The First Confessor (Sword of Truth 0)

“In the dungeon.”

“The dungeon?” Magda frowned. “If she defected and wants to join our cause, why is she in the dungeon?”

“I heard whispers that she was tried and convicted of being a spy, and that she is going to be executed.”

Magda gaped at him. “I never heard about any such trial.”

He lifted his brow. “Why should you? You’re a nobody, remember?”

Magda’s mouth twisted. “Before Baraccus died I used to know a lot more about the goings-on at the Keep than I do now.” She folded her arms. “We need to go see her, find out if she can tell us anything.”

“I already tried. They wouldn’t let me talk to her.”

“There have to be some people around who would be willing to help.” As she considered the problem, Magda went to the table where the Sword of Truth lay, gazing down at it. “Lord Rahl told me that some of the officers had given the devotion to him.”

“Do you know which ones?”

“Officers Rendall and Morgan have,” she said. “I trust them. Either would help me.”

“They’re both with their troops, somewhere outside of Aydindril.”

“General Grundwall of the Home Guard swore the oath as well,” she said. “I know him, although not well. He often came to Baraccus with reports.”

Merritt nodded as he considered. “I’ve only met him once or twice, but commanding the Home Guard he could certainly get in to see a prisoner.” He glanced her way. “Do you know him well enough for him to get me in there to see this sorceress?”

“I think I know him well enough for him to get me in there. I might be able to convince him to let you come along.”

He smiled briefly. It quickly faded. “Let’s hope they haven’t beheaded her already, and that she would be willing to talk to us.”

“We should do that first, then. Do you know anyone else you can trust?”

Merritt rubbed his jaw as he thought it over. “I know lots of trustworthy people but most haven’t sworn the oath to Lord Rahl, so as trustworthy as they might ordinarily be, we can’t trust that a dream walker isn’t watching through their eyes. A lot of people don’t take the threat seriously. That creates an opportunity the enemy can take advantage of.”

“Then we dare not take a chance with any of them.”

“I do know one person I trust, and he has sworn the oath.”

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“He’s assigned to guard the sliph. I trust him, and I know that he’s one of the gifted who believed in Baraccus. Since he is usually with the sliph, he sees a lot of important people coming and going. He also knows a great deal about the wizards at the Keep, who’s doing what, that sort of thing.”

“You mean Quinn?”

Merritt’s brow furrowed. “You know Quinn?”

Magda smiled. “I grew up with him. When I was younger, I would sometimes go for walks with him in the forests around Aydindril out to an isolated pond that was home to loons.”

“You were sweet on him?”

Magda could feel herself blushing. “No, nothing like that. I liked him, but we were just children. He was a couple years older, though, and that alone made him seem quite impressive. But Quinn was more interested in his journals.”

“Ah yes, Quinn’s journals. You certainly do know him, then.”

“He pored through books all the time. He loved to study the past. He used to tell me that history shaped people’s beliefs, and that one day he was going to be the Keep’s historian and write about all the goings-on.”

“He seems to be well on his way,” Merritt said as he lifted the baldric off the chair and slipped it over his head. He placed it over his right shoulder with the scabbard at his left hip. “He has quite the collection of journals that he keeps down there with him as he guards the sliph.”

“It keeps him busy,” Magda said. “It’s probably pretty boring being down there most of the time.”

Merritt picked up the sword and slid it into the beautifully tooled silver and gold scabbard at his left hip.

“Let’s go see if you can convince General Grundwall to take us down to the dungeon.”

“You take the Sword of Truth with you often?”

“I never let it out of my sight. It already has certain conjured elements locked into it in preparation for the final process. I guess that’s not to be now, but even with the powers it has, it’s still a dangerous weapon. I wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.”

She supposed it made sense. Magda scooped the folded bundle off the wicker couch, tucking it under an arm.

On her way past the bookshelf, she paused, pointing at the tiny clay figures of people floating in the air just off the end of a small scroll sticking out from the shelf.

“Merritt, do you mind me asking what in the world this is?”

Merritt pulled the scroll off the shelf. The little figures floated along through the air, staying close to it.

“I call it a gravity well.”

Smiling at the little figures hovering in the air, she turned back to him. “A what?”

“If you toss something in the air, it falls to the ground. In a way, we’re all like these little figures, pulled to the ground by gravity.”

He unfurled the scroll to show her that it had a spell-form drawn on it. She was a bit alarmed to see that part of the spell-form was made up of an altered Grace.

“You created gravity in a spell?”

“Not exactly. I created a spell that attracts specific things. I guess you could say that it only mimics gravity. In this case, I had it attract these clay figures, so they always are compelled to stay near the spell-form, like we must stay on the ground because of gravity. So, I call it a gravity well.”

“What’s it for?” She puzzled at the paper and its clay people drawn to it. “What is its purpose?”

Merritt shrugged. “Nothing, really. It’s just something I came up with while I was working on something else more important. I’ve never thought of a use for it, so I guess that it’s just for my amusement.”

He folded the scroll up small enough to fit in his hand. The figures floated close. He took her hand and placed the small, folded paper in her palm.

“Here. A gift for you to make you smile.”

Magda held the folded paper out in the palm of her hand, watching the small clay figures float around it. “Really? I can have this?”

“Sure, if you promise to smile that lovely smile you have when you look at it.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “I promise,” she said as she gathered up the

figures in her hand and put it all into her pocket.

With two fingers on the cross guard, he lifted the sword a few inches and let it drop back into place, making sure it was clear in its scabbard.

“Now, shall we see if we can go talk to this defector before they behead her?”

Magda nodded and hurried to follow after him.

For the first time since Baraccus died, Magda didn’t feel totally alone. She had someone who believed her, who took her seriously, someone who was going to help her.

Chapter 55

On the stone bridge that spanned the vast chasm before the Keep, two women crossing, near the short stone wall on the opposite side, spotted Merritt and momentarily froze in their tracks. Both were in long gray dresses and both had short hair. One was a couple of years older than Magda, while the other appeared old enough to be the first woman’s mother. Magda saw blood on the younger woman’s dress. Both threaded their way through the throngs coming and going from the Keep to intercept Merritt.

“Mary, what’s the matter,” Merritt asked the younger of the two as she grabbed one of his hands. The older woman stood behind, expectantly wringing her own hands.

The younger woman’s face was tearstained and she was in obvious distress. “It’s James—he’s been hurt. Hurt bad.”

“Hurt?” Merritt asked, clearly alarmed. “How? What happened? How badly is he hurt?”

“He was working on an assignment from the council to make a sword of some sort.” She had to pause to choke back a sob. “James never talked much about the work he does, so I don’t know a great deal about it. But earlier this afternoon there was some kind of an accident down in the lower regions. Three of the men with him were killed outright by a massive explosion. Two others standing farther back were hurt but not seriously. James is in a bad way, though. He was closer and breathed in the inferno. They say it burned his lungs. He can’t breathe. He’s hurt bad, Merritt.”

As she fell against him, sobbing, she clutched his black shirt in both fists. “What will I do if he dies, Merritt? What will I do?”

“It had something to do with magic gone wrong,” the older woman added when the first succumbed to her tears, hoping that somehow the information might help him.