“See the azimuth? Remember the lesson about the referent angle to the horizon for this star, here?”
“Yes . . .” Violet drawled, looking like she actually did know what Six was talking about. “That would involve this angular reference, here, then. Right?”
“Yes, that’s right. It’s an aspect of the binding agent that ties it all together.”
Violet nodded. “In turn tying it to him . . .” she said, thoughtfully.
“That’s right. The link is one element of what is necessary to lock it in place at the time of the concluding connection. That, in turn, makes the horizon you just drew necessary to fix this angle. Otherwise it would be a floating correlation.”
Violet was nodding again. “I think I see, now, why they have to connect. If the interrelationship is not fixed”—she straightened and gestured to an arc of symbols—“then these could happen any time. Today, tomorrow, or, or, I don’t know, a dozen years from now.”
Six smiled in a sly manner. “Correct.”
Violet smiled in triumph at her accomplishment. “But where do we get all these symbols, and how do we know where to use them in the drawing? For that matter, how do we know that they are needed at the precise points that you had me draw them?”
Six took a patient breath. “Well, I could teach it all to you first, but that will take about twenty years of study. Are you willing to wait that long for vengeance?”
Violet’s frown darkened. “No.”
Six shrugged. “Then I suggest that the shortcut of me helping direct the design is the shortest route to the result.”
Violet screwed up her mouth. “I suppose.”
“You have the basics, my queen. You are doing quite well for this stage of developing your talent. I assure you, even though I am helping you with some of the complexities, none of this would function without your considerable talent added in. I couldn’t make this work without your ability.”
Violet smiled like a prize pupil. Taking another careful look in the volume Six was holding open, Violet finally went back to the wall, carefully drawing the elements she needed from the book.
Rachel was amazed at how well Violet actually could draw. All the walls of the cave, from the entrance all the way back into the deep place where they were working, were covered with drawings. They were stuck in every available space. In places it looked like they had been squeezed into small spots left between older drawings. Some of the drawings were very good, with details like shading. Most, though, were simple drawings of bones, crops, snakes, or other animals. There were pictures of people drinking from mugs with skulls and crossed bones on them. In one place a woman, looking like she was made of sticks, was running out of a house that was on fire; the woman, too, was covered in the flames. In another spot a man was in the water beside a sinking boat. In another scene a snake was biting a man’s ankle. The walls were also covered with pictures of caskets and graves of all sorts. All the pictures had one thing in common, though: they were of terrible things.
But there was not one single drawing in the entire cave that began to approach the complexity of the thing Violet was drawing.
Other drawings were only infrequently life-size pictures of people and even those only had a few things added, like rocks falling on them, or them being trampled beneath a horse. Most of the drawings showed the same sorts of things but were only a few hands’ widths across. Violet’s drawing, though, went on and on for dozens of feet, from the ground to as high as she could reach, working its way deeper into the cave. Violet had drawn the entire thing all by herself, with Six guiding her along the way, of course.
What alarmed Rachel the most, though, was that after Violet had been working on the drawing for quite some time, after she had drawn in stars and formulas and diagrams and strange, complex symbols, she had in the center of it all finally drawn a figure of a person.
The figure was Richard.
Violet’s drawing was unlike anything else in the cave. It made them all look simple and crude by comparison. The other drawings all had easy, obvious things in them, like maybe a thundercloud with angled lines for rain, or a wolf baring its teeth, or a man simply clutching his chest as he fell back. There was little else on the walls but a few simple things around the figures.
Violet’s drawing was covered with things that were completely different. There were numbers and designs, words in strange languages, some written along the lines of diagrams, numbers carefully placed where angles came together, and there were strange geometric symbols cast everywhere throughout the illustration. Whenever Violet drew any of those symbols Six would stand close, concentrating, whispering guidance for every single line, sometimes correcting where Violet was about to place the chalk, preventing her from even touching it to the wall for the next line lest it be out of sequence or out of place. Once Six even became alarmed and snatched Violet’s wrist before she could touch the chalk to the wall. Sighing in relief, Six then moved Violet’s hand and helped her begin in the correct place.
Unlike every other drawing in the cave, Violet’s was done in different colors. The other drawings all along the way deep into the cave, to where Violet had started hers, were simple chalk drawings. Violet’s drawing had green trees in one spot, blue water in another, a yellow sun, and red clouds. Some of the designs were done entirely in white, while others were multicolored yet in an orderly manner of colors.
And, unlike every other drawing, when they left the cave and Rachel looked back she could see elements of the drawing glowing in the dark. It was not the chalk that made it glow, because the same chalk in other places in the drawing did not glow in the dark.
There was also a part of one symbol that glowed when left to the darkness. It was a strange face glowing out from an otherwise dark drawing made entirely of complex designs. Whenever the torch was near, the face wasn’t visible and it only looked like a network of lines. Rachel could never see what aspects of the design could possibly make up the face. But in the dark it stared out at her, the eyes following her, watching her leave.
The thing that really gave Rachel goose bumps, though, was the picture of Richard. It was a drawing done so well that Rachel could actually recognize him by his face alone.
It amazed Rachel to see how well Violet could draw. There were other things to tell who Richard was, though, even if the drawing hadn’t been so good. His black outfit was depicted accurately, just the way Rachel remembered it. It even had some of the mysterious symbols drawn around the edge of his tunic. Six had been very careful in her guidance of precisely how Violet was to draw those designs. In Violet’s picture, Richard also wore the flowing cape that looked to be made of spun gold.
The way Violet had drawn it made it look almost like he was in water.
All around him, too, were wavy colored areas that Six called “auras.” Each color had complex formulas and designs lying between them and Richard. Six had said that at the end, as the final step, those interposing elements between him and his essence would be connected to form an intervening barrier. Whatever that meant, Rachel didn’t know, but it was obvious that it was important to Violet.
Six seemed especially proud of that part, of the intervening barrier elements. She would sometimes stand for long periods of time and just stare at them.
In the picture, Richard had the Sword of Truth, but it was drawn faintly, as if it was there with him, but not. It almost seemed part of him, the way Violet had drawn it with Richard holding it so that it crossed his chest, yet Rachel couldn’t tell for sure if he really was meant to be holding it because it was drawn so faintly. Violet had worked hard to make it that way. Six had her do it over several times because she said that it was too “substantive.”
Rachel was puzzled by the sword being drawn with Richard, since Samuel had Richard’s sword now. Still, it somehow only seemed right for Richard to be drawn with the sword. Maybe Six felt that way, too.
Violet stood back, cocking her head, appraising her work. Six stood transfixed, sta
ring at it as if no one else were there with her. She reached out, tentatively, and lightly touched the designs around Richard.
“How long until we make the final connection of elements?” Violet asked.
As Six’s fingers moved slowly, lightly, along the designs, some of the interposing elements responded to her touch, sparkling and glowing in the dim light.
“Soon,” she whispered. “Soon.”
Chapter 27
“Lord Rahl!”
Richard turned just in time to see Berdine, in a dead run, leap toward him. She landed against his chest, throwing her arms and legs around him. The impact drove the wind from his lungs. Her long, single braid of wavy brown hair whipped around him. Richard staggered back a step as he put his arms around her to help keep her from falling. With her arms and legs clinging to him, though, she didn’t appear to need his help.
Richard had rarely seen even a flying squirrel make a better leap. Despite everything on his mind, he could not help but to smile at Berdine’s exuberance. Who would have thought that a Mord-Sith would ever again come to be as spontaneously joyful as a little girl.
She sat back, gripping his shoulders, legs locked around his middle, grinning at him. She looked over at Cara’s scowl. “He still likes me best—I can tell.”
Cara simply rolled her eyes.
With his hands on Berdine’s waist, Richard lifted her and set her down. She was shorter than most of the other Mord-Sith Richard knew. She was also more voluptuous, and far more vivacious. Richard had always found her to be a rather disarming combination of guileless sensuality combined with a mischievous, playful nature. Like any of the Mord-Sith, though, she also possessed the potential for instantaneous, ruthless violence lying hidden just below the sparkling surface of her childlike wonder. She also loved Richard passionately and openly, but in an honest, innocent, filial sort of manner.
“You are a sight to warm my heart, Berdine. How are you?”
She puzzled at him. “Lord Rahl, I am Mord-Sith. How do you think I am?”
“As much trouble as ever,” he said under his breath.
She smiled, pleased by the comment. “We heard that you were here earlier, but I just missed you. That’s twice I’ve missed you recently. I wasn’t going to let you vanish again without seeing you. We have so much to talk about that I don’t even know where to begin.”
Richard looked down the broad corridor, across the expanse of richly veined golden marble set in a diagonal pattern within a border of black granite, and saw a knot of soldiers marching toward him at a brisk pace. High overhead rain beat steadily against skylights that let in flat gray light. Somehow, that dull light managed to gather and reflect brightly off the polished breastplates of the soldiers.
All of them had crescent axes hooked at their belts, along with the swords and long knives they also carried. Some of the men were armed with crossbows that were cocked and ready to fire. Those men, given ample clearance by the others, wore black gloves. Their crossbows were loaded with deadly-looking red-fletched arrows.
The halls were crowded with people of every sort, from those who lived and worked there to people who had come to trade or sell goods. All of them gave the approaching soldiers ample space. At the same time, they watched Richard while trying not to look like they were watching him. When Richard met their gazes or caught them looking, some tipped their heads in a bow while others fell to one knee. Richard smiled, trying to put them at ease.
It was a rare event, in recent years anyway, when the Lord Rahl was home in his palace. Richard could hardly expect people not to be curious to see him. In his black war wizard’s outfit, along with the flowing golden cape, he was hard to miss. He still couldn’t think of such a place as his home, though; in his own heart he thought of the Hartland woods as home. He had grown up walking among towering trees, not lofty stone pillars.
Commander General Trimack of the First File at the People’s Palace came to a smart halt and in salute thumped a fist against the shaped leather armor over his chest. The soft metallic rattle of gear died out after the dozen men with him all saluted together. These men, constantly scanning the halls and appraising each of the people moving past, were the Lord Rahl’s personal guards when he was at his palace. They each took in Cara and swiftly assessed Nicci, standing just beside Richard. These men were the ring of steel that kept harm from getting a look at the Lord Rahl. They served in the First File because they were the most skilled and loyal of all the D’Haran troops.
After the salute, the commander added a bow to Cara and then Richard. “Lord Rahl, we’re pleased to have you home, at last.”
“I’m afraid, General Trimack, that it’s only a brief visit. I can’t stay.” Richard gestured to Cara and Nicci. “We’ve got urgent business and have to leave at once.”
General Trimack, looking sincerely disappointed but not entirely surprised, sighed. He then appeared to have a thought and brightened a bit. “Did you find the woman—your wife—who had been up in the garden of life and left that statue you found there?”
Richard felt a pang of anguish for Kahlan. He felt guilty for not doing more to find her. How could he let other matters keep him from finding Kahlan? How could there be anything important enough to distract him from finding her? He tried not to think of the vision of her that Shota had given him. It seemed like with everything going on he had pushed aside his search for the one person who meant the most to him. He knew that was not the way it really was, that it couldn’t be helped, but still, he needed to get back to the Keep and back to working on a way to find her.
Even while working on other things, she was never really out of his thoughts. He kept trying to think of where Sister Ulicia would have taken Kahlan. Now that they had the boxes of Orden—or at least two of them—where would the Sisters go? What could they be up to? If he could figure that out then maybe he could go after them.
It had also occurred to him that they still needed The Book of Counted Shadows in order to open the right box of Orden, so it was possible that if he simply sat still in one place long enough they would have to come to him, since the book only existed now in his memory. The simple fact was, unless they were willing to guess and risk being wrong, they needed The Book of Counted Shadows to open the right box, and Richard could not imagine that they would risk the loss of what they believed would be their immortality on chance. They needed the key that only he had to unlock the solution to opening the correct box. Kahlan was part of the key to that solution, but they still needed what only Richard had.
The only method he could think of to find her was to learn everything he could about Chainfire and the boxes of Orden, and somewhere in that mix maybe there would be a clue as to what the Sisters would do next. The books he needed to study to that end, along with the people who understood them best and had by far the most experience at such things, were at the Keep. He needed to get back there.
Richard looked to the general’s waiting eyes. “Not yet, I’m afraid. We’re still looking for her, but thank you for your concern.”
No one but Richard even remembered her, remembered her smile, the shadow of her soul showing in her green eyes. At times Kahlan didn’t even seem real to him, either. She seemed impossible, like no one who could be all that he remembered, like she could only be an invention of his deepest desires in life. He could understand the difficulty those closest to him had in dealing with the situation.
“Sorry to hear that, Lord Rahl.” The general scanned the throngs moving down the hallway. “I trust that at least you are not here this time in the middle of a mess of trouble?”
It was Richard’s turn to sigh. How to begin?
“In a way, I am.”
“The Imperial Order army is continuing to advance on D’Hara?” the general guessed.
Richard nodded. “I’m afraid so. The long and the short of it is, General, I’ve given our forces orders that they are not to engage Emperor Jagang’s army in battle because they don’t have the numbers to stan
d a chance. It would be a slaughter for no purpose and Jagang would still end up having the New World all to himself.”
General Trimack scratched a scar that stood out white against the ruddy skin at the back of his jaw. “What other option is there, Lord Rahl, but to meet the enemy in battle?”
His quiet, simple words had the sound of advice, of caution born of experience, of hope balanced on a razor’s edge of despair. For a moment, Richard listened to the cathedral whisper of feet against stone as the crowds moved steadily through the hallway.
“I’ve ordered our forces to set out at once to lay waste to the Old World.” Richard turned his glare back to the general. “They wanted war; I intend to jam their wish down their throats and see them choke to death on it.”
At the startling news, the mouths of some of the men dropped open. Commander General Trimack stared in surprise for a moment, then he thoughtfully stroked the scar with a single finger. A sly look finally showed that, despite his initial surprise, he was beginning to like the idea.
“I guess this means that the First File will be called upon to keep the bastards out of the palace.”
Richard marked the man’s steady gaze. “Do you think you can do it?”
A crooked smile curled across the general’s mouth. “Lord Rahl, my humble talent will hardly be the margin of safety for the palace. Your ancestors built this place as they did specifically to prevent anyone from taking it.” He gestured at the soaring columns, walls, and balconies all around them. “Besides the natural defenses, this place is invested with powers that weaken any of the enemy gifted.”
Richard knew that the palace was built in the shape of a spell that strengthened the power of any Rahl within the palace, and sapped the strength of any other gifted person. The whole palace itself was constructed in the form of an emblem. To an extent, Richard understood its shape and the general nature of its meaning. He could read the motif of strength inherent in the pattern.
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