The Pillars of Creation (Sword of Truth 7)

“A very agitated official came to see me,” the Mord-Sith said in a quiet, silken voice. Her deadly glare moved very deliberately from Sebastian to Jennsen. “He thought I needed to come down here and see what was going on. He mentioned a woman with red hair. He seemed to think she might be trouble of some sort. What do you think he was so worried about?”

The captain, who was behind Jennsen, stepped out to the side. “There’s nothing going on that you need concern yourself—”

With a flick of her wrist, the Agiel spun up into her fist and was pointing at the captain’s face. “I didn’t ask you. I asked this young woman.”

The glare turned back to Jennsen. “Why do you suppose he would say that I needed to come down here? Hmm?”

Jennsen.

“Because,” Jennsen said, unable to look away from the cold blue eyes, “he’s a pompous dolt and he didn’t like it that I wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t, just because he wore white robes.”

The Mord-Sith smiled. It was not humor, but grim respect for the veracity of what Jennsen had said.

The smile evaporated as she glanced at Sebastian. When her gaze returned to Jennsen, it looked as if it could cut steel. “Pompous or not, that doesn’t change the fact that there is a prisoner being released for no more cause than your word.”

Jennsen.

“My word is sufficient.” Jennsen irritably lifted the knife at her belt and flashed the handle at the woman. “This backs my word.”

“That,” the Mord-Sith said in her silken hiss, “means nothing.”

Jennsen could feel her face going red. “It means—”

“Do you think we’re stupid?” The Mord-Sith’s skintight red leather creaked as she leaned closer. “That if you come in here and merely wave that knife handle in our faces, that our faculty of reason will evaporate?”

The tight leather outfit revealed a body as shapely as it was powerful. Jennsen felt small and ugly before this flawless creature. Worse, she felt totally inadequate faking a story before a woman as confident as this woman was, a woman who seemed able to see right through their invented tale, but Jennsen knew that if she dared to waver now, she and Sebastian were as good as dead.

Jennsen put as much of an edge to her voice as she could manage. “I carry this knife for Lord Rahl, in his name, and you will yield to it.”

“Really. Why?”

“Because this knife shows the trust Lord Rahl has placed in me.”

“Ah. So just because you happen to carry it, we’re supposed to believe that Lord Rahl gave it to you? That he trusts you? How are we to know you didn’t find the knife? Hmm?”

“Find it? Are you out of your—”

“Or perhaps you and this prisoner, here, ambushed the knife’s true owner—murdered him—for no reason but to get your hands on a coveted object, hoping it would give you credibility.”

“I don’t know how you can possibly believe such a—”

“Or maybe you’re a coward and murdered the knife’s owner in his sleep? Or maybe you didn’t even have that much courage, and you bought if from cutthroats who murdered him. Is that what you did? Simply got it from the real murderer?”

“Of course not!”

The Mord-Sith leaned closer yet, until Jennsen could feel the woman’s breath on her own face. “Maybe you enticed the man it belong to into lying between your sweet legs while your partner, here, stole it. Or maybe you’re just a whore and it was the gift of a murderous thief in exchange for your womanly favors?”

Jennsen backed away. “I—I wouldn’t—”

“Showing us such a weapon proves nothing. The fact is, we don’t know who the knife belongs to.”

Surrender.

“It’s mine!” Jennsen insisted.

The Mord-Sith straightened and lifted an eyebrow. “Really.”

The captain folded his arms. Sebastian, standing to Jennsen’s side, didn’t move. Jennsen fought to contain tears of panic trying to surface. She endeavored to show a defiant face, instead.

Jennsen. Surrender.

“I have important business on behalf of Lord Rahl,” Jennsen said through gritted teeth. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Ah,” the Mord-Sith mocked, “business on behalf of Lord Rahl. Well, that does sound important.” She folded her arms. “What business?”

“It’s my affair, not yours.”

The cool smile returned. “Magic business? That it? Magic?”

“It’s not any of your concern. I’m doing Lord Rahl’s bidding and you would do well to remember that. He’d not be pleased to know you were meddling.”

The eyebrow lifted again. “Meddling? My dear young lady, it is impossible for a Mord-Sith to meddle. If you were who you say you are, you would know that much, at least. Mord-Sith exist only to protect Lord Rahl. It would be a dereliction of my duty, don’t you think, were I to ignore such curious goings-on?”

“No—I told you—”

“And if Lord Rahl finds himself bleeding his life away, and asks me what happened, before he dies I can tell him that a girl with a pretty knife danced in here and demanded to have a very suspicious and tight-lipped prisoner released, and, well, we were so dazzled by the knife and by her big blue eyes that we all just thought we ought to let her have her way. That about it?”

“Of course you have to—”

“Do some magic for me.” The Mord-Sith reached out and tested some of Jennsen’s red hair between a finger and thumb. “Hmm? A bit of magic to prove yourself. A spell, a charm, a dazzling show of your craft. Call some lightning down, if you will. If not that, maybe then just a simple flame fluttering in midair?”

“I don’t—”

“Do some magic, witch.” Her voice was a deadly command.

Surrender.

Angry at the voice, but more so at the Mord-Sith, Jennsen slapped the hand away from her hair. “Stop it!”

Faster than seemed possible, Sebastian went for the woman. Faster yet, her Agiel spun into her hand. She rammed the tip against Sebastian’s shoulder as he was still flying at her.

Sebastian cried out as the weapon stopped him cold. The woman calmly pressed the Agiel against his shoulder, driving him to the ground. Sebastian screamed as he lay crumpled on the floor.

Jennsen rushed toward the Mord-Sith. In one swift movement, the woman stood and had the Agiel before Jennsen’s face, halting her. At their feet, Sebastian writhed in agony.

Thinking only of Sebastian, only of getting to him, only of helping him, Jennsen grabbed the Agiel, pushing it and the woman’s hand away. She went to one knee beside Sebastian. He had rolled to his side, holding himself, trembling, as if he’d been struck by lightning.

He calmed under her gentle touch as she told him to lie still. As he recovered somewhat and tried to sit up, Jennsen put an arm behind his shoulders and helped him. He leaned against her, panting, clearly suffering the lingering effect of the pain of the weapon. He blinked, trying to clear his watering eyes, struggling to focus his vision. Jennsen, horrified by what the touch of the Agiel could do, stroked a hand down Sebastian’s face. She lifted his chin, trying to see if he recognized her, if he was all right. He could hardly sit up on his own, but he gave her a little nod.

“Stand up.” The Mord-Sith towered over them. “Both of you.”

Sebastian couldn’t, yet. Jennsen shot to her feet, defiantly facing the woman. “I’ll not tolerate this! When I tell Lord Rahl about this, he’ll have you horsewhipped!”

The woman was frowning. She held the Agiel out. “Touch it.”

Again, Jennsen seized the weapon and shoved it aside. “Stop it!”

“It works,” the Mord-Sith muttered to herself, “I know it does—I can feel it.”

She turned and experimentally pressed the awful thing to the captain’s arm. He cried out and went to his knees.

“Stop it!” Jennsen caught hold of the red rod, pulling it back away from the captain.

The Mord-Sith stared. “How do you do that?”

>

“Do what?”

“Touch it without being hurt? No one is immune to the touch of an Agiel—not even Lord Rahl himself.”

Jennsen realized then that something unprecedented had happened. She didn’t understand it, but she knew that while the situation was confused, she had to seize the opportunity.

“You wanted to see magic—you saw it.”