Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

She stole a look to see if he was going to laugh. He didn’t.

“I’ve dreamed that, too.” He checked to see if anyone was watching. No one was about. He hunched over the back of the cart and with a finger made marks in the dirt there.

Her curiosity overcame her disapproval. “Is that writing?”

“It’s a word. I learned it. It’s the only one I know, but it’s a word and I can read it. I heard a man at a feast say it’s on the hilt of the Sword of Truth.” Fitch drew a line under the word in the dirt. “The man cut it into the top of the butter, to show a woman there at the feast. It’s the word ‘Truth.’

“He told her it used to be that the one named Seeker was a person of great repute, meant to do good, but now Seekers were no more than common criminals at best and cutthroats at worst. Like our ancestors.”

“Like all Hakens,” she corrected. “Like us.”

He didn’t argue, because he knew she was right. “That’s another reason I’d like to be Seeker: I would restore the good name to the post of Seeker, the way it used to be, so people could trust in truth again. I’d like to show people that a Haken could serve honorably. That would be doing good, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t that help balance our crimes?”

She rubbed her upper arms briskly as she glanced about, checking. “Dreaming of being the Seeker is childish and silly.” Her voice lowered with import. “Learning to read would be a crime. You had better not try to learn any more.”

He sighed. “I know, but don’t you ever—”

“And magic is vile. To touch a thing of magic would be as bad as a crime.”

She stole a quick glance at the brick faç ade over her shoulder. With a quick swipe, Beata wiped the word from the floor of the cart. He opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke first, cutting him off.

“We’d better get finished.”

With a flick of her eyes, she indicated the upper windows. Fitch looked up and felt icy tingling terror skitter up his spine. The Minister of Culture himself was at a window watching them.

Fitch hefted a rack of mutton and made for the kitchen larder. Beata followed with a noose of geese in one hand and the sack of sparrows in the other. Both finished lugging in the load in silence. Fitch wished he hadn’t said so much, and that she had said more.

When they’d finished, he intended to walk with her back out to the cart, to pretend to check to see if they’d gotten everything, but Master Drummond asked and Beata told him they had it all in. With a stiff finger, he jabbed Fitch’s chest, ordering him back to his scrubbing. Fitch rubbed at the stinging poke as he scuffed his feet along the smooth, unfinished wooden floor on his way to the tubs of soapy water. He glanced back over his shoulder to watch Beata leave, hoping she would look back at him so he could give her a departing smile, at least.

Minister Chanboor’s aide, Dalton Campbell, was in the kitchen. Fitch had never met Dalton Campbell—he would have no occasion to—but he thought favorably about the man because he never seemed to cause anyone any trouble, as far as Fitch had heard, anyway.

New to the post of aide to the Minister, Dalton Campbell was an agreeable-enough-looking Ander, with the typical Ander straight nose, dark eyes and hair, and strong chin. Women, especially Haken women, seemed to find that sort of thing appealing. Dalton Campbell did look noble in his dark blue quilted jerkin over a like-colored doublet, both offset with pewter buttons.

A silver-wrought scabbard hung from a finely detailed double-wrapped belt. Dark reddish brown leather covered the hilt of the handsome weapon. Fitch dearly wished he could carry such a fine sword. He was sure girls were drawn to men carrying swords.

Before Beata had a chance to look over at Fitch, or to leave, Dalton Campbell quickly closed the distance to her and grabbed her under an arm. Her face paled. Fitch, too, felt sudden terror grip his gut. He knew instinctively that this was potentially big trouble. He feared he knew the cause. If the Minister, when he’d been looking down, saw Fitch writing the word in the dirt…

Dalton Campbell smiled, speaking soft assurance. As her shoulders slowly relaxed, so did the knot in Fitch’s belly. Fitch couldn’t hear most of the words, but he heard Dalton Campbell say something about Minister Chanboor as he tilted his head toward the stairway on the far side of the kitchen. Her eyes widened. Rosy color bloomed on her cheeks.

Beata beamed incandescently.

Dalton Campbell in turn smiled his invitation at her all the way to the stairwell, pulling her along by the arm, although she looked not to need the encouragement—she looked as if she was nearly floating through the air. She never looked back as she disappeared through the doorway and up the stairs.

Master Drummond suddenly swatted the back of Fitch’s head.

“Why are you standing there like a stump? Get to those fry pans.”

14

Zedd woke at the sound of the door in the other room closing. He opened one eye just enough to peer toward the doorway as the hide was lifted to the side.

He relaxed a bit at seeing it was Nissel. The stooped healer took her time shuffling across the room.

“They are gone,” she said.

“What did she say?” Ann whispered, she, too, slitting one eye enough to peek through.

“Are you sure?” Zedd whispered to Nissel.

“They packed everything they brought. They gathered food for the journey. Some of the women helped by putting together supplies they might take to sustain them. I gave them herbs that may be of use for little ills. Our hunters gave them waterskins and weapons. They said quick farewells to their friends, to those they have come to love. They made me promise to do my best to keep you well.”

Nissel scratched her chin. “Not much of a promise, the way I see it.”

“And you saw them leave?” Zedd pressed. “You are sure they are gone?”

Nissel turned a little, skimming a hand through the air out toward the northeast. “They started out. All three. I watched them go, just as you asked of me. I had walked with everyone else to the edge of the village, but most of our people wanted to walk a ways out into the grassland to be that much longer with them, and to watch our new Mud People go. These people urged me to come with them, so I, too, went out onto the grassland, even though my legs are not as swift as they used to be, but I decided they would be swift enough for a short walk.

“When we had all gone a goodly distance, Richard urged us to return, rather than be out in the rain to no good end. He was concerned, especially, that I go back to care for you two. I believe they were impatient to make good time on their journey, and we all slowed them with our pace, but they were too considerate to speak those thoughts to us.

“Ri

chard and Kahlan hugged me and wished me well. The woman in red leather did not hug me, but she did give me a bow of her head to show her respect and Kahlan told me the woman’s words. She wished me to know she would protect Richard and Kahlan. She is a good woman, that strange one in red, even if she is not Mud People. I wished them well.

“All of us who had walked out into the grassland stood in the drizzle and waved as the three of them journeyed to the northeast, until they became spots too small to see anymore. The Bird Man then asked us all to bow our heads. Together, with his words leading us, we beseeched our ancestors’ spirits to watch over our new people and keep them safe on their journey. He then called a hawk and sent it to travel with them for a ways, as a sign that our hearts were with them. We waited until we could no longer see even the hawk circling in the sky over the three of them.

“Then we returned straight away.”

Tilting her head toward him, Nissel lifted an eyebrow. “Does that satisfy you better than my simple word that they are gone?”

Zedd cleared his throat, thinking the woman must practice sarcasm when there was no healing to be done.

“What did she say?” Ann asked again.

“She says they’re gone.”

“Is she sure?” Ann asked.

Zedd threw off his blanket. “How should I know? The woman gabs a lot. But I believe they’re gone on their way.”

Ann, too, threw aside her woolen blanket. “Thought I’d sweat to death under this scratchy thing.”

They had remained under the blankets the whole time, silent and patient, fearing Richard might pop back in with some forgotten question or new idea. The boy frequently did such unexpected things. Zedd dared not precipitately betray himself, dared not let incautious action spoil their plans.

While they had waited, Ann had fretted and sweated. Zedd took a nap.

Pleased that Zedd had asked for her help, Nissel had promised to watch and let them know when the three were gone. She said those with age must stick together and that the only defense against youth was cunning. Zedd couldn’t agree more. She had that twinkle in her eye that made Ann scowl in confused annoyance.