Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

With the rest of her squad, Beata rose to her feet, but she kept her head bowed, still fearing to look up directly into the Mother Confessor’s eyes. Beata had never been instructed how to behave when she met the Mother Confessor herself, it being an event no one ever thought could possibly happen to her, a Haken girl. But here it was, happening.

“Who is in charge here?” It was the Mother Confessor’s voice, still sounding nice enough, but it had a clear ring of authority that was unmistakable. At least she didn’t sound like she intended to call lightning down on anyone.

Beata took a step forward, but kept her eyes aimed at the ground. “I am, Mother Confessor.”

“And you are?”

Beata’s racing heart refused to slow. She couldn’t make herself stop trembling. “Your humble servant, Mother Confessor. I am Sergeant Beata.”

Beata nearly jumped out of her skin when fingers lifted her chin. And then she was looking right into the green eyes of the Mother Confessor herself. It was like looking on a tall, beautiful, smiling, good spirit.

Good spirit or not, Beata stood frozen in renewed terror.

“Glad to meet you, Sergeant Beata.” The Mother Confessor gestured to her left. “This is Du Chaillu, a friend, and Jiaan, another friend.” She laid her hand to the shoulder of the big man beside her. “This is Lord Rahl.” Her smile widened. “My husband.”

Beata’s gaze moved at last to the Lord Rahl. He too, smiled pleasantly. Beata had never had such important people smile at her in such a way. It was all because she had joined the Anderith army, to become an evil Haken doing good, at last.

“Mind if I go up and have a look at the Dominie Dirtch, Sergeant Beata?” Lord Rahl asked.

Beata cleared her throat. “Uh—well—no, sir. No sir. Please, I would be happy to show you the Dominie Dirtch. Honored, I mean. I mean I would be honored to show you.”

“And our men,” the Mother Confessor asked, bringing Beata’s babbling to a merciful end, “may they approach, now, Sergeant?”

Beata bowed. “Forgive me. I’m sorry. Of course they may, Mother Confessor. Of course. I’m sorry. If you will permit me, I will see to it.”

After the Mother Confessor gave a nod, Beata raced up the steps ahead of the Lord Rahl, feeling a fool for not at once telling the Mother Confessor she was welcome in Anderith. Beata snatched up the horn and blew the all-clear to the squad at the Dominie Dirtch on each side. She turned to the waiting distant soldiers and blew a long note, to let them know they were granted permission to approach the Dominie Dirtch in safety.

The Lord Rahl was coming up the stairs. Beata pulled the horn from her lips and backed against the railing. There was something about him, just his presence, that took her breath. Not even the Minister of Culture himself, before he did what he did, struck her with such a feeling of awe as did this man, the Lord Rahl.

It wasn’t just his size, his broad shoulders, his penetrating gray eyes, or his black and gold outfit with the broad belt holding gold-worked leather pouches and strange symbols. It was his presence.

He didn’t look proper and fancy like the Ander officials, like Dalton Campbell or the Minister of Culture, but rather, he looked noble, purposeful, and at the same time… dangerous.

Deadly.

He was kind enough looking, and handsome, but she just knew that if he ever turned those gray eyes on her in anger, she might be struck dead just by their intensity.

If ever there was a man who looked as if he could be the husband of the Mother Confessor, this was the man.

The pregnant woman came up the stairs, her eyes taking everything in. There was something about this dark-haired woman as well that seemed noble. She and the other man, both with dark hair, almost looked Ander. She had on the oddest dress Beata had ever seen; there were little different-colored strips of cloth tied on all up the arms and over the shoulders.

Beata held out a hand. “This, Lord Rahl, is the Dominie Dirtch.” Beata wanted to say the woman’s name, too, but it had flown out of her head, and she couldn’t remember it.

Lord Rahl’s eyes roamed over the huge bell-shaped stone weapon.

“It was created thousands of years ago by the Hakens,” Beata said, “as a weapon of murder against the Anders, but it now serves instead as a means for peace.”

Clasping his hands loosely behind his back, Lord Rahl surveyed the uncountable tons of stone that made up the Dominie Dirtch. His gaze glided over every nuance of it in a way she had never seen anyone else look at it. Beata almost expected him to speak to it, and the Dominie Dirtch to answer.

“And how would that be, Sergeant?” he asked without looking at her.

“Sir?”

When he turned to her at last, his gray eyes arrested her breath.

“Well, the Hakens invaded Anderith, right?”

Under the scrutiny of those eyes, she had to struggle to make her voice work. “Yes, sir.” It came out as little more than a squeak.

He lifted a thumb, pointing back at the stone bell. “And do you suppose the invaders rode in with these Dominie Dirtch slung over their backs, then, Sergeant?”

Beata’s knees started trembling. She wished he wouldn’t ask her questions. He wished he would just leave them be and go on to Fairfield and talk to the important people who knew how to answer questions.

“Sir?”

Lord Rahl turned and gestured to the stone rising up before him. “It’s obvious these weapons were not brought in, Sergeant. They’re too big. There are too many of them. They had to be constructed here, where they stand, with the aid of magic, no doubt.”

“But the Haken murderers, when they invaded—”

“They’re pointed out there, Sergeant, toward any invaders, not in, toward the people of Anderith. It’s clear they were built as weapons of defense.”

Beata swallowed. “But we were taught—”

“You were taught a lie.” He looked decidedly unhappy about what he was seeing. “This is plainly a defensive weapon.” He peered off to the Dominie Dirtch to each side, surveying them with a critical eye. “They work together. They were placed here as a line of defense, they weren’t the tools of invasion.”

The way he said it, wit

h almost a tone of regret, didn’t seem at all to Beata like he meant any offense. He seemed to have spoken what came into his mind as he realized it himself.

“But the Hakens…” Beata said in hardly more than a whisper.

Lord Rahl stood politely, waiting for her to offer an argument. Her mind was spinning with confused thoughts.

“I’m not an educated person, Lord Rahl. I’m only a Haken, evil by nature. Forgive me for not being taught good enough to be able to better answer your questions.”

He heaved a sigh. “It doesn’t require an education, Sergeant Beata, to see what’s right before your eyes. Use your head.”

Beata stood mute, unable to reconcile the conversation. This was an important man. She’d heard things about the Lord Rahl, about what a powerful man he was, about how he was a magician with the power to make day into night, up into down. He wasn’t a man who ruled just one land, like the Minister of Culture and the Sovereign, but a man who ruled the mysterious empire of D’Hara, and now was capturing all of the Midlands.

But he was a man, too, who was married to the Mother Confessor. Beata had seen the look in the Mother Confessor’s eyes when she looked at the Lord Rahl. Beata knew from that look that the woman loved and respected this man. It was as plain as day that she did.

“You should listen to what he says,” the pregnant woman said. “He is also the Seeker of Truth.”

Beata’s jaw dropped. She spoke before her fear could muzzle her. “You mean that’s the Sword of Truth you carry, sir?”

It looked an ordinary weapon to her, little different from hers. It was just a black leather scabbard, nothing special, and a leather-wrapped handle.

He looked down and lifted the weapon clear of the scabbard and then let it drop back. His face lost its spirit.

“This? No… it’s not the Sword of Truth. I don’t have it with me… right at the moment.”

Beata didn’t have the nerve to ask why not. She wished she could have seen the real sword. It had magic. That would have been something—for her to see the Sword of Truth Fitch thought so much about, instead of him seeing it. Being in the army, and in charge of a Dominie Dirtch, she was doing more than he ever would.