Chainfire (Sword of Truth 9)

There were a number of people dressed in the simple clothes of farmers, tradesmen, and merchants, many with their wives and some with children. Like those Verna had seen in the lower levels within the great plateau atop which sat the People’s Palace or at the markets set up outside, they appeared to be visitors come to trade or make purchases. Others, though, were dressed in finery for their sojourn to the palace. From what Verna had learned from Berdine, there were rooms that guests could rent if they wished to stay for an extended period. There were, as well, quarters for the many people who lived and worked at the palace.

Most of the people in robes walked calmy, as if this were just another part of their day. Those dressed in finery tried to look just as calm and not stare at the exquisite architecture of the palace, but Verna saw their wide eyes wandering. The simply dressed visitors, as they fell in with the flow of all the people making their way toward the fork that would take them to the passageway with the bell, openly peered about at everything, at the towering statues of men and women in proud poses carved from variegated stone, at polished two-story fluted columns soaring past balconies, at the spectacular black granite and honey-onyx floors.

Verna knew that such intricate and precise patterns in the stone floors, set with such tight grout joints, could have been created only by the most talented master craftsmen in all of the New World. Serving as Prelate at the Palace of the Prophets for a time, she had had to deal with the matter of the replacement of a section of beautifully patterned floor that had in the dim past been damaged by young wizards in training. The precise events leading to the damage and who, exactly, had been the guilty party remained shrouded in oaths not to tattle, but the result was that the bit of mischievous magic had in an instant torn up a long section of exquisitely laid marble floor. While the debris and loose tiles had long since been removed, the floor sat damaged for decades, filled in with serviceable but unsightly limestone, while life at the Palace of the Prophets moved on. The palace attitude toward the boys had been one of indulgence, in part out of a sense of regret for having to hold such young men against their will.

Verna had always been vexed that the damage had never been fixed—in part because by not fixing it it represented to her an attitude that had indulged such bad behavior. It had always seemed like she was the only one—except maybe until Richard came along—who was bothered by seeing such beauty marred. Richard expected the boys there to take responsibility for their actions. Even though he was held against his will, he never tolerated such senseless destructive behavior.

Warren saw matters the same way as Richard. Perhaps that was part of the reason they had become such fast friends. Warren had always been serious and dedicated about everything. After Richard had left the palace, Warren had reminded Verna that as the new prelate she no longer needed to complain about either the behavior or the floor; he encouraged her to act on her convictions. So, as Prelate, she both set new rules and set about seeing to the completion of the repairs to the floor.

That was when she had come to learn a thing or two about such floors and that while there were any number of men who boldly professed to be master craftsmen, very few actually were. Those who were let their work make clear the distinction. The former made the task a nightmare, the latter a joy.

She remembered how proud Warren had been of her for seeing the task through and for not accepting anything less than the best. She missed him so much.

Verna gazed around at the spectacular palace, at the intricate stone work, and yet such beauty now failed to move her. Since Warren had died everything seemed bland, uninteresting, and unimportant to her. Since Warren had died, life itself seemed drudgery.

Everywhere throughout the palace, wary soldiers patrolled, probably not ever realizing, or even considering, the staggering amount of human imagination, skill, and effort that had gone into the creation of such a place as the People’s Palace. Now, they were a part of it, a part of what kept it viable, like thousands of men just like them who for centuries had walked these same halls and kept them safe.

Verna noticed that some of the guards moved through the halls in pairs, while others patrolled in larger groups. The muscular young men were dressed in smart uniforms with molded leather shoulder and breast plates and all carried at least a sword. Many of the soldiers also carried pikes with gleaming metal points. Verna noticed special guards who wore black gloves and carried crossbows slung over their shoulders. The quivers at their belts held red-fletched bolts. The soldiers’ eyes were always on the move, watching everything.

“I seem to recall Richard mentioning the devotion,” Verna said, “but I didn’t think that they still did it when the Lord Rahl wasn’t at the palace. And especially not since Richard became the Lord Rahl.”

Verna hadn’t exactly meant it to be condescending, although she realized after she’d said it that it must have sounded that way. It was just that Richard was…well, Richard.

Berdine glanced at Verna askance. “He is still the Lord Rahl. We are no less bonded to him because he is away. The devotion is always done at the palace, whether the Lord Rahl is here or not. And regardless of how you may view him, he is the Lord Rahl by every measure. We have never had a Lord Rahl we respected as much as we respect him. That makes the devotion more meaningful, and more important, than it ever was before.”

Verna kept her mouth shut, but she cast Berdine a look that came all too easily to her as a Sister of the Light and now as Prelate. Even though she understood the reasons behind it, she was the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light, devoted to seeing the Creator’s will done. As a Sister of the Light, living at the Palace of the Prophets under the spell that slowed their aging, she had seen rulers come and go. The Sisters of the Light never bowed down to any of them.

She reminded herself that the Palace of the Prophets was gone. The Imperial Order now controlled many of the Sisters.

Berdine lifted an arm, indicating the palace around them. “The Lord Rahl makes all this possible. He gives us a homeland. He is the magic against magic. His rule keeps us safe. While in the past we have had masters who regarded the devotion as a demonstration of servitude, its origin is actually nothing more than an act of respect.”

Verna’s aggravation seethed just below the surface. This was not some mythic leader Berdine was talking about, some wise old king; it was Richard. As much as Verna respected and valued him, it was still Richard. Woods guide Richard.

Swiftly on the heels of her flash of indignation come regret for such unkind thoughts.

Richard always fought for what was right. He had valiantly put his life in peril for his noble beliefs.

He was also the one named in prophecy.

He was also the Seeker.

He was also the Lord Rahl, the bringer of death, who had turned the world upside down. Because of Richard, Verna was prelate. She wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

Richard was also their last hope.

“Well, if he doesn’t hurry up and join up with us to lead the D’Haran army in the final battle there will be none of us left to respect him.”

Berdine withdrew her reproachful stare and unexpectedly started toward the passageway that turned off to the left—the one where the bell had rung. “We are the steel against steel. Lord Rahl is the magic against magic. If he doesn’t come to fight with the army it is only because of his duty to protect us all from the dark forces of magic.”

“Simpleminded gibberish,” Verna muttered to herself as she hurried to catch up with the Mord-Sith. “Where are you going?” she called after the woman.

“To devotion. At the palace everyone goes to devotion.”

“Berdine,” Verna growled as she caught Berdine’s arm, “we don’t have time for this.”

“It is devotion. It is part of our bond to Lord Rahl. You would be wise to go to devotion and then maybe you will remember that.”

Verna stood frozen in the vast hall, stunned, watching the Mord-Sith stalk off. Verna had a vivid m

emory of the time that the bond to Richard had been severed. It hadn’t been for long, but in Richard’s absence from the world of life the protection of the bond to the Lord Rahl had ceased to exist.

In that brief window in time, when Richard and the bond were gone from them all, Jagang had stolen into Verna’s dreams to capture her mind. He had captured Warren as well. It had been beyond horror to have the dream walker in control of her consciousness, but it had been all the worse to know that Warren was just as helpless. Jagang’s brutal presence had dominated every aspect of their existence, from what they could think, to what they had to do. They no longer had control of their own will; Jagang’s will was all that mattered. Just the memory of the searing pain that had been sent through that link into her—and into Warren—unexpectedly brought the sting of tears to Verna’s eyes.

She quickly swiped away the tears and hurried after Berdine. Verna had important things to do, but she would lose untold time trying to find her way all alone in the vast interior of the People’s Palace. She needed the Mord-Sith to show her the way. If Verna had control of her gift it might help her find what she sought, but in the palace her Han was virtually useless. She would just have to go along with Berdine and hope that they could then get back to business without the loss of too much time.

The passageway to the left led under an interior bridge with a rail and balusters made of gray marble struck through with white veins. At a convergence of four passageways, the hall expanded into a square open to the sky. In the center of the square was a square pond with a short, polished, speckled gray granite seat all the way around that held the water within it. A large pitted rock sat in the water a little off center. Atop the rock sat the bell—apparently the one that had rung calling people to the devotion.

Gentle rain had begun to fall in through the open roof. The surface of the pond danced with the drops. Verna saw that the floor all around the square was gently sloped toward drains in order to handle any rain. The clay tiles helped reinforce the realization that the square was really out-of-doors.

All around the people were going to their knees, bowing down on the clay tile floor, facing the pond that held the now silent bronze bell.

Berdine’s dark discontent evaporated at seeing that Verna was coming with her. She smiled back happily and then did the strangest thing. She reached out and took Verna’s hand.

“Come on, let me take you up by the pond. It has fish.”