The First Confessor (Sword of Truth 0)

“From rumors I’ve heard,” Magda said, “wizards down in the lower reaches have been working to try to bring the dead back to life. Or an imitation of life, anyway.

“I wonder if it could be that some of those experiments have gone terribly wrong. I wonder if that is the source of the murders.”

Merritt stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment before he gestured with the light sphere. “We’d better get down to the dungeon.”

Chapter 71

The chiseled stone of the narrow passageway cut through the granular granite bedrock of the mountain beneath the Keep was not only darker but much harder than the extensive vein of fine, tan sandstone of the catacombs up above them. This was not a place that had been so easily carved out, as were the subterranean galleries for the dead higher up. This place had required a great deal of muscle, sweat, and effort to construct.

All to confine evil. At least, that had been the original intent.

The smell of stale sweat and acrid rat droppings permeated the dark, dank tunnel just above the entrance to the dungeon. Magda wrapped her cloak tighter against the chill air and wrinkled her nose at the stink. When they reached the iron stairs at the end of the single shaft she started down without hesitation. Gritty rust and crumbled bits of remaining paint from the iron railing stained her hands.

At the bottom of the long, steep descent, a pair of burly men waited. They had clearly heard the visitors to the dungeon approaching. Both were shirtless, and as round-shouldered and hairy as bears. In the illumination of the light sphere Merritt carried, their white eyes peered out from dark, grimy faces stained by soot from torches. They were clearly surprised to see a woman and suspicious of Merritt.

An oil lamp sitting off to the side on a small, simple plank table provided the only light. It wasn’t much, and so the men, used to the near darkness, squinted in the relatively bright light Merritt was holding. They were as filthy as a pair of moles.

Before the men could speak, Magda did. “You have a woman prisoner, a spy. We’re here to see her.”

The two guards shared a look, surprised that it had been she and not Merritt who had spoken.

“Prisoners don’t get to have visitors,” the first guard said in a gravelly voice.

“I’m not a visitor,” Magda told him. She kept her voice cold and unfriendly. “I am here to question her.”

In ill humor, the man planted his fists on his hips.

“Prisoners don’t generally answer questions, either.” He grinned as he glanced over his shoulder at the second guard. “Unless it’s under torture.”

They both chuckled.

Magda knew that she had to be bold in her bluff if it was to work. She had convinced Merritt to go along with her plan and follow her lead, so he was letting her do the talking. She reasoned that it would be unexpected and thus more convincing coming from her than from a man. Although he had agreed, Merritt stood ready if it didn’t work. Not speaking, resting a palm on the hilt of his ever-present sword, towering just behind her left shoulder, he looked quite forbidding.

Magda leaned toward the grinning man, putting her face close to his, looked him in the eye, and gritted her teeth. “Then I will have to torture the bitch, now won’t I?”

He blinked in surprise. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Magda again spoke first.

“Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea who you are talking to?”

His thick brow drew lower. “Yes, I’m talking to—”

Merritt, off to the side and just behind her, gestured from side to side with his fingertips across his throat, a warning to the man not to say anything to make her angry. It apparently looked convincing, because the man paused and reconsidered what he had been about to say. He poked his tongue out between missing bottom teeth to swipe at his lower lip, unsure what to do.

The second man, picking up on Merritt’s warning, spoke up instead. “I’m afraid that, no, we don’t know who you are. You have us at a disadvantage.”

Magda pushed the hood of her cloak back off her head.

“I am Magda Searus.”

The first man’s brow came up a little. “Wife to dead First Wizard Baraccus?”

“Well, yes,” she said as she flicked her hand, dismissing the importance of that much of it. “But more to the point, as far as you gentlemen are concerned, I am soon to be the wife of our soon-to-be new First Wizard.”

“New First Wizard.” His brow drew back down. “What would you be talking about?”

She turned to Merritt. “Don’t they tell the guards down here anything?” When Merritt shrugged, she turned back to the guard and again leaned toward him. “I’m talking about Prosecutor Lothain.”

Both men backed away a bit at the name. They clearly knew who Lothain was, and they were afraid of him.

“Prosecutor Lothain is to be named First Wizard?” the second man asked.

Magda planted her fists on her own hips. “Who else? Do you have a suggestion for the council as to who would make a better First Wizard? Shall I tell the council and my soon-to-be husband that the two guards down here in the dungeon have someone better in mind?”

Both men held out their hands. “No,” they said together.

“No,” the first repeated. “We have no better suggestion. You misunderstood. Lothain will of course make an excellent First Wizard.”

“And husband,” she said in cold correction. “Like I said, we’re soon to be married. He will be First Wizard and as such he wants me to serve beside him as his wife.” Again she leaned toward them. “Unless, of course, you two gentlemen have an objection?”

The second man leaned in a little around the first. “Congratulations, Lady Searus. He could have chosen no better woman f

or his wife. Everyone will be delighted by the news.”

She bowed her head once, acknowledging the proffered praise with a brief, deliberately insincere smile.

“Now, gentlemen, when my betrothed sends me to question one of his prisoners, he fully expects me to return with what he sent me for. Don’t you suppose?”

“Well . . .”

“If you would like, I will wait right here for one of you two to trot on up to his office, interrupt his important work, and question him. Or better yet, we can have him dragged down here just for you two, so that you both can question his wishes and intentions. I’m sure he would be only to happy to explain it to you.” She grinned wickedly as she glanced back over her shoulder at Merritt. “I think that would prove quite entertaining, don’t you suppose?”

Merritt chuckled. “Indeed it would.”

Both guards shared another look. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Lady Searus, as long as—”

“Then open the door!”

They both flinched.

“Of course, Lady Searus,” the first said as he nodded vigorously even as the second was pulling out a big key as he turned to the door.

As Magda started for the door, the first man held up a finger. “Ah, if I might inquire, Lady Searus? I can understand Prosecutor Lothain sending you to see the prisoner, but . . .” He gestured to Merritt. “. . . what would be the purpose of this fellow you have with you?”

Magda glared at the man as if she were having difficulty believing how stupid he was. “Do you really expect me to torture the prisoner for information myself?”

He straightened in relief at the explanation. “Oh, I see what you mean.” He glanced at Merritt’s stony expression and then bowed quickly. “Of course, Lady Searus. I mean, no, of course not.”

The man with the key in his beefy fingers fumbled at getting it into the keyhole. The first man backhanded the side of his meaty arm and told him to hurry. Once the man got the key into the lock, his mouth twisted with the effort of turning it. He strained to turn the key, and it finally threw the bolt back with a loud clang. Both men seized the iron handles. Together, they pulled and tugged. The door appeared to be too heavy to be opened by one man alone. Rusty hinges protested as, inch by inch, the door was jerked open.