Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

“I wish Benjamin could see this,” Cara said, her blue eyes brimming with tears.

Kahlan was overcome with a burble of laughter. “I was going to say, ‘I wish Richard could see it.’”

Cara laughed with her as they were swept away by the river of people.

Kamil grabbed Kahlan’s hand. She saw him take Cara’s, too.

“Yeah,” he said with authority, “Richard carved it.”

“Where to?” Kahlan asked him. “Where do you think we can find him?”

“I guess we should make our way back up to the blacksmith’s place. Hopefully, Richard will show up there. If not, maybe Victor will know where he is.”

Kamil’s words, “Richard carved it,” rang joyfully through her mind.

Chapter 67

Richard climbed through the high window and dropped to the ground, his boots hitting with a thud. He could hardly believe he had slept the whole night under a tarp in the back of a wagon. He could hardly believe that Jori didn’t wake him so he could go home when they were close. The man probably didn’t think it was his job, and so he wouldn’t do it. Richard sighed. Maybe Jori hadn’t known he was in the back.

Richard brushed himself off. He stood outside the transport company building where he used to work when he had first come to Altur’Rang, and where he had been locked in all night. Of course, he had been asleep, so he didn’t know Jori had locked him inside.

Richard didn’t know where to go—home, or to the Retreat. The sky glowed orange and violet in the bright sunrise. He supposed there was no point in going home; that would only make him late to work. He decided he had better get to work.

Work. What work? This was the day of the celebration, the dedication. When Brother Narev saw the statue, Richard was not going to have to worry about work anymore.

He knew that if he ran, tried to escape, it would only trigger Nicci’s anger, and then Kahlan’s life would be forfeit. Richard had spent over a year with Nicci—as long a time as he had spent with Kahlan—and Nicci repeatedly had made clear his choices. Kahlan’s life was always the price in the balance.

Richard had no real choice. At least he would get to see Victor’s face when he saw the statue. Richard smiled at that thought. It was the only pleasant prospect the day held.

The day was most likely to end in the wet dark hole where he had been before. He missed a step at that thought. He didn’t want to go back into that place. It was so small. Richard didn’t like being trapped—especially in small places. He didn’t like either of those concepts; together, they were terrifying.

As fearful as the prospect of such a fate was, he had carved the statue with conscious intent and with forethought, knowing the probability of the eventual price. What he had accomplished was worth that price. Slavery was not life. Nicci had once promised him that if he died, or chose death, that would in itself be her answer, and she would not harm Kahlan. Now, Richard could only put his faith in that promise.

The statue existed. That was what mattered. Life existed. People needed to see that. So many people in the Old World needed to see that life existed, and was to be lived.

For so early in the morning, there was an unusual amount of activity on the streets of Altur’Rang. Now and again, squads of heavily armed city guards rushed down the streets. There were a lot of people come to the city for the dedication celebration. He supposed that was why there were so many people out on the streets.

The guards paid him no attention. He knew they soon would.

When he arrived at the Retreat, Richard was shocked by what he saw. The open miles of grounds were covered with people. They crowded in around the palace walls like ants around spilled honey. He couldn’t even begin to estimate how many people blanketed the surrounding hills. It was disorienting to see the panoply of color where before he had seen only brown dirt and green winter rye. He had no idea that this many people had wanted to come to the dedication. But then, he had been working day and night for months—how would he hear what people planned?

Richard skirted the worst of the throngs and made his way up the road toward the blacksmith’s shop. He wanted to get Victor and go down with him to the site to see the statue before the Order came out to begin the dedication. Victor would no doubt be eagerly waiting.

The road was crowded with people. They seemed excited, happy, and expectant, ft was a far cry from the way most people in the Old World usually appeared or behaved. Maybe a celebration, even one such as this, was better than the rest of their dreary days.

A half mile from Victor’s place, a wild-looking Brother Neal leaped into the road and thrust an arm in Richard’s direction.

“There he is! Grab him!”

Guards combing throughout the surrounding crowds drew weapons at Neal’s command. As they swept in around him, Richard’s first instinct was to fight. In an instant, he had assessed the enemy and calculated his attack. He had only to grab one sword from a clumsy guard and he would have them all. In his own mind, the grisly deed was already done. He had only to bring it to reality.

The guards came at him in a dead run. People scattered out of the way, some screaming in fright.

There was the matter of Neal, though. Neal was a wizard. But Richard could deal with that threat, too—need powered his ability. Need, and anger. He certainly had enough anger for the task. That part of him that the Sword of Truth used, that rage of dark violence, already thundered through him.

Except that Nicci had told him that if he used his magic, Kahlan would die. Would she know?

Sooner or later, she would.

Richard stood submissively still as the guards roughly seized him by his arms to subdue him. Others snatched his shirt from behind.

What did it really matter? If he resisted, it would only hurt Kahlan. If they executed him, Nicci would let Kahlan live her life.

But he didn’t want to go back into that dark hole.

Neal raced up, shaking a finger in Richard’s face. “What is the meaning of this, Cypher! What did you think you were going to accomplish!”

“May I ask what are you talking about, Brother Neal?”

Neal’s face was crimson. “The statue!”

“What, you don’t like it?”

With all his might, Neal slammed his fist into Richard’s middle. The guards holding him laughed. Richard had seen it coming and had tightened his muscles, but it still drove the wind from him. He finally managed to draw his breath.

Neal found that he enjoyed administering punishment, and did it again.

“Oh, you’re going to pay for your blasphemy, Cypher. You’re going to pay the price, this time. You’ll confess to it all, before we’re done. But first, you’ll watch your wicked perversion destroyed.” Neal, his face twisted with superior, self-righteous indignation, gestured to the burly guards. “Let’s get him down there. And don’t be shy about making way through the crowd.”

By midmorning, Kahlan’s hopes of the blacksmith showing up had all but vanished.

“I’m sorry,” Kamil said, looking glum as he watched her pace. “I don’t know why Victor isn’t here. I thought he would be, I really did.”

Kahlan finally halted and gave the worried lad a pat on the shoulder. “I know you did, Kamil. With the celebration today, and with what’s going on down there with the statue, this is hardly a normal day around here, I’m sure.”

“Look,” Cara said. Kahlan saw she was peering down toward the palace. “Guards with spears are moving the crowd off the plaza.”

Kahlan squinted off down at the hill. “Your eyes are better than mine. I can’t tell.” She cast a frustrated glare at the closed blacksmith’s shop. “But it’s doing us no good waiting up here. Let’s see if we can make it down there and get a better look.” Kahlan put a restraining hand on Cara’s arm. “But let’s not start a war with this crowd?”

Cara’s mouth twisted in exasperation. Kahlan turned to the young man kicking a toe at the dirt, looking shamed by his failed plan to help them fin

d Richard.

“Kamil, will you do something for me?”