He and Kahlan were so close that in the past that bond only helped make healing all that much more powerful and effective. It seemed to him that it should be the same now. He didn’t know why Shale thought otherwise.
Berdine lit lamps around the room and then closed the heavy drapes. Rikka and Vale brought in more wood and fed some of it into the massive fireplace across the room to take the chill out of the air. Summer was giving way to autumn. Nyda brought sheets and blankets and laid them on a table nearby in case they should be needed. Cassia filled a basin on a white marble-top table with fresh water. All the Mord-Sith looked grim as they went about making sure everything they were able to do was tended to. Everyone wanted to help Kahlan, and he suspected they felt as useless as he did.
The knife wound in Kahlan’s chest was closed. It had damaged her lung, but he had started healing it immediately when he first found her. At least he had managed to stop the bleeding right away. Even so, she had lost a lot of blood. Shale finished working on the knife wound and then used her gift to push in air to inflate the lung once more so Kahlan could breathe easier.
The claw marks down her arm were already closed with Shale’s gift, but because they were so deep the sorceress said they would require more structural work. For now she had merely closed them and stopped the bleeding. It was obvious to Richard how methodical the sorceress was in the way she went about her work. Those massive wounds would need the layers of muscles to be properly joined back together one at a time so that full function would be restored to Kahlan’s arm. Shale had also pulled together the gaping flesh across her ribs and closed the wound.
Thankfully, Shale had put Kahlan into a deep sleep so that she wouldn’t feel much of anything as the sorceress went about the work.
Richard now realized that peacetime had lowered his guard. For years he had been used to being continually on alert for any trouble. He had found peacetime a respite. Besides that, a single man had never been any danger to a Confessor of Kahlan’s power before. The reality was that it all had caused him to let down his guard. Shale had been right. He was an idiot. He could not feel more foolish for having it pointed out to him by a stranger. Maybe it was her fresh perspective, but whatever the reason, Shale’s alertness had saved Kahlan’s life.
Even given all that, Shale was also a witch woman, and that concerned him. His familiar state of suspicion was back in full force. He and Kahlan had a long history of trouble caused by witch women.
“You can stay and watch if you like,” Shale said to him as he stood beside the bed staring down at the only woman he had ever loved—the only woman he could ever love. “I don’t mind at all, Lord Rahl, really, and I completely understand if that is your wish. You don’t really know me, so I take no offense at any suspicion you might have.” She almost seemed to be reading his mind. “She is in good hands. I swear. I will let no harm come to her.” With a quick smile, she tipped her head at the Mord-Sith. “Neither will they.”
She was gently reminding him that there was some kind of trouble that had attacked Kahlan and it was his job as Lord Rahl to get to the bottom of it, not stand around twiddling his thumbs, worried about Kahlan while he watched her work.
There were things that only the Lord Rahl could do, and he realized he should get to it before anything else happened.
Richard nodded. “I need to go question the other Estorians. I want to question Nolo, too, but I want Kahlan well and at my side when I do. She used her power on him. If it worked at all, he will answer no one’s questions but hers.”
Shale pushed up her sleeves before going back to work on Kahlan as Richard left to go looking for trouble.
7
At the outer gate to the narrow road that wound its way down around the plateau to the Azrith Plain, Vika was already waiting with two horses. He had absently expected it to be Cara. In the past, it would have always been Cara ready to accompany him. Seeing Vika jolted him out of his thought and worry about Kahlan.
Cara was gone. She had done as she had always sworn she would do. She had given her life to save his. A day didn’t go by that he didn’t miss her.
Now Vika had taken Cara’s place, and with no less resolve. Still, Cara had been more than his protector and friend. He almost always knew what she had been about to say before she said it and what she was going to do before she did it. Kahlan and he had come to love her like family. She was family. Strange as it sometimes seemed, all the Mord-Sith were, even if some of them were still only coming to understand that.
“While you were taking the Mother Confessor to your room I took the liberty of telling the commander of the First File that you would want the other Estorians detained. I hope I wasn’t being too presumptuous.”
She gestured with a tilt of her head toward the men of the First File already on horseback, waiting off to the side beside a towering outer wall of the palace.
Vika had done that entirely on her own initiative, without orders, something Mord-Sith had been trained not to do. He couldn’t help smiling. That was what Cara would have done.
“Yes that was presumptuous, Vika. Well done. You go right on being presumptuous.”
As she swung her leg up over the saddle, he saw her smile to herself. It occurred to Richard that she was going to be just fine.
Once in the saddle, Richard rested his hands over the saddle’s horn as he surveyed the sprawling tent city far below. Flags and colorful streamers flew from many a tent. Smoke rose from cook fires. Horses, wagons, and carts moved slowly through the confined spaces crowded with people. It was a festive occasion. Richard had already begun to think of it as a threatening one. He was beginning to wonder if they should cancel the public audience and disband the tent city.
Above them the palace rose up, its towering heights resplendent in a single shaft of late-day sun just peeking through a rare break in the thick layers of clouds. He could see people strolling across bridges between towers or on ramparts or looking out from taller sections. Other people on balconies outside many of the rooms met for conversation while they marveled at the views.
While most of them had never thought it would come, it was peacetime. Everyone seemed relaxed. Everyone seemed in a good mood. Richard, too, had been relaxed. Too relaxed.
As the clouds rolled together, they closed the gap and blocked off the sun. The day grew somber. The threatening sky matched his mood. The bottoms of dark, turbulent clouds lowered, silently drifting by, just beginning to brush the higher parts of the palace.
In the distance, the Azrith Plain vanished in a gloomy haze. On the plain below the plateau, in the muted light, the temporary tent city took on a drab appearance. Somewhere down there were the rest of the Estorians.
With two fingers Richard lifted his sword a few inches in its gold and silver scabbard to make sure it was clear before squeezing his legs against the sides of his horse to start it ahead at an easy trot. The cavalry fell in behind him and Vika.
Richard felt as if peacetime had abruptly come to an end. He was back in a familiar, war-wizard state of mind. As they started out, the breeze lifted his gold cape, a part of a war wizard’s outfit.
Along with the smell of approaching rain, the aromas of cooking reached all the way up to the top of the plateau. The smells made his stomach grumble. He realized he hadn’t had a thing to eat all day.
The ride down the narrow road was the fastest way to get to the Azrith Plain. There were internal passageways through the interior of the massive plateau that could accommodate large forces of troops going down or coming back up, but they were not as fast as the road. As he and Vika galloped along, with a small army behind them, he could see the bridge already being lowered. They didn’t slow.
With a tip of his head, Richard acknowledged the men lined up to the side with fists to their hearts as he and Vika raced by. These men prevented any attack from below ever making it up the road. With the bridge up, there was no way to get up the plateau from the outside. On the inside, the great doors could be clos
ed if necessary to prevent access to the palace from within.
The tent city spread out down on the plain was a congested place filled with the racket of all the people crowded close together. Most people wanted their tents offering services and items for sale to be as close as possible to the opening that went up the inside of the plateau to the palace above. Not everyone wanted to make the long climb up. Most of the assembled crowd simply wanted to be present for the occasion or else to sell things to people who had gathered.
Ill-planned passageways among the tents served as roads. They had started out in the beginning as wide thoroughfares, but then people took advantage of that open space to set up their own smaller tents and stands to have a better spot along the roads to hawk their wares, sell food, and provide every service from farriers to palm readers to men who pulled teeth. With everyone staking out prime territory, it had eventually narrowed the roads. With all the people on foot, on horses, in wagons, and pulling carts, what passageways there were became clogged. It slowed Richard and his party considerably, as they had to take time to carefully pick their way through.
When people saw that it was the Lord Rahl, yet more rushed to push in close, reaching out to touch him, or touch his horse. Cheers rang out, as if the dark day had dampened their spirits, but now such an unexpected sight had renewed their optimism. Men waved their hats, women waved scarves, people held children up to see.
Richard did his best to smile and wave acknowledgment of the greetings. The people were all there because they were happy to have a world at peace all thanks to Lord Rahl and wanted to show their appreciation. He didn’t want to extinguish their good spirits. While these people were in a sudden, celebratory mood, Richard wasn’t.
With a hand signal, he ordered the commander of the cavalry forward, and he asked to have the soldiers clear a path so they could make it through the growing throng of excited people before they were mobbed.
Some of the soldiers pushed off ahead, shouting warnings for people to move aside and make way, making it sound like it was for their own safety, and not merely an order for them to defer to an important man. That simple method worked better than harsh orders yelled at people, and didn’t dampen their mood. It appeared that the commander had used some intelligent initiative of his own.
At intersections with side passageways, soldiers placed their horses to block off the roads to clear the way for Richard. As people moved back, it made progress considerably quicker. All eyes remained on Richard in his black and gold war-wizard outfit and gold cape flowing out behind, as well as the Mord-Sith in red leather. These people had obviously never expected the Lord Rahl himself to come down among them, down from the grand People’s Palace to their grubby tent city. The presence of a Mord-Sith would add an air of danger to the story once these people eventually returned home.
On one hand it was heartwarming to be down in the tent city. These were the kind of simple people he had grown up with. On the other hand, someone from down here had threatened him and Kahlan, and then tried to kill her.
When they finally reached the tent with its sides rolled up to the roof, there was already a large force of men of the First File there. They surrounded the tent, all with pikes lowered, all pointing at the small group of people clustered in the center of the tent. It would have been impossible for any of them to leave without being skewered on at least half a dozen steel-tipped pikes.
Richard swung down from the saddle and handed the reins to a soldier. He glanced up to see a sky darker-looking than it had been only a little earlier when he had left the top of the plateau. It wouldn’t be long before the rains came and turned the temporary dirt streets through the tent city into a muddy quagmire.
The men guarding the Estorians formed an intimidating wall of dark leather and chain mail behind the pikes. The soldiers made way when they saw that it was the Lord Rahl and a Mord-Sith in red leather who needed to get through.
Although the people in white robes who were huddled together in the center of their tent didn’t look like they were trembling in fear, they certainly didn’t look at ease, either. He supposed that diplomats weren’t used to dealing with direct threats of weapons pointed at them. Inside the broad tent, to the sides, were small tables and simple stools where they could discuss their services with potential customers. Quills and ink stood ready for signing agreements for their services. Everyone in the cluster of people wore white robes with varying amounts of silver embroidery; none of them were openly armed. A few women among them cowered in the center, surrounded by their men.
“What is it, Lord Rahl?” one of the men asked as he took a step away from his comrades. They all cast worried looks at the Mord-Sith in red leather. “Whatever the problem might be, it surely has to be a misunderstanding of some kind. There is no need for displays of weapons. We are all more than open to discussing the matter, whatever it is, and coming to a mutually agreeable resolution.”
Richard’s gaze swept over the group and then returned to settle on the man who had spoken.
“One of your group tried to murder the Mother Confessor,” Richard said without preamble. “What would be your agreeable resolution to that?”
They all looked too shocked to answer or even profess their innocence. They certainly didn’t look dangerous, but then again, neither had the pear-shaped Nolo.
“What can you tell me about a member of your group named Nolodondri?” Richard asked as he took an aggressive step closer, the palm of his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
They all took a step back as one. A wall of soldiers with leveled, steel-tipped pikes behind them just outside the open back of the tent left no real room for further retreat.
“Nolo? He is the consul general,” the same man said. “Our leader.”
“What is your name?”
The man swallowed. “Jason, Lord Rahl. I am an aide to the consul general.”
“Why have you all come here, Jason?”
Jason gestured around at the small tables. “We only came to discuss our diplomatic services with interested parties. We are seeking work. As you can imagine, the end of wars that have raged throughout our lives has left us to look hard for people needing our services. Of course there is always need for diplomacy. This gathering seemed like a good opportunity to make ourselves better known in the empire at large.”
“Why did the consul general come up to the palace?”
Jason glanced up at the plateau. He looked a little confused. “Nolo went up to the palace?”
Richard nodded without saying anything. He had learned as the Seeker that his silence and direct glare often did more to prompt answers than anything else.
“He left early this morning,” Jason offered. “We didn’t know he was going up to the palace, I swear. We assumed he was merely going around visiting those gathered down here to ask them to stop by to speak with us about our very reasonably priced services.
“Our plan has always been to be down here, among the great gathering, so that we might make valuable contacts. There was no plan for any of us to go up to the palace itself. That would provide no benefit for us, as we know that the palace would hardly need our humble services. It would be those who deal with you and the D’Haran Empire who might want our help and guidance in diplomatic matters. That kind of person or representative of an outlying district would be down here, not up there.”
“Tell me about Nolo,” Richard said. “Has he said anything out of the ordinary? Has he acted out of the ordinary?”
The people behind Jason shared looks. “As a matter of fact,” Jason said, hesitantly, “he has been acting… a bit strange.”
“Define ‘strange,’” Richard said.
The man spread his hands as he tried to think of how to explain it. “Well, for one thing, the consul general has been going for walks. Mostly at night.”
Richard frowned at the man. “Why is that out of the ordinary? Lots of people go for walks.”
Jason suddenly blushed at having
to explain it. “The consul general is a… well, a large man, I guess you could say. Because of his size he has bad knees. He has difficulty standing for any length of time, much less walking very far at all. But lately he has been going on walks—alone, by his choice, without any of his top advisors.” Jason gestured to some of the men behind him in the more elaborately embroidered robes.
Richard’s gaze swept across the huddled group again, pausing to take in the higher-ranking advisors. “Do any of you know why he went for these walks, where he went, or if he met anyone while out on these nightly jaunts?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“And no one questioned him about his knees and how they fared on these walks?” Everyone shook their heads again. “What else has he been doing that is out of the ordinary? Perhaps he said something about the walks, where he went, or someone he might have spoken with?”
Once again, everyone shook their heads.
Richard took a step closer, Vika, his ever-present shadow, moving with him. “What else, Jason, has the consul general done that you thought was strange? No matter how small it may have seemed, I want you to tell me about it.”
Jason put a finger to his lower lip as he squinted in recollection. “Yes.” He took the finger away from his lip and shook it as he remembered. “He did say something odd this morning before he left.”
“Like what?”
“He said he had to go see the shiny man. But he didn’t say it to us, exactly. He mumbled it to himself.”
Richard frowned. “The shiny man. What does that mean, the shiny man?”
“I’m sorry, Lord Rahl, but I haven’t the slightest idea. It was early this morning. He simply said that he had to go see the shiny man. We saw him say this to himself, then he left without saying a word to any of us. We didn’t know what he meant and we certainly didn’t suspect that he was going up to the palace. We were all bewildered by his behavior. We haven’t seen him since.”
The Scribbly Man Page 5
