2 - Stone of Tears

by Goodkind, Terry

  Richard winked. 'I have a plan. At least we can try.'

  She frowned at him. 'You could do this thing to me, and they would be happy, and you could go to the palace. You would be safe. Are you not afraid they will kill you?'

  Richard nodded. 'But I am .more afraid to live the rest of my life seeing in my mind your pretty eyes and wishing I had helped you.'

  She gave him a sidelong glance. 'Maybe you are a magic man, but you are not a smart man. A smart man would want to be safe.'

  'I am the Seeker.'

  'What is this, the Seeker?'

  'It's a long story. But I guess it means I do my best to see the truth prevail, to see right done. This sword has magic, and it helps me in my quest. It's called the Sword of Truth.'

  She let out a long breath, and finally laid her head back in his lap. Try then, or kill me. I was dead anyway.'

  Richard gave her filthy, bare back a pat of reassurance. 'Hold still.'

  He reached under her neck and wrapped his fingers around the collar, holding it tight. With his other hand, the hand on the hilt, the hand through which the magic was coursing into him, he gave a mighty heave. With a loud crack, the iron shattered. Hot shards of metal ricocheted off the walls. One large piece spun like a top in the dirt, finally wobbling and falling over. Silence settled over them. He held his breath, hoping none of the metal fragments had cut her throat.

  Du Chaillu sat up. Her eyes wide, she felt her neck. Finding no injury, she broke into a wide grin.

  'It is off! You got the collar off and my head is still attached!'

  Richard feigned a touch of indignation. 'I told you I would. Now we must get away from here. Come on.'

  He led her back through the rooms the way he had come in. When he reached the next to last room from where the men waited, he held a finger to his lips and told her to be quiet and wait for him to come back for her.

  She folded her arms under her bare breasts. 'Why? I will go with you. You said you would not leave me here.'

  Richard let out an exasperated breath. 'I'm going to get you some clothes. We can't leave with you ...' With a gesture, he indicated her bare condition.

  She unfolded her arms and looked down at herself. 'Why? What is wrong with me? I am not a bad shape to look upon. Many men have told me ...'

  'What is it with you people!' he whispered heatedly. 'I have seen more naked people since I left my homeland last autumn than in the whole of my life! And not a one of you seems the least little bit ...'

  She grinned. 'Your face is red.'

  Richard growled through gritted teeth. 'Wait here!'

  Smirking, she folded her arms again. 'I will wait.'

  In the outer room the four men jumped to their feet when Richard came through the carpet-covered opening. He didn't give them any time to ask questions.

  'Where are the woman's clothes?'

  Confused, they glanced at one another. 'Her clothes? Why do you want ...'

  Richard took an aggressive stride toward the man. 'Who are you to question the spirits! Do as they say! Get me her clothes!'

  All four flinched back. They stared at him briefly and then went to the low chests. They set the lamps aside and opened the lids, rummaging through the chests, tossing clothes aside.

  'Here! I found them!' one of them said. He held up a garment that looked to be finely woven flax. Different-colored strips hung in rows from the light brown fabric. 'This is hers.' He held up a buckskin belt. 'And this, too.'

  Richard snatched them from the man's fist. 'You will wait here.' He grabbed up a scrap of cloth the men had thrown on the floor as they had searched for the dress.

  He went back through the opening before there was time for any questions. Du Chaillu waited, her arms still folded. When she saw what he held in his hands, she gasped. She clutched the dress to her breast. Tears filled her dark eyes.

  'My prayer dress!'

  She threw her arms around his neck and, raising up on her tiptoes, started kissing him all over his face. Richard mashed her mass of black hair flat against the sides of her head as he pushed her away.

  'All right, all right, put it on. Hurry.'

  Grinning at him, she pulled the dress over her head, poking her arms through the long sleeves. Up the outside of each arm and across the shoulders was a row of little strips of different-colored cloth. Each was knotted on through a small hole beneath a corded band. The dress came to just below her knees. As she tied the belt at her waist, Richard noticed the blood still running down to her foot from where the men had stabbed her in the thigh.

  He dropped to one knee before her and motioned with his hands. 'Lift it up. Lift up your dress.'

  Du Chaillu looked down at him. She lifted an eyebrow. 'I have just covered myself, and now you wish me to uncover?'

  Richard pursed his lips. He waved the strip of cloth at her. 'You are bleeding. I need to put this around the wound.'

  Giggling, she raised her skirt and held her leg out, rotating it from side to side, displaying it in a teasing manner. Richard quickly wrapped the cloth around her thigh, over the gash, and jerked the knot tight. She yelped with pain. He thought it served her right, but apologized anyway.

  Taking her by the hand, he pulled her though the remaining rooms. As he passed through the last, he growled at the four men to stay where they were. Still holding Du Chaillu's hand tight, he led her back down the alleyway and streets to the open square. He saw the heads of the three horses sticking up above the sea of shiny, bald heads. He plowed his way through the throng, toward the horses.

  CHAPTER 43

  Although his sword sat in its scabbard, he was already drawing its magic. Rage surged into him. He summoned it ever onward, letting his barriers fall before its advance.

  He was entering a silent world all his own. A world of grim committal to what he was.

  Bringer of death.

  Sister Verna paled when she saw him pulling Du Chaillu after, becoming even paler when she saw his demeanor.

  Without a word to her, Richard snatched his bow off the side of his saddle. He grunted with the effort of swiftly stretching the bowstring to the bow. He yanked two steel-bladed arrows from the quiver hanging from Bonnie's saddle. His chest heaved with wrath.

  The crowd had all turned toward him. Puzzled faces bobbed up as men behind jumped to get a view. The women in black all looked up in his direction. The Queen Mother watched.

  Sister Verna's face was by now bright red. 'Richard! What do you think ...!'

  Richard shoved her back. 'Be quiet.'

  Bow and arrows in hand, he leapt up onto his saddle. The mumbling fell silent.

  Richard directed himself to the Queen Mother. 'I have spoken with the spirits!'

  The back of the Queen Mother's hand started sliding up the pole, toward the bell's rope. That was all the sign he needed. She had been offered a chance. The irrevocable commitment had been made.

  He loosed the magic within himself.

  In one swift motion, Richard nocked an arrow. He drew string to cheek. He called the target. The arrow was away.

  The air hissed with the sound of the arrow's flight. The crowd gasped. Before the arrow reached the target, while the air still sizzled with its sound, Richard had the second arrow nocked and on target.

  With a twanging thunk, the first arrow made a solid hit, dead-on where he intended it. The Queen Mother let out a clipped cry of surprise and pain. Penetrating the space between the two bones in her wrist, the arrow pinned her arm to the pole, preventing her hand from reaching the bell's rope. Her other hand started over toward the rope.

  The second arrow sat rock solid in the invisible notch in the air, on target, waiting. 'Move toward the bell, and the next arrow goes through your right eye!'

  The gaggle of women in black fell to their knees, wailing. The Queen Mother became still. Blood trickled down her arm.

  Inside, storms of anger thundered through him. Outside, he was stone. 'You will hear what the spirits have commanded!'


  Slowly, the Queen Mother let her free hand drop to her side. 'Speak their words, then.'

  Richard still held the bowstring to his cheek, and had no intention of letting it relax. Though the arrow was aimed at one, his ire was directed at all.

  Magic burned through him at full fury. The force of rage pounded through his veins. In the past, it had always been focused on an enemy, someone specific. This was different. It was open-ended rage, rage at all those present, at everyone involved in human sacrifice. This was nonspecific wrath.

  That made it worse. It drew more magic.

  Richard didn't know if it was the all-encompassing threat that drew more magic, or if it was because of all the practicing he had done with Sister Verna, enabling him to focus, but whatever the reason, he was calling forth more magic from the sword than he ever had before, more than he had known was there. The magic seethed with frightening power. The very air vibrated with it.

  The men about stepped back. The wailing women fell into a hush. The Queen Mother's face was white against the black of her dress. A thousand people stood in silent terror of one.

  'The spirits wish no more sacrifices! It does not prove your devotion to them, only that you can kill! From now on, you must show your respect of the spirits by showing respect for the lives of the Baka Ban Mana. If you do not, the spirits will vent their wrath by destroying you! Take their threat to heart, or they will bring starvation and death to the Majendie!'

  He spoke to the men as they pressed forward. 'If any of you makes a move against me or these two women, the Queen Mother dies.' They all glanced to one another, seeking courage. 'You may think to kill me,' he told them, the target not wavering in the slightest, 'but you cannot before the Queen Mother dies. You saw the shot I made. My hand is guided by magic. I do not miss.'

  The men backed away.

  'Let him be!' the Queen Mother called out. 'Hear what he has to say!'

  'I have told you what the spirits have said! You will obey!'

  She was silent a moment. 'We will consult the spirits ourselves.'

  'You would insult them? You would be admitting you do not heed their words, but your own worldly wishes!'

  'But we must ...'

  'I'm not here to bargain on their behalf! The spirits have ordered I give the sacrificial knife to this woman, so she may carry it back to her people, to show them that the Majendie will no longer hunt them.

  'The spirits will warn you of their anger by taking the seed you plant, and only when you send representatives to the Baka Ban Mana and tell them you agree to the wishes of the spirits will you be able to plant your crops. If you do not follow the spirits' wishes, you will all starve to death!

  'We are leaving now. I will have your word that we will be granted safe leave of your land, or you will die right now.'

  'We must consider ...'

  'I grant you until the count of three to give me your decision! One, two, three!' The Queen Mother gasped. The women in black gasped. The crowd gasped. 'What have you decided!'

  The Queen Mother held her free hand up, imploring he hold his arrow. 'You may go! You have the word of the Queen Mother that you may leave our land unharmed!'

  'A wise decision.'

  Her hand closed into a fist, one finger pointing toward them. 'But this is a violation of our agreement with the wise-women. The accord is at an end. You must leave our land at once. You are banished.'

  'So be it,' Richard said. 'But keep to your word, or you will reap the grim rewards of any imprudent action.'

  He released the tension from the bow. Standing in his stirrups, he pulled the sacred knife from his belt and held it up high for all to see.

  'This woman will take this back to her people, and tell them of the words of the spirits. As to their part, the Baka Ban Mana may no longer make war on the Majendie. You may no longer make war on them. You will be two peoples at peace! Neither may harm the other! Heed the words of the spirits, or bear the consequences!'

  His voice dropped to a fierce whisper, yet the wrath of the magic carried the words to the farthest corners of the square, and in the stillness, every ear could hear them. 'Heed my orders, or suffer what I will bring upon you. I will lay waste to you.'

  Magic lay over the square like fog in a valley, ethereal yet real, a palpable manifestation of his outrage that touched everyone present, and all trembled at that touch. Richard leapt off his horse. The men shrank back a few more steps. Sister Verna was speechless with rage. He had never seen her in such a state. She stood, as if paralyzed, with her fists out before her.

  Richard leveled his glare, and his wrath, on her. 'Get on your horse, Sister. We're leaving.'

  Her jaw looked ready to shatter under the pressure of how tightly it was clenched. 'You are mad! We will not ...'

  Richard thrust a finger toward her. 'If you wish to argue with someone, Sister, you may stay and argue with these people. I'm sure they will oblige you. I'm going to the palace fto get this collar off. If you want to go with me, then get on your horse.'

  'There is no way! We cannot now travel the horn of the Majendie land! We are banished!'

  Richard lifted his thumb to Du Chaillu. 'She will guide us to the Palace of the Prophets, through the Baka Ban Mana's land.'

  Du Chaillu folded her arms and gave the Sister a self-satisfied smile.

  Sister Verna looked from her to Richard. 'You truly are mad. We cannot ...'

  Richard gritted his teeth with a growl, the sword's anger still at full fury. 'If you wish to go with me to the palace, get on your horse! I'm leaving!'

  Du Chaillu watched as Richard stuck the green-handled knife behind her buckskin belt. 'I have charged you with a responsibility. You will live up to it. Now, get up on that horse.'

  Du Chaillu unfolded her arms in sudden worry, looking to the horse and back to him. She folded her arms again and put her nose in the air. 'I will not ride on that beast. It stinks.'

  'So do you!' Richard roared. 'Now get up on that horse!'

  She flinched back. Eyes wide in fright at his glare, she swallowed, gulping air. 'Now I know what a Seeker is.'

  She scrambled awkwardly up onto Geraldine. The sister was already atop Jessup. Richard vaulted up onto Bonnie.

  With a last, warning look at the men gathered, he squeezed his horse's ribs and she sprang into a gallop. The other two horses took out after him. The men swept back out of the way.

  The magic hungered for blood, raged for it. Richard wished someone would try to stop him. No one did.

  ----------

  'Please,' Du Chaillu said, 'it is almost dark. May we please stop, or at least allow me to walk. This beast is hurting me.'

  She was holding on for dear life, bouncing in the saddle as Geraldine trotted along. The little strips of colored cloth on her dress were all aflutter. He could hear Sister Verna's horse trotting along behind, but he didn't look back at her.

  Richard glanced up at the sun setting beyond the thick tangle of branches. His rage was finally withering with the light. For a time, it had seemed as if he would never be able to put it down.

  Du Chaillu pointed past him with her chin, to his right, afraid to lift a hand. There is a small pond there, through the reeds, and a grassy place before it.'

  'Are you sure we are in Baka Ban Mana land?'

  She nodded. 'For the last few hours. This is our land. I know this place.'

  'All right. We will stop for the night.'

  He held her horse for her as she slid off. With a groan, she rubbed the flats of her hands on her bottom. 'If you make me ride that beast again tomorrow, I will bite you!'

  For the first time since they had left the Majendie, he was able to smile. As Richard went about unsaddling the horses, he sent Du Chaillu to get water in a canvas bucket. While she went off through the reeds and rushes to the pond, Sister Verna gathered wood and used her magic to set it afire. When he was finished caring for the horses, he put them on long tethers so they could graze on the grass.

  'I guess intr
oductions are in order,' Richard said when Du Chaillu returned. 'Sister Verna, this is Du Chaillu. Du Chaillu, this is Sister Verna.'

  Sister Verna seemed to have cooled, or at least put a mask over her anger. 'I am pleased for you, Du Chaillu, that you did not have to die this day.'

  Du Chaillu glared. Richard knew she thought of the Sisters of the Light as witches.