Confessor (Sword of Truth 11)
Jennsen turned to a commotion behind her and saw the same big soldiers pushing Anson, Owen, and Marilee, Owen’s wife, through the opening and into the tent as if they were herding animals to slaughter. Jennsen hadn’t seen much of the others over the course of their swift journey north. All of them had been kept gagged and blindfolded for most of the way to make sure that they were little more trouble to bring along than the rest of the baggage and supplies. It made Jennsen’s heart ache to see her friends back in the clutches of such evil people. It felt like a recurring nightmare.
In the distance, on the other side of the tent’s large outer room, Jennsen saw Emperor Jagang sitting behind a heavy table, eating. Dozens of candles standing to each side of the table gave that end of the room the appearance of an altar in the inner sanctum. Slaves waited in a line against the back wall behind the emperor. The table was spread with an abundance of food, enough for a banquet. Jagang looked to be eating alone.
The emperor’s black eyes were watching Jennsen as if she were a pheasant he was considering beheading, gutting, and roasting for the reclusive feast. He lifted a hand and with two fingers glistening with grease signaled her closer. Large rings on his fingers, as well as long jewel-encrusted chains around his neck, glimmered in the candlelight.
Followed closely by a frightened Anson, Owen, and Marilee, Jennsen crossed the thick carpets to stand before the emperor’s table. The candle stands lit a table spread with ham, fowl, beef, and sauces of every sort. There were nuts and fruits, as well as a variety of cheeses.
His terrible gaze never leaving her, Jagang used the fingers of one hand to twist the breast off a small roasted bird. He held a silver goblet in the other hand. He took a big bite, then washed it down with red wine from the goblet. She knew it was red wine because much of it rolled down from the sides of his mouth to drip all over his sleeveless lamb’s-wool vest.
“Well, well,” he said as he plunked the goblet down on the table, “if it isn’t Richard Rahl’s little sister come for another visit.”
The last time she had come to the emperor’s table she had been with Sebastian. The last time she had been a guest. The last time she had not known that she was being used. She had grown up a lot since that day.
“Hungry, darlin?”
Jennsen was starving. “No,” she lied.
Jagang smiled. “I don’t need to be a dream walker to be able to tell that you’re lying.”
Jennsen flinched when the man’s big fist slammed down on the table. Plates jumped. Bottles fell over. Goblets spilled. The three people behind her gasped.
Jagang shot to his feet. “I don’t like being lied to!”
Fright flashed through Jennsen at his sudden rage. Veins stood out in his forehead. His whole face had gone red. She thought he might strike her dead where she stood.
Before he was able to act on his rage, a shaft of light slashed into the room. Two women ducked through the opening in the tent. The heavy wool flap hanging over the opening lowered, allowing the gloom to settle back in.
Jagang turned his attention from Jennsen to the two women. “Ulicia, Armina, any word of Nicci?”
The two, obviously taken off guard by the question, shared a brief look with each other.
“Answer me, Ulicia! I’m in no mood for games!”
“No, Excellency, there has been no word about Nicci.” The woman cleared her throat. “If I may ask, Excellency, do you have reason to believe she may be alive?”
Jagang cooled visibly. “Yes.” He sank down into his elaborately carved chair. “I’ve had dreams of her.”
“But, the link to the Rada’Han went dead. There is no way she could have gotten it off without help. Perhaps they were nothing more than dreams.”
“She’s alive!”
Sister Ulicia dipped her head in a bow. “Of course, Excellency. You would know better than I about such things.”
He rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “I haven’t been sleeping well of late. I grow weary of sitting in this miserable place, waiting for progress. I should have the men building the ramp whipped, as slow as they are. I thought the executions after the riots would spur them into being more devoted to their duty. This is for our cause, after all. Perhaps if I throw some of the slower workers from the top of the ramp that would hurry the rest of them.”
“Well, Excellency,” Sister Ulicia said as she stepped forward, looking eager to turn his attention away from his dark and violent thoughts, “we have something that we think may make you feel a great deal better about our progress.”
He looked up sharply, then scooped his goblet off the table and took a long drink. He set the goblet back down and squeezed off a fistful of ham from the large platter of it sitting just to his right.
After taking a bite from the meat in his hand, he gestured to the two Sisters. “What is it, then?”
“A number of books were brought back with Jennsen. One in particular is…well, Excellency, we think you should see it for yourself.”
Jagang was looking impatient again. He rolled a hand.
Both women rushed forward at the command. Sister Armina held up the book Jennsen remembered seeing brought up from t
he secret underground room in the graveyard.
“The Book of Counted Shadows,” she said.
Jagang looked to each woman’s eyes, then held both hands out to the side. A slave immediately stepped forward with a towel and started cleaning the emperor’s hands. When Jagang tilted his head toward the table, other slaves stepped in to start clearing platters and bowls away. After they had cleared space on the table a young woman, dressed in an outfit that revealed far more than it concealed, rushed in to wipe the wooden tabletop.
As Jagang was still having his hands cleaned, Sister Armina set the book down before the emperor. He slapped the slave’s hands away and turned to the book. He leaned over as he opened the cover and began inspecting the text inside.
“Well,” he finally asked as he turned pages, “what do you think? Is it the true copy or a false one?”
“It’s not a copy, Excellency.”
He looked up with a frown that seemed like it might turn lethal. “What do you mean it’s not a copy?”
“It’s the original, Excellency.”
Jagang blinked, unsure that he’d heard her right. He leaned back in his chair to stare up at the woman.
“The original?”
Sister Ulicia stepped close. She leaned across the table and turned the pages back to the beginning.
“Look at this, here, Excellency.” She tapped a place to show him. “This is the maker’s mark. It’s his seal containing a spell to signify that this is original.”
“So what? Maybe the seal is false.”
Sister Ulicia was shaking her head. “No, Excellency. That’s just not the way it works. When a prophet writes down prophecies in a book he puts this kind of mark in the front of his writings to signify that it’s the original, that it’s his work, in his own hand, and not a copy.
“You have many books of prophecy, Excellency, but with a couple of exceptions, they are all copies of the original. Most have no seal at all. Sometimes the man who copies the original makes his own mark so that his work can be identified and to make sure it is recognized as a copy. Such a seal to signify a copy is never like this. This is a unique sort of mark that is never put in a copy, only in the original.