Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

She was a fallen woman.

She ran the side of a finger down Hania’s soft cheek. The two women shared a long and intimate look. “I promise,” Nicci whispered. “Quick and efficient. It will be the end of your pain.”

Tears overflowing her eyes, Hania gave a little nod.

Chapter 13

The estate was a grand place, she supposed. Nicci had seen grandeur such as this before. She had also seen much greater majesty, to be sure. She had lived among such splendor for nearly one and three-quarters centuries, among the imposing columns and arches of immaculate rooms, the intricately carved stone vines and buttery smooth wood paneling, the feather beds and silk coverlets, the exquisite carpets and rich draperies, the silver and gold ornamentation, and the bright sparkle of windows made of colored glass composed into epic scenes. The Sisters there offered Nicci bright-eyed smiles and clever conversation.

The extravagance meant no more to her than the rubble of the streets, the cold wet blankets laid on rough ground, the beds made in the slime among greasy runnels in the muck of narrow alleys with nothing but the bitter sky overhead. The huddled people there never offered a smile, but gaped up at her with hollow eyes, like so many pigeons cooing for alms.

Some of her life was spent among splendor, some among garbage. Some people were fated to spend their lives in one place, some in the other, she in both.

Nicci reached for the silver handle on one of the ornate double doors flanked by two husky soldiers who had probably been raised in a sty with the hogs, and saw that her hand was covered in blood. She turned and casually wiped the hand on the filthy, bloodstained fleece vest worn by one of the men. The biceps of his folded arms were nearly as thick as her waist. Although he scowled as she cleaned her hand on him, he made no move to stop her. After all, it wasn’t as if she were defiling him.

Hania had kept her part of the bargain. Nicci rarely resorted to using a weapon; she usually used her gift. But of course, in this case, that could have been a mistake. When she had held the knife over her throat, Hania had whispered her thanks for what Nicci was about to do. It was the first time anyone had ever thanked Nicci before she had killed them. Few people ever thanked Nicci for the help she provided. She was able, they were not; it was her duty to serve their needs.

When she had finished cleaning her hand on the mute guard, she flashed an empty smile at his dark glaring visage and then went on through the doors into a stately reception hall. A row of tall windows lining one wall of the room was trimmed with wheat-colored drapes. Near their tasseled edges, the curtains sparkled in the lamplight as if they might be embellished with gold thread. Late-summer rain spattered against tightly shut glass panes that revealed only darkness outside, but reflected the activity inside. The pale wool carpets, graced with flowers painstakingly sculpted in relief by means of different-length yarn, were tracked with mud.

Scouts came and went, along with messengers and soldiers giving their reports to some of the officers. Other officers barked orders. Soldiers carrying rolled maps followed a few of the higher-ranking men as they meandered around the stuffy room.

One of the maps lay unrolled across a narrow table. The table’s silver candelabrum had been set aside on the floor behind the table. As Nicci passed the table, she glanced down and saw that it was missing many of the elements so carefully marked on the map drawn by the D’Haran messenger. On the map laid out over the narrow table, there was nothing but dark splotches from spilled ale in the area to the northwest; in the map etched in Nicci’s mind, there were the mountains, rivers, high passes, and streams there, and a dot, marking the place where Richard was, along with his Mother Confessor bride, and the Mord-Sith.

Officers talked among themselves, some standing about, some half sitting on iron-legged, marble-topped tables, some lounging in padded leather chairs as they took delicacies from silver trays borne on the trembling hands of sweating servants. Others swilled ale from tall pewter mugs, and yet others drank wine from dainty glasses, all acting as if they were intimate with such splendor, and all of them looking as out of place as toads at tea.

An older woman, Sister Lidmila, apparently trying to be unobtrusive by cowering in the shadows beside the drapes, snapped upright when she saw Nicci marching across the room. Sister Lidmila stepped out of the shadows, briefly pausing to smooth her dingy skirts, an act that could not possibly produce any noticeable improvement; Sister Lidmila once had told Nicci that things learned in youth never left you, and were often much easier to recall than yesterday’s dinner. Rumor had it that the old Sister, skilled in arcane spells known to only the most powerful sorceresses, had many interesting things from her youth to recall.

Sister Lidmila’s leathery skin was stretched so tight over the bones of her skull that she reminded Nicci of nothing so much as an exhumed corpse. As cadaverous-looking as the aged Sister was, she advanced across the room in quick, sharp movements.

When she was only ten feet away, Sister Lidmila waved an arm, as if not sure Nicci would see her. “Sister Nicci. Sister Nicci, there you are.” She seized Nicci’s wrist. “Come along, dear. Come along. His Excellency is waiting for you. This way. Come along.”

Nicci clasped the Sister’s tugging hand. “Lead the way, Sister Lidmila. I’m right behind you.”

The older woman smiled over her shoulder. It wasn’t a pleasant or joyous smile, but one of relief. Jagang punished anyone who displeased him, regardless of their culpability.

“What took you so long, Sister Nicci? His Excellency is in quite a state, he is, because of you. Where have you been?”

“I had…business I had to attend to.”

The woman had to take two or three steps for every one of Nicci’s. “Business indeed! Were it up to me, I’d have you down in the kitchen scrubbing pots for being off on a lark when you are wanted.”

Sister Lidmila was frail and forgetful, and she sometimes failed to realize she was no longer at the Palace of the Prophets. Jagang used her to fetch people, or to wait for them and show them the way—usually to his tents. Should she forget the way, he could always correct her route, if need be. It amused him to use a venerable Sister of the Light—a sorceress reputedly possessing knowledge of the most esoteric incantations—as nothing more than an errand girl. Away from the palace and its spell that slowed aging, Sister Lidmila was in a sudden headlong rush toward the grave. All the Sisters were.

The round-backed Sister, her dangling arm swinging, shuffled along in front of Nicci, pulling her by her hand, leading her through grand rooms, up stairways, and down hallways. At a doorway framed in gold-leafed moldings, she finally paused, touching her fingers to her lower lip as she caught her breath. Sober soldiers prowling the hall painted Nicci with glares as dark as her dress. She recognized the men as imperial guards.

“Here it is.” Sister Lidmila peered up at Nicci. “His Excellency is in his rooms. Hurry, then. Go on. Go on, now.” She swirled her hands as if she were trying to herd livestock. “In you go.”

Before entering, Nicci took her hand from the lever and turned back to the old woman. “Sister Lidmila, you once told me that you thought I would be the one best suited for some of the knowledge you had to pass on.”

Sister Lidmila’s face brightened with a sly smile. “Ah, some of the more occult magic interests you, at long last, Sister Nicci?”

Nicci had never before been interested in what Sister Lidmila had occasionally pestered her to learn. Magic was a selfish pursuit. Nicci learned what she had to, but never went out of her way to go beyond, to the more unusual spells.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I believe I am at last ready.”

“I always told the Prelate that you were the only one at the palace with the power for the conjuring I know.” The woman leaned close. “Dangerous conjuring, it is, too.”

“It should be passed on, while you are able.”

Sister Lidmila nodded with satisfaction. “I believe you are old enough. I could show you. When?”

“I

will come see you…tomorrow.” Nicci glanced toward the door. “I don’t believe I will be able to take a lesson tonight.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“If I…do come around to see you, I will be most eager to learn. I especially wish to know about the maternity spell.”

From what Nicci knew of it, the oddly named maternity spell might be just what she needed. It had the further advantage that once invoked, it was inviolate.

Sister Lidmila straightened and again touched her fingers to her lower lip. A look of concern crossed her face.

“My, my. That one, is it? Well, yes, I could teach you. You have the ability—few do. I’d trust none but you to be able to bring such a thing to life; it requires tremendous power of the gift. You have that. As long as you understand and are willing to accept the cost involved, I can teach you.”