Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

“Dalton, what news is there from Aydindril? You said Stein is to speak his peace of the Old World, and the Imperial Order. What about Aydindril? What has the Midlands to say?”

If there was one thing that could spoil Dalton’s ambitions and plans, it was the events in Aydindril.

“The ambassadors returning from Aydindril reported that the Mother Confessor has not only thrown her lot, and that of the Midlands, in with Lord Rahl, the new leader of the D’Haran Empire, but she was to marry the man. By now, she must be wedded to him.”

“Married! The Mother Confessor herself, married.” Teresa returned her attention to the mirror. “That must have been a grand affair. I can imagine such a wedding would put anything in Anderith to shame.” Teresa paused at her mirror. “But a Confessor’s power takes a man when she marries him. This Lord Rahl will be nothing but a puppet of the Mother Confessor.”

Dalton shook his head. “Apparently, he is gifted, and not subject to being destroyed by her power. She’s a clever one, marrying a gifted Lord Rahl of D’Hara; it shows cunning, conviction, and deft strategic planning. Joining the Midlands with D’Hara has created an empire to be feared, an empire to be reckoned with. It will be a difficult decision.”

The ambassadors had further reported Lord Rahl a man of seeming integrity, a man of great conviction, a man committed to peace and the freedom of those who joined with him.

He was also a man who demanded their surrender into the growing D’Haran Empire, and demanded it immediately.

Men like that tended to be unreasonable. A man like that could be no end of trouble.

Dalton brought out a shirt and held it up to show Teresa. She nodded her approval. He stripped to the waist and slipped his arms into the crisp, clean shirt, savoring the fresh aroma.

“Stein brings Emperor Jagang’s offer of a place for us in his new world order. We will hear what he has to say.”

If Stein was any indication, the Imperial Order understood the nuances of power. Unlike all indications from Aydindril, they were willing to negotiate a number of points important to Dalton and the Minister.

“And the Directors? What have they to say about our fate?”

Dalton grunted his discontent. “The Directors committed to the old ways, to the so-called freedom of the people of the Midlands, dwindle in number all the time. The Directors insisting we stay with the rest of the Midlands—join with Lord Rahl—are becoming isolated voices. People are tired of hearing their outdated notions and uninspired morals.”

Teresa set down her brush. Worry creased her brow. “Will we have war, Dalton? With whom will we side? Will we be thrown into war, then?”

Dalton laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “The war is going to be a long, bloody struggle. I have no interest in being dragged into it, or having our people dragged into it. I’ll do what I must to protect Anderith.”

Much hinged on which side held the upper hand. There was no point in joining the losing side.

“If need be, we can unleash the Dominie Dirtch. No army, not Lord Rahl’s, not Emperor Jagang’s, can stand against such a weapon. But, it would be best, before the fact, to join the side offering the best terms and prospects.”

She clasped his hand. “But this Lord Rahl is a wizard. You said he was gifted. There is no telling what a wizard might do.”

“That might be a reason to join with him. But the Imperial Order has vowed to eliminate magic. Perhaps they have ways of countering his ability.”

“But if Lord Rahl is a wizard, that would be fearsome magic—like the Dominie Dirtch. He might unleash his power against us if we fail to surrender to him.”

He patted her hand before going back to his dressing. “Don’t worry, Tess. I’ll not let Anderith fall to ashes. And as I said, the Order claims they will end magic. If true, then a wizard wouldn’t hold any threat over us. We will just have to see what Stein has to say.”

He didn’t know how the Imperial Order could end magic. Magic, after all, had been around as long as the world. Maybe what the Order really meant was that they intended to eliminate those who were gifted. That would not be a novel idea and to Dalton’s mind had a chance of success.

There were those who already advocated putting to the torch all the gifted. Anderith held several of the more radical leaders in chains, Serin Rajak among them. Charismatic, fanatical, and rabid, Serin Rajak was ungovernable and dangerous. If he was even still alive; they’d had him in chains for months.

Rajak believed “witches,” as he called those with magic, to be evil. He had a number of followers he had incited into wild and destructive mobs before they’d arrested him.

Men like that were dangerous. Dalton had lobbied against his execution, though. Men like that could also be useful.

“Oh, and you just won’t believe it,” Teresa was saying. She had started back on the gossip she’d heard. As he pondered Serin Rajak, he only half listened. “This woman, the one I mentioned, the one who thinks so much of herself, Claudine Winthrop, well, she told us that the Minister forced himself on her.”

Dalton was still only half listening. He knew the gossip to be true. Claudine Winthrop was the “perturbed lady” in the message in the secret compartment of his desk, the one for whom he needed to find a plum. She was also the one who had sent the letter to Director Linscott—the letter that never arrived.

Claudine Winthrop hovered around the Minister whenever she had the chance, flirting with him, smiling, batting her eyelashes. What did she think was going to happen? She’d gotten what she had to know she was going to get. Now she complains?

“And so, she’s so angry to be treated in such a coarse manner by the Minister, that after the dinner she intends to announce to Lady Chanboor and all the guests that the Minister forced himself on her in the crudest fashion.”

Dalton’s ears perked up.

“Rape it is, she called it, and rape she intends to report it to the Minister’s wife.” Teresa turned in her seat to shake a small squirrel-hair eye-color brush up at him. “And to the Directors of Cultural Amity, if any are there. And Dalton, if the Sovereign is there, it could be an ugly row. The Sovereign is liable to hold up a hand, commanding silence, so she may speak.”

Dalton was at full attention, now. The twelve Directors would be at the feast. Now, he knew what Claudine Winthrop was about.

“She said this, did she? You heard her say it?”

Teresa put one hand on a hip. “Yes. Isn’t that something? She should know what Minister Chanboor is like, how he beds half the women at the estate. And now she plans to make trouble? It should create quite the sensation, I’d say. I tell you, Dalton, she’s up to something.”

When Teresa started prattling onto another subject, he broke in and asked, “What had the other women to say about her? About Claudine’s plans?”

Teresa set down the squirrel-hair brush. “Well, we all think it’s just terrible. I mean, the Minister of Culture is an important man. Why, he could be Sovereign one day—the Sovereign is not a young man anymore. The Minister could be called upon to step into the Seat of Sovereign at any moment. That’s a terrible responsibility.”

She looked back to the mirror as she worked with a hair pick. She turned once more and shook it at him. “The Minister is terribly overworked,

and has the right to seek harmless diversion now and again. The women are willing. It’s nobody’s business. It’s their private lives—it has no bearing on public business. And it’s not like the little tramp didn’t ask for it.”

Dalton couldn’t dispute that much of it. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand how women, whether a noble or a Haken girl, could bat their lashes at the letch and then be surprised when he rose, so to speak, to the bait.

Of course, the Haken girl, Beata, hadn’t been old enough, or experienced enough, to truly understand such mature games. Nor, he supposed, had she foreseen Stein in the bargain. Dalton felt a bit sorry for the girl, even if she was Haken. No, she hadn’t seen Stein lurking in the tall wheat when she smiled in awe at the Minister.

But the other women, the women of the household, and mature women come from the city out to the estate for feasts and parties, they knew what the Minister was about, and had no grounds to call foul after the fact.

Dalton knew some only became unhappy when they didn’t get some unspecified, but significant, recompense. Some plum. That was when it became Dalton’s problem. He found them a plum, and did his best to convince them they would love to have it. Most, wisely, accepted such generosity—it was all many had wanted in the first place.

He didn’t doubt that the women of the estate were agitated that Claudine was scheming to bring trouble. Many of those wives had been with the Minister, seduced by the heady air of power around the man. Dalton had reason to suspect many who had not been to the Minister’s bed wanted to end there. Bertrand either simply hadn’t gotten to them yet, or didn’t wish to. Most likely the former; he tended to appoint men to the estate only after he’d met their wives, too. Dalton had already had to turn down a perfectly good man as regent because Bertrand thought his wife too plain.

Not only was there no end to the women swooning to fall under the man, but he was a glutton about it. Even so, he had certain standards. Like many men as they got older, he savored youth.

He was able to indulge his wont for voluptuous young women without needing, as most men passing fifty, to go to prostitutes in the city. In fact, Bertrand Chanboor avoided such women like the plague, fearing their virulent diseases.