Confessor (Sword of Truth 11)

“What was that all about?” Johnrock demanded of Snake-face.

Commander Karg shrugged. “Ja’La dh Jin.”

Johnrock paused in surprise at the answer. “Ja’La dh Jin?”

“It’s the Game of Life. What do you expect?”

By his deepening frown, Johnrock apparently didn’t understand. Richard did.

The Game of Life was about more than just what happened on the field. It included everything that surrounded the game—what came before and what came after. It was strategy and intimidation beforehand, the play itself out on the field, and what resulted from the outcome of that game. Because of the rewards after the game, what took place before became part of the game itself. Ja’La dh Jin wasn’t just the game on the field, it encompassed everything.

Life was about survival. If you lived, if you died, all depended on what you did in life. Survival was what mattered. That made everything all a part of the game, just as everything in life mattered. A woman camp follower stabbing a player on an opposing team so that her team would win, painting the men with red paint, or cracking the skull of the point man on the other team in the middle of the night was all part of the game of life.

If you were to live, then you had to fight to live. It was as simple as that. That was the Game of Life. Life and death were the reality that counted, not how someone followed a prescribed set of rules. If you died because you failed to protect yourself, you couldn’t cry foul after you were dead. You had to fight for your own life, fight to win, no matter the circumstances.

Commander Karg stood. “Get some rest—both of you. Tomorrow decides if you live or if you die.”

The man headed for the ring of guards, yelling at them as he went.

“Thanks, Johnrock,” Richard said after the commander had gone. “You showed up just in time.”

“I told you that I’d watch out for you.”

“You did good, Johnrock.”

Johnrock grinned. “You just do good tomorrow. Eh, Ruben?”

Richard nodded as he gulped air. “I promise.”

CHAPTER 31

Verna glanced up when the Mord-Sith marched up to the other side of the small desk and came to a halt.

“What is it, Cara?”

“Any word in the journey book?”

Verna sighed heavily as she set down the watch reports she had been studying. They indicated that there was increasing activity surrounding the Ja’La matches down in the Order’s encampment. Verna remembered what seemed like a lifetime ago, back at the Palace of the Prophets, when Warren had first told her all about Ja’La Day, about how Emperor Jagang was bringing Ja’La dh Jin to all of the Old World. Like so many things, Warren had studied Ja’La dh Jin and knew a great deal about it.

She supposed that she wasn’t so much reading the reports as she was reminiscing about Warren. How she missed him. How she missed so many people who had been lost in this war.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Verna said. “I left a message in the journey book in case Ann should happen to take a look in hers, but she hasn’t answered, yet.”

Cara tapped an insistent finger on the desktop. “It’s obvious that something has happened to Nicci and Ann.”

“I don’t disagree.” Verna spread her hands. “But we can’t do anything about it if we don’t even know what happened to them. What are we to do? Where are we to look? We’ve searched the palace but the place is so vast that there is no telling how many places we might have overlooked.”

Cara’s expression was part anger, part worry, and part impatience. With this on top of Richard being nowhere to be found, Verna understood all too well how the woman felt.

“Have your Sisters found anything at all unusual?”

Verna shook her head. “The other Mord-Sith?”

“Nothing,” Cara said under her breath as she went back to pacing. She mulled over the situation for a moment, then turned back to Verna. “I still think that what ever happened had to have happened the night they went down to the tomb.”

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong, Cara, but we’re not even sure that they ever made it down to the tombs. What if they changed their mind for some reason and went somewhere else first? What if someone brought a message or something to Ann, and they rushed off somewhere else? What if something happened before they even went down to the tomb?

“I don’t think so,” Cara said as she folded her arms and paced. “I still think something down there is wrong. Something down in the tombs just feels wrong.”

Verna didn’t question what could be “wrong.” She had already done that to no avail. Cara didn’t know what was wrong. She simply had a vague feeling that something was not right down in the tombs.

“Your feeling doesn’t give us much to go on. Maybe if it was something a little more specific.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried to think of what could be the caus

e of it?”

Verna watched Cara slowly pace. “Well, if you don’t know what’s giving you this feeling about the place, maybe there is someone else who would know why you think something is wrong down there.”

“That sounds like Lord Rahl. He always says to think of the solution, not the problem.” Cara sighed. “But no one ever goes down—” She spun around and snapped her fingers. “That’s it!”

Verna frowned suspiciously. “What’s it?”

“Someone who knows the place.”

“Who?”

Cara put both hands on the desk and leaned in with a cunning grin. “The crypt staff. Darken Rahl had people who took care of the tombs—took care of his father’s tomb, anyway.”

“What’s this about the tombs?” Berdine asked as she strolled into the room.

Nyda, a tall, blond, blue-eyed Mord-Sith, was with her. Verna saw Adie bringing up the rear.

“It just occurred to me that the crypt staff would know about the tombs,” Cara said.

Berdine nodded. “You’re probably right. Some of the writing down in the tombs is in High D’Haran, so Darken Rahl sometimes took me with him down there to help him with things he was having difficulty translating.

“Darken Rahl was quite picky about how his father’s tomb was cared for. He had people put to death for failing to properly care for the place. His father’s tomb, anyway.”

“It’s just stone vaults.” Verna was incredulous. “There’s nothing down there—no furniture, drapes, or carpeting. What is there to be picky about?”

Berdine rested a hip against the desk as she folded her arms and leaned in as if she was full of gossip.

“Well, for one thing he insisted that fresh white roses always fill the vases. They had to be pure white. He also demanded that the torches always be kept burning. The crypt staff was not supposed to allow a rose petal to remain on the floor, or a torch that went out to go cold without being replaced with a fresh, burning one.