Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

“Nathan is a prophet loose in the world. You remember the trouble he’s caused in the past. He could, by himself, bring about such calamity as the world has never seen. Nathan boasts when he’s around people; he will surely leave such traces where he goes. With Nathan, I believe we at least have a chance of success. But hunting for Nicci…”

Alessandra met Ann’s gaze with grim resolution. “Prelate, if Richard dies, what chance have the rest of us?”

Ann looked away. What if Alessandra was right? What if Kahlan was right? She had to catch Nathan; it was the only way to find out.

“Alessandra…”

“You don’t completely trust me, do you, Prelate?”

Ann met the other woman’s eyes, this time with authority. “No, Alessandra, I admit that I don’t. How can I? You deceived me. You lied to me. You turned your back on the Creator and gave yourself to the Keeper of the underworld.”

“But I’ve come back to the Light, Prelate.”

“Have you? Would not one acting for the Keeper lie for him, as you yourself only moments ago suggested?”

Alessandra’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s why I must try to find Nicci, Prelate. I must prove that your faith in me was not misplaced. I need to do this to prove myself to you.”

“Or, you need to help Nicci, and the Keeper?”

“I know I’m not worthy of trust. I know that. You said we must find Nathan—but we must also help Richard.”

“Two tasks of the utmost importance,” Ann said, “and no journey book to call for help.”

Alessandra wiped at her eyes. “Please, Prelate, let me help. I’m responsible for Nicci going to the Keeper. Let me try to make amends. Let me try to bring her back. I know what the return journey is like. I can help her. Please, let me try to save her eternal soul?”

Ann’s gaze sank to the ground. Who was she to question the value of another? What had her life been for? Had she herself been the Keeper’s best ally?

Ann cleared her throat. “Sister Alessandra, you are to listen to me and you are to listen well. I am the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light and it is your duty to do as I command.” Ann shook a finger at the woman. “I’ll have no arguments, do you hear? I must go find the prophet before he does something beyond foolish.

“Richard is of utmost importance to our cause—you know that. I’m getting old and would only slow the search for him and his captor. I want you to go after him. No arguments, now. You are to find Richard Rahl, and put the fear of the Creator back into our wayward Sister Nicci.”

Alessandra threw her arms around Ann, sobbing her thanks. Ann patted the Sister’s back, feeling miserable about losing a companion, and afraid that she might have lost her faith in everything for which she stood.

Alessandra pushed away. “Prelate, will you be able to travel alone? Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Bah. I may be old, but I’m not useless. Who do you think came into the center of Jagang’s army and rescued you, child?”

Alessandra smiled through her tears. “You did, Prelate, all by yourself. No one but you could have done such a thing. I hope I can do half as well for Nicci, when I find her.”

“You will, Sister. You will. May the Creator cradle you in His palm as you go on your journey.”

Ann knew that they were both going off on difficult journeys that could take years.

“Hard times lie ahead,” Alessandra said. “But the Creator has two hands, does He not? One for me, and one for you, Prelate.”

Ann couldn’t help but smile at such a mental picture.

Chapter 29

“Come in,” Zedd grouched to the persistent throat-clearing outside his tent.

He poured water from the ewer into the dented metal pot that served as his washbasin sitting atop a log round. When he splashed some of the water up onto his face, he gasped aloud. He was astonished that water that cold would still pour.

“Good morning, Zedd.”

Still gasping, Zedd swiped the frigid water from his eyes. He squinted at Warren. “Good morning, my boy.”

Warren blushed. Zedd reminded himself he probably shouldn’t call someone twice his own age “boy.” It was Warren’s own fault; if the boy would just stop looking so young! Zedd sighed as he bent to forage for a towel among the litter of maps, dirty plates, rusty dividers, empty mugs, blankets, chicken bones, rope, an egg he’d lost in the middle of a lesson weeks back, and other paraphernalia that seemed to collect over time in the corner of his small field tent.

Warren was twisting his purple robes into a small wad at his hip. “I just came from Verna’s tent.”

Zedd halted his search and looked back over his shoulder.

“Any word?”

Warren shook his head of curly blond hair. “Sorry, Zedd.”

“Well,” Zedd scoffed, “that doesn’t mean anything. That old woman has more lives than a cat I once had that was hit by lightning and fell down a well, both in the same day. Did I ever tell you about that cat, my boy?”

“Well, yes, you did, actually.” Warren smiled. “But if you like, I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

Zedd dismissed the story with a feeble wave as he turned more serious. “I’m sure Ann is fine. Verna knows Ann better than I do, but I do know that that old woman is downright hard to harm.”

“Verna said something like that.” Warren smiled to himself. “Ann always could scowl a thunderstorm back over the horizon.”

Zedd grunted his agreement as he went back to digging through his pile. “Tougher than bad meat, she is.” He tossed two outdated maps over his shoulder.

Warren leaned down a little. “What is it you’re looking for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My towel. I know I had—”

“Right there,” Warren said.

Zedd looked up. “What?”

“Your towel.” Warren pointed again. “Right there on the back of the chair.

”

“Oh.” Zedd snatched up the wandering towel and dried his dry face. He scowled at Warren. “You have the eyes of a burglar.” He tossed the towel in the pile with everything else, where it belonged.

Warren’s grin returned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Zedd cocked his head. “Do you hear that?”

Warren’s grin melted away as he joined Zedd in listening to the sounds outside. Horses clogged along the hard ground, men talked as they passed the tent, others called orders, fires crackled, wagons squeaked, and gear clanged and rattled.

“Hear what?”

Zedd’s face twisted in vague unease. “I don’t know. Like, maybe a whistle.”

Warren lifted a thumb over his shoulder. “The men whistle now and again, to get the attention of their horses and such. Sometimes it’s necessary.”

They all did their best to keep the whistling and other noise down. Whistles, especially, carried in such open terrain. It was hard to miss something the size of the D’Harans’ encampment, of course, so they moved camp from time to time to keep the enemy from getting too confident about their location. Sound could give away more than they would like.

Zedd shook his head. “Must have been that. Someone’s long whistle.”

“But still, Zedd,” Warren went on, “it’s long past time when Ann would have sent Verna a message.”

“There were times when I was with Ann that she couldn’t send messages.” Zedd waved an arm expansively. “Bags, there was a time when I wouldn’t let her use that confounded journey book. The thing gave me the shivers. I don’t know why she couldn’t just send letters, like normal people.” His face, he knew, was betraying his concern. “Confounded journey books. Lazy way of doing things. I got to be First Wizard and I never needed a journey book.”

“She could have lost it. That’s what Verna suggested, anyway.”

Zedd held up a finger. “That’s right. She very well could have. It’s small—it could have fallen from her belt and she didn’t notice until she and Alessandra made camp. She’d never find the book in a circumstance like that.” He shook the finger. “Makes my point, too. You shouldn’t depend on little trick things of magic, like that. It just makes you lazy.”