Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6) - Page 133

The line moved fairly rapidly because the Protector tolerated no long conversations. At most, he would riffle through some of his papers before telling the supplicant something. What with all the wailing and weeping in the room, Nicci couldn’t hear any of it.

When it was her turn, one of the guards shoved Kamil back. “Only one citizen may speak with the Protector.”

Nicci tilted her head to signal Kamil to stand back and not make a scene. The guards each grabbed an arm and fairly carried her to the spot in front of the Protector. Nicci was indignant at being treated so roughly—like some common…citizen.

She had always enjoyed a kind of authority, sometimes spoken, sometimes unspoken, and had never really given it much thought. She wanted to have Richard see what it was like to live as the common working people. Richard seemed to flourish.

The two guards stood close at her shoulders, in case she caused any trouble. They must have seen it enough. She felt her face flushing at her treatment.

“Protector Muksin, my husband was—”

“Name.” His dark-eyed gaze was skipping over the people remaining in line, no doubt measuring how far off dinner was.

“Richard.”

He looked up sharply. “Full name.”

“His name is Richard Cypher. He was taken in last evening.”

Nicci didn’t want to say the word “arrested,” fearing to lend weight to a serious charge.

He shuffled through papers, not at all seeming to be interested in looking at her. Nicci found it slightly confounding when the man didn’t look at her in that calculating way men had of measuring her dimensions in their mind, imagining what they couldn’t see, as if she didn’t know what they were doing. The two guards, though, were looking down the front of her dress.

“Ah.” Protector Muksin waved a paper. “You are lucky.”

“He has been released, then?”

He looked up as if she were daft. “We have him. His name is on this paper. There are many places people are taken. The Protectors of the people can’t be expected to know where they all are.”

“Thank you,” Nicci said without knowing what she was thanking him for. “Why is he being held? What are the charges?”

The man frowned. “How would we know the charges. He has not yet confessed.”

Nicci felt dizzy. A number of the other women fainted when they spoke to the Protector. The guard’s hands on her arms tightened. The Protector’s hand started to lift to signal them to remove her. Before he could, Nicci spoke in as calm a voice as she could muster.

“Please, Protector Muksin, my husband is no troublemaker. He never does anything but work. He never speaks ill of anyone. He is a good man. He always does as he is told.”

For one fraction of a second, as she watched sweat roll down the man’s cheeks, he seemed to be considering something.

“Has he a skill?”

“He is a good laborer for the Order. He loads wagons.”

She knew the answer was a mistake before she had completed it. The hand lifted, flicked, dismissing her like a gnat. With a mighty jerk, the guards lifted her from her feet and whisked her from the important man’s presence.

“But my husband is a good man! Please, Protector Muksin! Richard did not cause any of the trouble! He was home!”

Her words were sincere, and much the same as those spoken by the women before her. She was furious that she could not convince him that she was different—that Richard was different. The others, she knew now, had all tried to do the same.

Kamil ran behind as the guards carried her down a short, dark hall to a side door out of the stone fortress. Evening light stole in when they opened the door. They shoved her. Nicci stumbled down the steps. Kamil was shoved out right behind her. He fell facedown in the dirt. Nicci knelt to help him up.

From her knees, she looked up to the doorway. “What about my husband?” she pressed.

“You can come back another day,” one guard said. “When he confesses, the Protector can tell you the charges.”

Nicci knew he would never confess. He would die, first.

That was not a problem, as far as these men were concerned.

“Can I see him?” Nicci folded her hands prayerfully as she knelt beside Kamil. “Please, can I at least see him?”

One of the guards whispered to the other.

“Have you any money?” he asked her.

“No,” she said in a mournful cry.

They started to go back in.

“Wait!” Kamil cried out.

When they paused, he ran up the steps. He lifted his pant leg and pulled off a boot. Upending it, a coin fell into his palm. Without reservation, he handed the silver coin to the guard.

The man made a sour face when he looked at the coin. “This isn’t enough for a visit.”

Kamil seized the big man’s wrist as he started to turn. “I have another at home. Please, let me go get it. I can run. I can be back in an hour.”

The man shook his head. “Not tonight. Visits for those who can pay the fee are the day after tomorrow, at sunset. But only one visitor is allowed.”

Kamil waved his hand at Nicci. “His wife. She will visit him.”

The guard swept an appraising look over Nicci, smirking, as if to consider what more she might have to give to see her husband.

“Just be sure to bring the fee.”

The door slammed shut.

Kamil raced down the steps and seized her arm, his big eyes brimming with tears. “What are we going to do? That’s two more days they will have him. Two more days!”

He was starting to choke on his panic. He hadn’t said it, but she knew what he meant. That was two more days to torture a confession out of him. Then they would bury Richard in the sky.

Nicci took a firm grip on the boy’s arm and walked him away. “Kamil, listen to me. Richard is strong. He will be all right. He’s been through a lot before. He’s strong. You know he’s strong?”

Kamil was nodding as he bit his lower lip and wept, reduced to a child by his fear for his friend.

Nicci stared at the ceiling the entire night. The next day, she went to stand in line for bread. She realized, as she stood with the other women, that she must have the same hollow look as they. She was in a daze. She didn’t know what to do. Everything seemed to be disintegrating.

That night, she s

lept only a few hours. She was in a state of restless anxiety, counting the minutes until the sun would come up. When it did, she sat at the table, clutching the loaf of bread she would take to Richard, waiting the eternity it took for the day to drag by. The neighbor lady, Mrs. Sha’Rim, brought Nicci a bowl of cabbage soup. She stood over Nicci, smiling sympathetically, while she waited to make sure Nicci ate the soup. Nicci thanked Mrs. Sha’Rim, and said the soup was delicious. She had no idea what the soup tasted like.

In the early afternoon, Nicci decided to go wait at the stronghold until she was allowed in. She didn’t want to be late. Kamil was sitting on the steps, waiting for her. A small crowd of people milled about.

Kamil shot to his feet. “I have the silver mark.”

Nicci wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to pay it, that she would, but she didn’t have a silver mark. She had only a few silver pennies.

“Thank you, Kamil. I will find the money to pay you back.”

“I don’t want it back. It is for Richard. It is what I choose to do for Richard. It is worth it to me.”

Nicci nodded. She knew she would rot before anyone came up with a penny for her, yet she had devoted her entire life to helping others. Her mother told her once that it was wrong to expect thanks, that she owed help to those people because she was able to give it.

As Nicci walked down the steps, people came up and offered their best wishes. They asked her to tell Richard to be strong, and not to give in. They asked her to tell them if there was anything they could do, or if she needed money.

They’d had Richard for days. Nicci didn’t even know if he was still alive. The silent walk to the prison stronghold was terror. She feared to find he had been put to death, or to see him, and know he would die a lingering, suffering agony from his questioning. Nicci knew very well how the Order questioned people.

At the side door, a half-dozen other women along with a few older men stood in the sweltering sun. All the women had sacks of food. None of the people spoke. They were all bent under the weight of the same dread.

Nicci stared at the door as the sun slowly sank. In the gathering dusk, Kamil hung his waterskin on Nicci’s shoulder.

Tags: Terry Goodkind Sword of Truth Fantasy
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