowd called out. “We’ll stop you.”
“The Midlands is fragmented, and cannot be made whole again, or I would instead join with you. What is past, is past, and cannot be returned.
“The spirit of the Midlands will live on with those of us who honor its purpose. The Mother Confessor committed the Midlands to war without mercy against the tyranny of the Imperial Order. Honor her command and the ideals of the Midlands in the only way that will succeed: surrender to D’Hara. If you join with the Imperial Order, then you stand against everything the Midlands represented.
“A force of Galean soldiers, led by the Queen of Galea herself, hunted down the butchers of Ebinissia, and killed them to a man. She has shown us all that the Imperial Order is vincible.
“I am engaged to wed the queen of Galea, Kahlan Amnell, and join her people to mine, and thereby show all that I will not stand for the crimes committed, even if they were committed by D’Haran troops. Galea and D’Hara will be the first to join in the new union, through Galea’s surrender to D’Hara. My marriage to her will show all that it will be a union made of mutual respect, demonstrating that it can be done without blood conquest or the lust for power, and instead for strength and a hope of a new and better life. She, no less than I, intends to annihilate the Imperial Order. She has proven her heart with cold steel.”
The crowd, both those on the main floor, and those in the balconies, started crying out questions and demands.
Lord Rahl shouted them down. “Enough!” The people grudgingly fell silent once more. “I have heard all I intend to hear. I have told you the way it will be. Do not mistakenly think I will tolerate the way you behaved as nations of the Midlands. I will not. Until you surrender, you are all potential enemies, and will be treated as such. Your troops will at once surrender their weapons, one way or another, and will not be allowed to leave the custody of the D’Haran troops now surrounding your palaces.
“Each of you will send a small delegation to your homeland to convey my message as I have told it to you today. Don’t think to try my patience; delay could cost you everything. And do not think to wile me out of special conditions—there will be none. Each land, whether large or small, will be treated the same, and must surrender. If you choose to surrender, we welcome you with open arms, and expect you to contribute to the whole.” He looked to the balconies. “You, too, have been charged with a responsibility: contribute to our survival, or leave the city.
“I am not pretending it will be easy; we stand against a foe without conscience. The creatures on the poles outside were sent against us. Consider their fate, while you think on my words.
“If you choose to join with the Imperial Order, then I pray the spirits will be kinder to you in the afterlife than I will be in this.
“You may go.”
Chapter 13
The guards crossed their pikes before the door. “Lord Rahl wishes to speak with you.”
None of the other guests remained in the room; Brogan had held back to the last in order to see if any would seek a private audience with Lord Rahl. Most had left in great haste, but a few had lingered, as Brogan had thought they would. Their polite inquires were turned away by the guards. The balconies, too, had been emptied.
Brogan and Galtero, with Lunetta between, crossed the expanse of marble to the dais, accompanied by their footsteps echoing around the dome, along with the metallic clatter of the armor from the guards behind them. Lamplight cast a warm glow in the immense, ornate, stone room. Lord Rahl leaned back in the chair to the side of the Mother Confessor’s chair and watched them come.
Most of the D’Haran soldiers had been dismissed, along with the guests. General Reibisch stood to the side of the dais, his face grim. The two huge guards to the ends, and the three Mord-Sith beside Lord Rahl watched, too, with the silent intensity of coiled vipers. The gar towered behind the chairs, watching with glowing green eyes as they came to a halt before the desk.
“You may go,” General Reibisch said to the remaining soldiers. After clapping a fist to their hearts, they departed. After Lord Rahl had watched the tall double doors close, he looked to Galtero, Brogan, and then let his gaze settle on Lunetta.
“Welcome. I am Richard. What is your name?”
“Lunetta, Lord Rahl.” She giggled as she performed an unpracticed curtsy.
Lord Rahl’s gaze shifted to Galtero, and Galtero shifted his weight to his other foot. “I apologize, Lord Rahl, for nearly trampling you, today.”
“Apology accepted.” Lord Rahl smiled to himself. “See how easy that was?”
Galtero said nothing. Lord Rahl at last looked to Brogan, his expression
turning serious.
“Lord General Brogan, I want to know why you have been abducting people.”
Tobias spread his hands. “Abducting people? Lord Rahl, we have done no such thing, nor would we.”
“I doubt you are a man who tolerates evasive answers, General Brogan. We have that in common.”
Tobias cleared his throat. “Lord Rahl, there must be some misunderstanding. When we arrived here in Aydindril in order to offer our assistance to the cause of peace, we found the city be in disarray and matters of authority in a state of confusion. We invited a few people to our palace in order to help determine what dangers be about, nothing more.”
Lord Rahl leaned forward. “About the only thing you were interested in was the execution of the Mother Confessor. Why would that be?”
Tobias shrugged. “Lord Rahl, you must realize that my whole life the Mother Confessor be the figure of authority in the Midlands. To come to find she may have been executed disturbs me greatly.”
“Nearly half the city witnessed the execution, and could have told you so. Why did you think it necessary to abduct people off the street to question them about it?”
“Well, people sometimes have different versions of events when asked separately—they remember events in different ways.”
“An execution is an execution. What is there to remember differently?”
“Well, from across a square, how could you tell who it was being led to the block? Only a few people near the front could have seen her face, and many of those would not know the face as hers even if they did see it.” Lord RahFs eyes weren’t losing their dangerous set, so he quickly went on. “You see, Lord Rahl, I had been hoping that the whole thing might have been a deception.”
“Deception? The people assembled saw the Mother Confessor beheaded,” Lord Rahl stated flatly.
“Sometimes people see what they think they will see. It be my hope that they did not really see the Mother Confessor executed, but perhaps just a show so that she could escape. At least that be my hope. The Mother Confessor stands for peace. It would be a great symbol of hope for the people if the Mother Confessor were still alive. We need her. I was going to offer her my protection, if she be alive.”
“Put the hope from your mind, and dedicate yourself to the future.”
“But surely, Lord Rahl, you must have heard the rumors of her escape?”
“I have heard no such rumors. And did you know the Mother Confessor?”
Brogan let an agreeable smile come to his lips. “Oh, yes, Lord Rahl. Quite well, in fact. She visited Nicobarese on any number of occasions, as we be a valued member of the Midlands.”
“Really?” Lord Rahl’s face was unreadable as he looked down from behind the desk. “What did she look like?”
“She was . . . well, she had . . .” Tobias frowned. He had met her but, strangely, he suddenly realized he couldn’t recall what she looked like. “Well, she is difficult to describe, and I am not good with that sort of thing.”
“What was her name?”
“Her name?”
“Yes, her name. You said you knew her well. What was her name?”
“Well, it was . . .”
Tobias frowned again. How could this be? He was chasing a woman who was the scourge of the pious, the symbol of the magic’s suppression of the devout, a woman he hungered to judge and punish more than any of the Keeper’s other disciples, and suddenly he couldn’t remember what she looked like, or even her name. Confusion tumbled through his thoughts as he struggled to bring her looks to mind.
Suddenly, it came to him: the death spell. Lunetta had said that in order for it to work he probably wouldn’t recognize her. It hadn’t occurred to him that the spell would erase even her name, but that had to be the explanation.
Tobias shrugged as he smiled. “I’m sorry, Lord Rahl, but with the things you had to say tonight my mind seems to be in a scramble.” He chuckled as he tapped the side of his forehead. “I guess I’m getting old and addled. Forgive me.”
“You abduct people off the street to question them about the Mother Confessor because you are hoping to find her alive so you can protect her, yet you can’t recall what she looks like, or even her name? I hope you can appreciate, General, that from my side of the desk, ‘addled’ would be a lenient representation, I must insist that, like her name, you forget this foolish, ill-advised quest and put your mind to the matter of the future of your people.”
Brogan could feel his cheek twitch as he spread his hands again. “But Lord Rahl, don’t you see? If the Mother Confessor were to be discovered alive, then it would be a great aid to you in your efforts. If she lives, and you could convince her of your sincerity and the necessity of your plan, she would be an invaluable aid to you. If she went along with your demands, then it would carry great weight with the people of the Midlands. Despite what it would appear because of the unfortunate actions of the council, which in all honesty set my blood to boiling, many in the Midlands greatly respect her, and would be swayed by her endorsement. It might even be possible, and a great coup, if you were to convince her to marry you.”
“I am committed to wed the queen of Galea.”
“Even so, if she were alive, she could help you.” Brogan stroked the scar at the side of his mouth as he fixed his eyes on the man behind the desk. “Do you think it possible, Lord Rahl, that she be alive?”
“I was not here at the time, but I am told that perhaps thousands of people saw her beheaded. They think she is dead. While I admit that were she alive she would be an invaluable help as my ally, that is not the point. The point is, are you able to offer me one good reason why all those people are wrong?”
“Well, no, but I think—”
Lord Rahl slammed a fist to the desk. Even the two huge guards jumped. “I’ve had enough of this! Do you think I am stupid enough to be diverted from the cause of peace by this speculation? Do you think I will grant you some special privilege because you would think to offer me suggestions to win over the people of the Midlands? I told you, there are no special favors! You will be treated the same as every other land!”
Tobias licked his lips. “Of course, Lord Rahl. That wasn’t my intention—”
“If you continue on with this quest to find a woman whom thousands saw beheaded, at the expense of your charge to chart the future course of your land, then you are going to end up on the point of my sword.”
Tobias bowed. “Of course, Lord Rahl. We will leave at once for our homeland with your message.”
“You are doing no such thing. You are going to remain right here.”
“But, I must deliver your message to the king.”
“Your king is dead.” Lord Rahl cocked an eyebrow. “Or did you mean that you were going to go chasing his shadow, too, in the belief that he might be hiding out with the Mother Confessor?”
Lunetta chuckled. Brogan darted her a glance and the laugh cut off abruptly. Brogan realized his smile had vanished. He managed to bring a hint of it back.
“A new king will no doubt be named. That is the way of our land: to be led by a king. It was to him, the new king, that I was going to take the message, Lord Rahl.”
“Since any king that was named would no doubt be your puppet, the journey is unnecessary. You will remain at your palace until you decide to accept my terms, and surrender.”
Brogan’s smile widened. “As you wish, Lord Rahl.”
He began to draw his knife from the sheath at his belt. Instantly, one of the Mord-Sith had a red rod an inch from his face. He froze.
Looking up into her blue eyes, he feared to move. “A custom of my land, Lord Rahl. I meant no threat. I was going to surrender my knife to you, to show my intent to comply with your wishes and remain at the palace. It be a way of giving my word, a symbol of my sincerity. Would you permit me?”
The woman didn’t take her blue eyes from his. “It’s all right, Berdine,” Lord Rahl said to the woman.
She withdrew, but only with great reluc
tance, and a venomous glare. Brogan slowly pulled the knife free and gently placed it, handle first, on the edge of the desk. Lord Rahl took the knife and set it aside.
“Thank you, General.” Brogan held his hand out, palm up. “What’s this?”
“The custom, Lord Rahl. In my land, the custom is that when you ceremonially surrender your knife, in order to avoid dishonor the person you surrender it to gives you a coin in return, silver for silver, as a symbolic act of good will and peace.”
Lord Rahl, his eyes never leaving Brogan, considered it a moment, and at last leaned back and drew a silver coin from his pocket. He slid it across the desk. Brogan reached up, took the coin, and then slipped it into his coat pocket, but not before he saw the strike: the Palace of the Prophets.
Tobias bowed. “Thank you for honoring my customs, Lord Rahl. If there is nothing else, then I will retire to consider your words.”
“As a matter of fact, there is one more thing. I heard that the Blood of the Fold holds no favor with magic.” He leaned a little closer. “So why is it you have a sorceress with you?”
Brogan looked over at the squat figure beside him. “Lunetta? Why, she be my sister, Lord Rahl. She travels with me everywhere. I love her dearly, gift and all. If I were you, I would not put great weight to the words of Duchess Lumholtz. She be Keltish, and I hear they be thick with the Order.”
“I have heard it elsewhere, too, from those who are not Keltish.”
Brogan shrugged. He wished he could get his hands on that cook so he could cut out her wagging tongue.
“You have asked to be judged by your actions, and not by what others say of you. Would you deny me the same? What you hear is beyond my control, but my sister has the gift, and I would not have it otherwise.”
Lord Rahl leaned back in his chair, his eyes as penetrating as ever. “There were Blood of the Fold among the Imperial Order’s army that butchered those at Ebinissia.”
“As well as D’Harans.” Brogan lifted an eyebrow. “Those who attacked Ebinissia are all dead. The offer you made tonight is to be a fresh start, is it not? Everyone given the opportunity to make the commitment to your offer of peace?
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