Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

Lord Rahl had turned to the towering weapon. He seemed to have forgotten that anyone else existed, as he focused on the lichen-covered stone before him. He stood as still as the stone. He seemed almost one with it.

His hand reached out to touch the Dominie Dirtch.

The woman snatched his wrist, holding his hand back.

“No, my husband. Do not touch this thing. It is…”

Lord Rahl turned to look into her eyes, finishing what she’d left unsaid. “Evil.”

“You can feel it, then?”

He nodded.

Of course it was evil, Beata wanted to say; it was made by Hakens.

Beata’s brow bunched in puzzlement. The woman had called him “husband,” but the Mother Confessor had said the Lord Rahl was her husband.

Lord Rahl, seeing his troops drawing close, started down the stairs two at a time. The woman took in the Dominie Dirtch one last time and then moved to follow after him.

“Husband?” Beata was unable to resist asking the pregnant woman.

She lifted her chin as she turned to Beata. “Yes. I am the wife of the Lord Rahl, the Seeker, the Caharin, Richard.”

“But, but the Mother Confessor said…”

The woman shrugged. “Yes, we are the both of us his wives.”

“Both? Two…?”

The woman started down the stairs. “He is an important man. He can have more than one wife.” The woman stopped and looked back. “I once had five husbands.”

Beata’s eyes widened as she watched the woman disappear down the stairs. The morning air rumbled with the approach of the mounted soldiers. Beata had never even imagined such ferocious looking men. She was glad for her training; Captain Tolbert had told her that with her training, she could defend Anderith against anyone, even men like these.

“Sergeant Beata,” Lord Rahl called up to her.

Beata went to the rail in front of the bell. He had stopped on his way to his horse out front and turned back. The Mother Confessor was taking up the reins. She put a foot in a stirrup.

“Yes, sir?”

“I don’t suppose you rang that thing about a week ago?”

“No, sir, we didn’t.”

He turned to his horse. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“But it chimed by itself back then.”

The Lord Rahl stiffened in place. The pregnant woman spun back around. The Mother Confessor, halfway up onto her horse, dropped back to the ground.

Beata raced down the steps so she wouldn’t have to shout the awful details down at him. The rest of her squad had pulled way back behind the Dominie Dirtch, fearing to be in the way of such important people; fearing, Beata supposed, that the Mother Confessor might set them afire with a look. Beata still feared the woman, but the edge of her fear had been dulled.

Lord Rahl whistled to the soldiers and wheeled his arm, ordering them to hurry through, past the Dominie Dirtch, out of the way of harm, should the Dominie Dirtch again ring of its own accord. As hundreds of mounted men galloped around both sides, he hurried to usher the Mother Confessor and the pregnant woman, along with the other man, around to the rear of the stone base.

Once the women were safely past, he seized the shoulder of Beata’s uniform and hauled her back, protectively, away from the front of Dominie Dirtch. She stiffened to attention—mostly in fear—before him.

His brow had drawn down in a way that made Beata’s knees tremble. “What happened?” he asked in a quiet voice that seemed as if it could have caused the Dominie Dirtch to ring again.

The Mother Confessor had come to stand beside him. His pregnant wife stood on his other side.

“Well, we don’t know, sir.” Beata licked her lips. “One of my men… Turner, he was…” She gestured out behind Lord Rahl. “He was out on patrol when the thing rang. It was an awful sound. Just awful. And Turner…”

Beata could feel a tear roll down her cheek. As much as she didn’t want this man and the Mother Confessor to see her showing weakness, she couldn’t keep that tear back.

“In the late afternoon?” Lord Rahl asked.

Beata nodded. “How did you know?”

He ignored the question. “All of them rang? Not just this one, but all of them up and down the line rang, didn’t they?”

“Yes, sir. No one knows the reason. Some officers came down the line, checking them, but they couldn’t tell us anything.”

“Were a lot of people killed?”

Beata abandoned his gaze. “Yes, sir. One of my men, and a lot of others, from what I was told. Wagons with merchants at the border, people returning to pass through the border… Anyone out front of the Dominie Dirtch when they rang.… It was just awful. To die in such a fashion…”

“We understand,” the Mother Confessor said in a compassionate tone. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

“So no one has any idea why they rang?” Lord Rahl pressed.

“No, sir, at least no one told us the reason. I’ve talked to the squads to each side, at the next Dominie Dirtch to each side, and it was the same with them; theirs, too, chimed on their own, but no one knows why. The officers who came past must not have known the reason either, because they was asking us what happened.”

Lord Rahl nodded, seeming in deep thought. The wind lifted his golden cloak. The Mother Confessor pulled some hair back from her face, as did Lord Rahl’s pregnant wife.

Lord Rahl gestured off at the rest of her squad. “And these people, they are all you have here, guarding the border? Just you few… soldiers?”

Beata glanced up at the weapon towering over them. “Well, sir, it only takes one person to ring the Dominie Dirtch.”

His gaze again appraised the rest of her squad. “I suppose. Thank you for your help, Sergeant.”

He and the Mother Confessor swiftly mounted up. She and the people on foot moved out with the rest of their soldiers. Lord Rahl turned back to her.

“Tell me, Sergeant Beata, do you think I—and the Mother Confessor—are not as good as the Ander people? Do you think us evil of nature, too?”

“Oh no, sir. Only Hakens are born tainted with vile souls. We can never be as good as Anders. Our souls are corrupt and unable to be pure; their souls are pure, and unable to be corrupt. We cannot ever be completely cleansed; we can only hope to control our vile nature.”

He smiled sadly down at her. His voice softened. “Beata, the Creator does not create evil. He would not create and bestow upon you souls of evil. You have as much potential for good as anyone else, and Anders have a potential for evil equal to anyone.”

“That’s not what we’re taught, sir.”

His horse tossed her head and danced sideways, eager to be off after the others. With a pat on his horse’s glossy brown neck, as if speaking to her through that gentle hand, he settled her.

“As I said, you were taught wrong. You are as good as anyone else Beata—Haken, or Ander, or anyone. That’s our purpose in this struggle: to make sure that all people have an equal chance.

“You be careful with that thing, sergeant, that Dominie Dirtch.”

Beata saluted with her hand to her brow. “Yes, sir, I surely intend to.”

His gaze connected solidly with hers and he tapped his fist to his heart to return the salute. Then, his horse leaped into a gallop to catch the others.

As Beata watched him go, she realized that this had probably been the most exciting thing that would happen in all the rest of her entire life—speaking with the Mother Confessor and the Lord Rahl.

51

Bertrand Chanboor looked up when Dalton came into the room. Bertrand’s wife was there, too, standing before his ornate desk. Dalton met her eyes briefly. He was a bit surprised to see her there, but guessed this was important enough for her to meet with her husband.

“Well?” Bertrand asked.

“They confirmed what we were told,” Dalton said. “They saw it with their own eyes.”