Stone of Tears tsot-2

by Terry Goodkind

  Zedd smiled sadly and patted the big man’s shoulder. “I would like you to teach this child to be like you. I know she is smart. Bring it out in her. Make her your student. Teach her how to use every weapon you know. Teach her to be strong, and quick.”

  Chase sighed and gave a nod. “Such a little warrior.”

  “In the morning, I must leave to get Adie and take her to Aydindril. I would like you to go to the Mud People. Ride hard, fast as you can go. Richard and Kahlan and Siddin will be with the dragon tonight, and tomorrow she will take them there. It will take you weeks to reach him. We can’t afford to waste any time.

  “Tell Richard and Kahlan to come to me in Aydindril at once. Tell them of the danger as I have told you. Then maybe you should take this child to safety. If there is any such thing.”

  “Isn’t there anything else I can do?”

  “The most important thing is to get to Richard. I’ve been a fool for thinking we would have time. I never should have let him out of my sight.” Zedd rubbed his chin a moment in thought. “Maybe you could tell him I am his grandfather, and that Darken Rahl was his father. Maybe that will give his anger time to cool before he reaches me.”

  Zedd lifted an eyebrow and smiled. “Do you know what the Mud People call him? They call him ‘Richard With The Temper.’ Imagine that. Richard of all people. He is one of the gentlest people I’ve ever known. But I fear the Sword of Truth has brought out his other side.”

  Chase flashed a rare, reassuring look. “He won’t be angry to learn you are his grandfather. He loves you.”

  Zedd sighed. “Maybe so, but I don’t think he will be pleased to know who his father really is. And that I hid that knowledge from him. George Cypher raised him and they loved each other deeply.”

  “That’s the truth, and this doesn’t change it.”

  Zedd nodded. He held the necklace up. “Will you trust me?”

  Chase appraised the wizard for a moment, then sat Rachel up straight on his knee. “Let me latch the clasp for you.”

  After Chase hooked it around her neck, Rachel picked up the amber stone in her small hands, bending her face down to see it. “I’ll take good care of it for you, Zedd.”

  The wizard ruffled her hair. “I’m sure you will.” He put a finger to each side of her forehead, letting the magic flow into her, and gave her the thought of how important the necklace was, that she was not to talk to people about it or where she got it, and that she must protect it as she had the box of Orden.

  He removed his fingers, and she opened her eyes and smiled. Chase picked her up with a hand on each side of her waist and set her down to stand on the bench next to him. He searched through the arsenal of knives at his waist and found the strap for the smallest. He untied the leather thong and pulled the sheathed blade free. He held it up in front of her face.

  “Since you are my daughter now, you will wear a knife, just like me. But I don’t want you taking it out until I teach you about it. You could cut yourself badly. I will teach you how to use it in a safe manner. I’m going to teach you how to protect yourself so you will be safe. All right?”

  Rachel beamed. “You’ll teach me to be like you? I would like that ever so much, Chase.”

  Chase grunted as he tied the leather strap at her waist. “I don’t know how good I’ll be at teaching you. Seems I can’t even teach you to call me Father.”

  She smiled shyly. “Chase and Father mean the same thing to me.”

  Chase shook his head, a resigned grin on his face. Zedd came to his feet and straightened his robes. “Chase, if you need anything, Commander General Trimack will see to it. Take as many men as you would like.”

  “I wouldn’t like any. I’m in a hurry, I don’t need the extra baggage to tend, and besides, I think a man and his daughter would draw less attention. Isn’t that the whole idea?” He glanced pointedly at the stone around Rachel’s neck.

  Zedd smiled, appreciating the boundary warden’s sharp mind. Those two were going to make quite a pair. “I will travel with you, until I reach the route toward Adie. I must do some things in the morning, and then we can be on our way.”

  “Good. You look like you could use some rest before we start out.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  Zedd suddenly realized why he was so tired. He had thought it was because he hadn’t slept in days, but that wasn’t it. It was because they had struggled for months to stop Darken Rahl, and just when he thought it was over, that they had finally won, he now knew it had only begun. And this wasn’t just a dangerous wizard they were fighting; it was the Keeper of the underworld.

  With Darken Rahl he had known most of the rules, how the boxes of Orden worked, how much time they’d had. He knew next to nothing now. The Keeper could win in the next five minutes. Zedd felt hopelessly ignorant. He sighed inwardly. He guessed he knew some things; he would just have to build on that knowledge.

  “By the way,” Chase said as he straightened the knife at Rachel’s waist, “one of the other healers—Kelley, she said her name was—she gave me a message for you.” He leaned back and fished around in his pocket with two big fingers, bringing out a small piece of paper. He handed it to the wizard.

  “What’s this?” The paper said West Rim, North Highland Way, Third Tier.

  Chase pointed at the paper as Zedd held it out, reading it. “She said that is where you could find her. She said to tell you that she thought you needed rest, and that if you would come to her, she would make you a stenadine tea, and that she would brew it weak so you would sleep well. Does that make any sense to you?”

  Zedd smiled just a little to himself as he crumpled the note in his fist. “A bit.” He tapped his lower lip in thought. “Get yourself some rest. If you think the pain of the wounds will keep you from sleeping, I could have one of the healers brew you up some . . .”

  Chase held a hand up. “No! I’ll sleep fine.”

  “Very well.” He patted Rachel’s arm and Chase’s shoulder and started off. A thought came to him and he turned back. “Have you ever seen Richard wearing a red coat? A red coat with gold buttons and brocade?”

  Chase gave a snort of a laugh. “Richard? Zedd, you half raised him. You should know better than I that Richard doesn’t have a red coat like that. He has a feast-day coat that’s brown. Richard is a woods guide. He favors earth colors. I’ve never even seen him wear a red shirt. Why?”

  Zedd ignored the question. “When you see him, tell him I said not to wear a red coat.” He shook a finger at Chase. “Ever! It’s very important, don’t forget. No red coat.”

  Chase nodded. “Done.” He knew when not to press the old man.

  Zedd gave Rachel a smile and a quick hug before starting off down the hall. He wondered idly if he could remember where a dining hall was. It had to be almost past dinnertime.

  A thought occurred to him: he didn’t know where he was going. He hadn’t done anything about finding himself a place to sleep. Well, no matter, he thought, the palace had guest rooms. He had told Chase about them. He could go there, too.

  He unfolded the crumpled piece of paper in his hand and looked at it. A distinguished man with a neatly trimmed gray beard and dressed in official gold robes was walking past. Zedd snagged him gently.

  “Excuse me, but could you tell me where . . .” He looked at the paper. “Where ‘West Rim, North Highland Way, Third Tier’ is located?”

  The bearded man gave a polite bow of his head. “Of course, sir. Those are the healers’ quarters. It is not far. Let me guide you partway there, and give you direction for the rest of it.”

  Zedd broke into a smile. He suddenly didn’t feel quite so tired. “Thank you. That is very kind of you.”

  Chapter 5

  As Sister Margaret turned the corner at the top of the stone steps, an old maidservant carrying a mop and bucket saw her and fell to her knees. The Sister paused momentarily to touch the top of the old woman’s bowed head.

  “The Creator’s blessing on His ch
ild.”

  The woman looked up, her face wrinkling into a warm, toothless smile. “Thanks be to you, Sister, and blessings to you in His work.”

  Margaret smiled back and watched as the old woman lugged her heavy bucket on down the hall. Poor woman, she thought, having to work in the middle of the night. But then, here she was herself, up and about in the middle of the night.

  The shoulder of her dress pulled uncomfortably. She looked down and saw that in her haste she had misaligned the top three buttons. She redid them before pushing open the heavy oak door out into the darkness.

  A pacing guard saw her and came at a run. She held the book over her mouth to hide her yawn. He lurched to a halt.

  “Sister! Where’s the Prelate? He’s been yelling for her. Runs shivers up my spine, it does. Where is she?”

  Sister Margaret scowled at the guard until he remembered his manners and dropped a quick bow. When he came back up she started off down the rampart with the man at her heels.

  “The Prelate does not come simply because the Prophet roars.”

  “But he called out for her specifically.”

  She stopped and clasped her hand over the one holding the book. “And would you like to be the one to bang on the Prelate’s bedchamber door in the middle of the night and wake her, simply because the Prophet shouts for it?”

  His face paled in the moonlight. “No, Sister.”

  “It is enough that a Sister must be dragged out of bed for his nonsense.”

  “But you don’t know what he’s been saying, Sister. He’s been yelling that . . .”

  “Enough,” she cautioned in a low tone. “Need I remind you that if a word he says ever touches your tongue, you will lose your head?”

  His hand went to his throat. “No, Sister. I would never speak a word of it. Except to a Sister.”

  “Not even to a Sister. It must never touch your tongue.”

  “Forgive me, Sister.” His tone turned apologetic. “It’s just that I’ve never heard him cry out so before. I’ve never heard his voice except to call for a Sister. The things he said alarmed me. I have never heard him speak such things.”

  “He has contrived to get his voice through our shields. It has happened before. He manages it sometimes. That is why his guards are sworn on an oath never to repeat anything they should happen to hear. Whatever you heard, you had best forget it before this conversation is over, unless you want us to help you forget.”

  He shook his head, too terrified to speak. She didn’t like frightening the man, but they couldn’t have him wagging his tongue over a mug of ale with his fellows. Prophecies were not for the common mind to know. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “What is your name?”

  “I am Swordsman Kevin Andellmere, Sister.”

  “If you will give me your word, Swordsman Andellmere, that you can hold your tongue about whatever you heard, to your grave, I will see about having you reassigned. You are obviously not cut out for this duty.”

  He dropped to a knee. “Praise be to you, Sister. I’d rather face a hundred heathens from the wilds than have to hear the voice of the Prophet. You have my oath, on my life.”

  “So be it, then. Go back to your post. At the end of your duty, tell the captain of the guards that Sister Margaret ordered you reassigned.” She touched his head. “The Creator’s blessing on His child.”

  “Thank you for your kindness, Sister.”

  She walked on, across the rampart, to the small colonnade at the end, down the winding stairs, and into the torchlit hall before the door to the Prophet’s apartments. Two guards with spears flanked the door. They bowed together.

  “I hear the Prophet has been speaking out, through the shield.”

  Cold, dark eyes looked back at her. “Really? I haven’t heard a thing.” He spoke to the other guard while holding the Sister’s gaze. “You hear anything?”

  The other guard leaned his weight on his spear and turned his head as he spat. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Not a thing. Been quiet as a grave.”

  “That boy upstairs been waggin’ his tongue?” the first asked.

  “It has been a long time since the Prophet found a way to get anything other than a call for a Sister through our shields. He has never heard the Prophet speak before, that’s all.”

  “You want we should make it so’s he don’t hear nothin’ again? Or speak it?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I have his oath, and have ordered him reassigned.”

  “Oath.” The man made a sour face at the word. “An oath is nothin’ more than babbled words. A blade’s oath is truer.”

  “Really? Am I to assume that your oath of silence is nothing more than ‘babbled words,’ too? Should we see to your silence, then, in a ‘truer’ way?” Sister Margaret held his dark gaze until it at last broke with a downward glance.

  “No, Sister. My oath is true enough.”

  She nodded. “Has anyone else been about to hear him yelling?”

  “No, Sister. As soon as he started in calling for the Prelate, we checked the area, to be sure there were none of the staff, or anyone else, about. When we found everything was clear, I posted guards at all the far entrances and sent for a Sister. He’s never called for the Prelate before, only a Sister. I thought it should be up to a Sister, not me, to decide if the Prelate was to be awakened in the middle of the night.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Now that you’re here, Sister, we should be off to check the others.” His expression darkened again. “To make sure no one heard anything.”

  She nodded. “And you had better hope Swordsman Andellmere is careful and doesn’t fall off a wall and break his neck, or I will come looking for you.” He gave an annoyed grunt. “But if you hear him repeat so much as a single word of what he heard tonight, you find a Sister before you stop to take another breath.”

  Through the door and halfway down the inner hall, she stopped and felt the shields. She held the book to her breast in both arms as she concentrated, searching for the breach. She smiled when she found it: a tiny twist in the weave. He had probably been picking at it for years. She closed her eyes and wove the breach together, binding it with a barb of power that would thwart him if he tried the same thing again. She was ruefully impressed by his ingenuity, and his persistence. Well, she sighed to herself, what else had he to do?

  Inside his spacious apartments the lamps were lit. Tapestries hung on one of the walls, and the floors were generously covered with the local colorful, blue and yellow carpets. The bookshelves were half empty. Books that belonged on them lay open everywhere; some on the chairs and couches, some facedown on pillows on the floor, and some stacked in disheveled piles next to his favorite chair beside the cold hearth.

  Sister Margaret went to the elegant, polished rosewood writing table to the side of the room. She sat at the padded chair and, opening the book on the desktop, flipped through it until she came to a clean page at the end of the writing. She didn’t see the Prophet anywhere. He was probably in the garden. The double doors to the small garden were open, letting in a gentle breath of warm air. From a drawer in the desk she took an ink bottle, pen, and a small sprinkle box of fine sand, setting them beside the open book of prophecies.

  When she looked up, he was standing in the half light in the doorway to the garden, watching her. He was in black robes with the hood drawn up. He stood motionless, his hands in the sleeves of the opposite arms. He filled the doorway not just with his size, but with his presence.

  She wiggled the stopper from the ink bottle. “Good evening, Nathan.”

  He took three strong, slow strides out of the shadows and into the lamplight, pushing back the black hood to uncover his full head of long, straight, white hair that touched his broad shoulders. The top of the metal collar just barely showed at the neck of his robes. The muscles in his strong, clean-shaven jaw tightened. White eyebrows hooded his deep, dark, azure eyes. He was a ruggedly handsome man, despite bei
ng the oldest man she had ever known.

  And, he was quite mad. Or he was quite clever, and wanted everyone to think he was mad. She wasn’t sure which was true. No one was.

  Either way, he was probably the most dangerous man alive.

  “Where is the Prelate?” he asked in a deep, menacing voice.

  She picked up the pen. “It is the middle of the night, Nathan. We are not going to wake the Prelate simply because you throw a fit, demanding she come. Any Sister can write down a prophecy. Why don’t you sit down and we can begin.”

  He came to the desk, opposite her, towering over her. “Don’t test me, Sister Margaret. This is important.”

  She glowered up at him. “And don’t you test me, Nathan. Need I remind you that you will lose? Now that you have gotten me out of my bed in the middle of the night, let’s get this over so I may return to it and try to salvage a part of a night’s sleep.”

  “I asked for the Prelate. This is important.”

  “Nathan, we have yet to decipher prophecies you gave us years ago. It could not possibly make any difference if you give this one to me and she reads it in the morning, or next week, or next year for that matter.”

  “I have no prophecy to give.”

  Her anger rose. “You have called me from my bed for company?”

  A broad smile spread on his lips. “Would you object? It’s a beautiful night. You are a handsome enough woman, if a little tightly wound.” He cocked his head to the side. “No? Well, since you have come, and must have a prophecy, would you like me to tell you of your death?”

  “The Creator will take me when He chooses. I will leave it to Him.”

  He nodded, staring off over her head. “Sister Margaret, would you have a woman sent to visit me? I find I am lonely of late.”

  “It is not the task of the Sisters to procure harlots for you.”

  “But they have seen to a courtesan for me in the past, when I have given prophecies.”

  With deliberate care, she set the pen on the desk. “And the last one left before we could talk to her. She ran back half naked and half mad. How she got through the guards, we still don’t know.