Temple of the Winds (Sword of Truth 4)

“What was your name?” Richard asked.

“Name?” The sliph frowned, as if puzzled. “I am the sliph.”

“Who made you into the sliph?”

“Some of my clients.”

“Why? Why did they make you into the sliph?”

“Because I never reveal my clients.”

“Sliph, could you explain that better?”

“Some of the wizards here, in this place, were my clients. The most powerful of them. I was a very exclusive whore, and very expensive. Many of the wizards contended for power. Others tried to use me to displace some of those who were my clients. Some wished to use me for their pleasure, but not the kind of pleasure I offered. I never reveal my clients.”

“You mean they would have been pleased if you told them the names of the wizards who visited you, and maybe a little more about those visits.”

“Yes. My clients feared these others would use me for this pleasure, and so they made me the sliph.”

Richard turned away. He raked his fingers back through his hair. Even as they fought the enemy, they fought among themselves. When he finally gathered his wits, he turned back to the beautiful silver face.

“Sliph, those men are all dead now. There is no one alive who knows these men. There are no wizards anymore to vie for power. Could you tell me a little more?”

“They made me, and told me that I would be unable to speak their names as long as they lived. They said that their power would prevent it. If it is true that their spirits have passed from this world, then it will no longer matter and I will be able to speak their names.”

“It was this man, Lothain, who was one of your clients, wasn’t it? And this other wizard, Ricker, thought he was a hypocrite.”

“Lothain.” The quicksilver face softened as she seemed to test the name. “Wizard Ricker came to me, and said that this man, Lothain, was the head prosecutor, and that he was a vile beast, who would turn on me. He wanted my help to depose Lothain. I refused to name my clients.”

Richard spoke into the silence. “And Ricker’s words proved true. Lothain turned on you, and made you into the sliph so that you couldn’t speak out against him.”

“Yes. I told Lothain that I did not reveal my clients. I told him that he had no need to fear me speaking. He said that it didn’t matter, that I was only a whore, and the world would never miss me. He twisted my arm and hurt me. He used me for his pleasure without my permission. When he finished, he laughed, and then I saw a flash of light in my mind.

“Ricker came to me after, and told me that he would put an end to Lothain, and wizards like him. He wept at the edge of my well, and said he was sorry for what they did to me. He told me that he would put a stop to the way magic destroyed people.”

“Were you sad?” Berdine asked. “Was it sad to be made into the sliph?”

“They took sadness from me when they made me.”

“Did they take happiness, too?” Kahlan whispered.

“They left me with duty.”

Even in this, they had made a mistake. They left some of who the sliph had been so that they could use her. The part they left would submit to anyone with the price required: magic. They had been tripped up by her nature. They used her, but had to guard her, because she would offer herself to anyone—even the enemy—who had the required price.

“Sliph,” Richard said, “I’m so sorry that we wizards did this to you. They had no right. I’m so sorry.”

The sliph smiled. “Wizard Ricker told me that if any Master said those words to me, I should tell them these words from him: ‘Ward left in. Ward right out. Guard your heart from stone.’”

“What does that mean?”

“He did not explain the words to me.”

Richard felt sick. Were they going to die because of a three-thousand-year-old fight for power? Perhaps Jagang was right; perhaps magic had no place in the world any longer.

Richard turned back to the others.

“Berdine, you need to get some sleep. Raina has to be up early to relieve Cara. She needs to get to bed, too. Set a guard for Kahlan’s rooms and then both of you get some rest. I’ve had enough of this day, too.”

Richard was in a dead sleep when he awakened to a hand pushing at him. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, trying to gather his senses in a panic.

“What? What is it?” His voice sounded to him like gravel being poured from a bucket.

“Lord Rahl?” came a tearful voice. “Are you awake?”

Richard squinted up at the figure holding a lamp. At first, he couldn’t make out who it was.

“Berdine?” He had never seen her in anything but her leather uniform before. She was standing in his room in a white nightdress. Her hair was down. He had never seen Berdine without her hair in the single braid. It was a disorienting sight.

Richard swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pulled on his pants in a rush. “Berdine, what is it? What’s wrong?”

She wiped at the tears on her face. “Lord Rahl, please, come.” She let out a sob. “Raina is sick.”

53

Verna shut the door as silently as she could after Warren dragged the flailing woman back into the darkness. His hand was clamped just as tightly over her mouth as his web was clamped around her gift. Verna wouldn’t have been able to control the woman’s magic as well as could Warren. The gift of a wizard was stronger than a sorceress’s—even Verna’s—gift.

Verna lit a small flame above her upturned palm. The woman’s eyes widened, and then filled with tears.

“Yes, Janet, it’s me, Verna. If you promise not to cry out and betray us, I will have Warren release you.”

Janet nodded earnestly. Verna gripped her dacra in her other fist, held out of sight, just in case she was wrong. She gave a nod to Warren, signaling him to release the young woman.

When she was free, Janet flung her arms around Verna’s neck. She rejoiced with a soft sob. Warren held up his palm, letting a small flame dance above it so they could see. The tiny room was made of huge blocks of dark stone, as was the rest of the stronghold. Milky water seeped through some of the joints, leaving trails of crusty stains down the walls.

“Oh, Verna,” Janet whispered, “you have no idea what a joy it is to see your face.”

Verna embraced the trembling woman as she wept softly while clutching at Verna’s cloak. Verna still had the dacra in her fist, behind Janet’s back.

Verna eased her away to smile at the tear-stained face. She wiped away some of the tears, and smoothed back Janet’s dark locks.

Janet kissed her ring finger—an ancient gesture beseeching the Creator’s protection. Even though she had been reasonably sure Janet was loyal to the Light, Verna was relieved to see such confirmation.

A Sister of the Dark was sworn to the Keeper of the Underworld, and would never kiss her ring finger. It was an act that represented a Sister’s symbolic betrothal to the Creator.

It was the one thing that a Sister of the Dark could not do. A Sister of the Dark could not hide her loyalty to her true master, the Keeper, by kissing her ring finger, for kissing that finger would invoke her dark master’s wrath.

Verna slipped the dacra back up her sleeve as Janet glanced back at Warren. They exchanged smiles.

Both Verna and Warren took in Janet’s bizarre garb. She was barefoot. The baggy garment, cinched at the waist with a white cord, covered her from ankles to neck to wrists, but was so sheer that the woman might as well have been naked.

Between a thumb and finger, Verna tugged out some of the diaphanous material. “What in the name of Creation are you doing wearing this?”

Janet glanced down at herself. “Jagang makes all his slaves dress like this. After a while, you don’t even notice anymore.”

“I see.” Verna could see that Warren was doing his best to avert his eyes.

“Verna, what are you doing here?” Janet asked in a demure voice.

Verna grinned and pinched Janet’s cheek. “I came to ge

t you out of here, silly. I came to rescue you. We’re friends—did you think I’d leave you here?”

Janet blinked in astonishment. “The Prelate let you come after me?”

Verna lifted her hand, showing the woman the sunburst-patterned ring of the Prelate. “I am the Prelate.”

Janet’s jaw fell open. She dropped to the floor and began kissing the hem of Verna’s dress.

Verna gripped Janet’s shoulder and urged her to her feet. “Stop that. There’s no time for that.”

“But—but, how? What happened? How can this be? What has happened?”

“Verna, those webs won’t hold for long,” Warren cautioned in a thin whisper. “We’ve already overstayed our welcome.”

“Janet, listen to me. We can talk later, after we get you out of here. The things we had to do to get in here only give us a brief time to get back out. It’s dangerous for us to be here.”

“I should say so,” Janet said. “Prelate, you must—”

“Verna. We’re friends. It’s still Verna.”