At the Palace of the Prophets when she had been his teacher, every time she thought she knew how he would react, he did something she would never have anticipated. He did that now, too, but in a subtly different way. What before had been, in a manner of speaking, unorganized youthful rebellion had turned to the dangerous scrutiny of a predator. Only the chains around his heart kept him from turning his claws on her.
When Nicci had first captured Richard, she had briefly seen, standing in the window of his house, a carving of a proud woman. Nicci had known, as sure as she knew night followed day, that Richard had carved it; it betrayed his unique vision, which she recognized. The statue was tangible evidence of a hidden side to his gift; it was a form of balance to his ability for war, yet she detected no magic in it.
Knowing that Richard had carved it, Nicci expected that he would have been interested in the carving job offered him back in Tanimura. He turned it down. He became moody and hardly spoke for several days afterward.
Whenever they went through a new city, she saw him taking in the statues and relief carvings. Since he, too, carved, she expected him to find such creations fascinating. He did not. She couldn’t understand it. None were as finely executed as what he had carved, to be sure, but still, they were carvings and she thought he would be at least interested in them. She was baffled by his grim mood whenever he saw them.
One time, she had taken the two of them out of their way for no reason but to show him a famous city square and the heroic work of art proudly displayed there. It was her thought to bring him a bit of cheer at seeing such a widely heralded work. He was not cheered. Surprised, she had asked him why he appeared to so dislike the sculpture, called Tormented Vision.
“It’s death,” he had said with distant revulsion as he turned away from the widely worshiped work.
It was a grand scene of a group of men, some gouging out their eyes after having seen the perfect Light of the Creator. Other of the men at the base of the statue, who’d not blinded themselves, were being mauled by underworld beasts. The Keeper’s minions shrank from the blinded men wailing at what they had seen before taking their own sight.
“No,” Nicci said, trying not to laugh and thereby humiliate him for his unenlightened view. She sought instead to gently rectify his perception of the famous work by explaining it to him.
“It’s a portrayal of the unworthy nature of mankind. It shows men who have just witnessed His perfect Light, and in so doing have thus been able to see the hopeless nature of man’s depravity. That they would cut out their own eyes shows how perfect the Creator is that they could no longer bear to look upon themselves.
“These men in the statue are heroes for showing us that we must not arrogantly endeavor to rise above our corrupt essence, for that would be sinfully comparing ourselves to the Creator. It shows that we are but faceless, insignificant parts of a greater whole of mankind, which He created, and thus no single life can hold any importance. This work teaches us that only the society as a whole can be worthwhile. Those at the bottom, here, who failed to join in with their fellow man and blind themselves, are suffering their grim eternal fate at the Keeper’s hands.
“Do you see, now? It honors mankind as the flawed creature he is, in order that we may see that each of us must devote ourselves to the betterment of our fellow man because that is our only means of doing good and honoring the Creator’s creation—us. So, you see, it’s not about death at all, but about the true nature of life.”
Nicci had been taught that the statue was uplifting for the people, since it confirmed everything they knew to be true.
In the whole of her life, no one had ever given her a look that made her feel smaller than the look Richard gave her.
Nicci swallowed in horror at that look in his eyes—it was the complete opposite of that elusive thing she sought from him. Without saying a word, he had made her want nothing so much at that moment as to crawl under a rock and die.
She couldn’t fathom how, but he made her feel unworthy to live. In some bewildering way, that look made her feel as blind as the men in the statue. He hadn’t said one word, but it was days before she could bring herself to look him in the eye again.
Sometimes, Richard seemed meek when she expected fierceness, and intense when she expected indifference. She was beginning to wonder if she had been mistaken in thinking there was something special about him.
Once, she had even given in to despair of there really being anything in him worth discovering. Watching him sleep, dejected that she had dared hope to uncover some meaning to life beyond what her mother had taught her, she had sadly resolved that the next day, after visiting the place she had grown up, she would end the whole senseless undertaking and return to Jagang.
After they went to her father’s business, though, she had seen again that quality in his gray eyes, and knew beyond doubt that she had not been mistaken.
This dance had only begun.
As they marched down the dim hallway of a rooming house, she gestured for Richard to stand aside. Nicci wanted this room. She wanted to lie down where it was dry and go to sleep. She resolutely rapped her knuckles on a door that looked as if it might come apart if she wasn’t careful.
She peered down at the register she had and then stuffed it in her pack as she waited for the door to be answered. The lodging house, like all the others they had been to, was supposed to let rooms to those new to the city. The emperor needed workers.
In her mind, she imagined that this would be the place. She stared at the stain on the sickly green plaster. She imagined seeing the tea-colored stain, in the shape of a horse’s rump with its tail flicked up, every day as she went about her life. She imagined Richard walking past the stain every day when he went to a job, and every night when he came home. Just like everyone else had to do.
Richard was watching the stairway beyond the door where Nicci again knocked. The stairs faced away. She couldn’t understand why he watched all the things he watched, but she didn’t discount his instincts. By the look on his face, he wasn’t pleased about the shadowed stairway. Being a Sister of the Dark, she was hardly frightened by the simple things that frightened other people. She knocked again.
A voice inside told them to go away.
“We need a room,” Nicci declared to the door in a tone that said she meant to have it. She knocked harder. “You’re on the register. We want the room.”
“It’s a mistake,” came the muffled voice from inside. “No room.”
“Now look here,” Nicci called out heatedly, “it’s getting late—”
Three youths she hadn’t seen sitting on the stairs swaggered around the newel post. The three were without shirts, showing off their muscles as young men were wont to do. All three had knives.
“Well, well,” one of the youths said with a cocky grin as his eyes took her in with lewd intent. “What have we here? Two little drowned rats?”
“I like the fancy tail on the little blond rat,” a second chortled.
Richard seized her arm and without a word shepherded her out the front door, back out into the rain. Nicci dragged her heels, protesting in a whisper the whole way. She couldn’t believe that Lord Rahl himself, the Seeker of Truth, and the bringer of death would be intimidated by three men—boys, really.
As they descended the rickety front stoop, Richard lifted an eyebrow at her while tipping his head close. “You have no power, remember? We don’t want this kind of trouble. I’d not like to get knifed over a room. This fight isn’t worth it. Knowing when not to fight is just as important as knowing how.”
Nicci wanted the room, but she finally conceded that Richard was probably right. The three sneering youths slouched at the door and watched, laughing, calling Richard names. So far, they weren’t interested in going out in the rain. She had seen young men like them before. This latest crop was no different from any of the others—arrogant, aggressive, and often dangerous. At least they made good soldiers for Jagang’s army.
&
nbsp; Richard hurried her along the street. He cut through some of the narrow passageways, taking several turns at random just to be sure they wouldn’t be followed.
The city of Altur’Rang seemed endless. In the overcast and rain, visibility was limited. The haphazard streets and byways were a confusing maze. It had been many years since she had been here last. With all the Order’s efforts, the place still had fallen on hard times. She feared to think of what it would have been like had the Order not been here to help.
When they emerged on a wider street, they found shelter under a small overhanging roof along with a small group of others trying to stay out of the rain. Nicci hugged herself against the cold. Richard, along with the others huddled under the roof, watched the occasional wagon making its way past on the muddy street. She didn’t know how Richard could keep warm in such weather. She appreciated his warmth, though, when the small crowd pressed her up against him. Richard glanced down at her, seeing her shiver, but he couldn’t bring himself to put an arm around her to help keep her warm. She didn’t ask.
Nicci sighed; the Old World didn’t stay cold for long. In another day or two it would again be warm and muggy.
When she had been at the crumbled remains of her father’s business, just before they left, Richard had looked as if he almost wanted to put his arms around her and comfort her. As much as he hated her, as much as he wanted to get away from her, he had been moved to sympathy.
Standing in the ruins, Nicci had let the memories wash through her, and had reveled in the exquisite anguish.
Richard’s eyes were fixed on something. She followed his gaze and saw that a wagon not far down the street was moving with an odd wiggle. Almost as soon as she noticed it, the wheel broke with a loud crack.
With the strain imposed by the wagon slipping and being twisted in the ruts, the spokes had snapped under the heavy load. The side of the wagon bed dropped with a splash. People on the walkway were splattered with mud. They cursed the two men in the wagon. The four-horse team struggled to a halt as the uneven load broke the axle, causing the good rear wheel to snap its spokes, too. The whole rear of the wagon collapsed into the mud.
The two men climbed down to assess the damage. The rawboned driver cursed and kicked at the broken wheel lying at a lopsided angle. The other man, shorter and stoutly built, calmly checked the rest of the wagon and its load.
With a frown of curiosity, Richard nudged Nicci ahead of him as he moved down the street toward the wagon. She went reluctantly, unhappy to be out from under the roof.
“We have to,” the husky man said with calm resolve. “It’s only a short distance.”
The other cursed again. “It’s not my job, Ishaq, and you know it. I’ll not do it!”
Then Ishaq threw up his hands in a helpless gesture as his headstrong partner went to the front of the wagon and urged the team on, managing to drag the wagon to the side of the road and out of the way of the other wagons that were beginning to back up down the street. Once he had the wagon to the side, he started unhitching the team.
The man at the back of the wagon turned and peered around at the people watching.
“I need some help,” Ishaq called to the sparse crowd.
“Doing what?” a nearby man asked.
“I’ve got to get this load of iron to the warehouse.” He stretched his thick neck and pointed. “Just there—in the brick building with the faded red paint on the side.”
“How much will you pay?” the bystander asked.
Ishaq was getting frustrated as he glanced over his shoulder and saw his partner leading the horses away. “I’m not authorized to pay anything, not without approval, but I’m sure that if you came round tomorrow—”
The people watching laughed with knowing disgust and went on their way. The man stood in the downpour, ankle deep in mud, alone. He sighed and turned to his wagon, pulling back the tarp to reveal iron bar stock.
Richard stepped out into the street. Nicci wanted to check some more rooms on the list before it got dark. She snatched at his sleeve, but he only gave her a scolding look. She huffed her displeasure but followed anyway as he made his way through the mud to the man struggling to pull a long bar from the wagon bed.
“Ishaq, is it?” Richard asked.
The man turned and gave Richard a nod. “That’s right.”
“If I help you, Ishaq,” Richard asked, “will I really get paid tomorrow? The truth, now.”
Ishaq, a stocky fellow with a curious red hat with a narrow brim all around, finally shook his head in resignation.
“Well,” Richard said, “if I help you get this load into your warehouse, then would you allow me and my wife to sleep in there where we could get out of the rain for the night?”
The man scratched his neck. “I’m not allowed to let anyone in there. What if something happened? What if things came up missing? I’d be out of work”—he snapped his fingers—“quick as that.”
“Just until tomorrow. I only want to get her out of the rain before she comes down sick. I have no use for iron. Besides, I don’t rob people.”
The man scratched his neck again as he gazed back at the wagon over his shoulder. He glanced at Nicci. She was shivering and it was not an act. He peered at Richard.
“Sleeping in the warehouse for one night is not a fair price for lugging all this in there. It will take hours.”
“If you agree to it, and I agree to it,” Richard said over the sound of the rain, “then it’s a fair price. I asked for no more, and I’m willing to do it for that price.”
The man stared at Richard as if he might be crazy. He pulled off his red hat and scratched his head of dark hair. He swept his wet hair back and replaced the hat.
“You would have to clear out when I come first thing in the morning with a new wagon. I could get in trouble—”
“I’ll not let you get in trouble over me. If I should get caught, I’ll say I broke in.”
The man thought about it for a moment, looking surprised at the last term Richard had thrown in an effort to close the deal. The man took another look over his shoulder at the load, then nodded his consent.
Ishaq hoisted a long bar of steel and put his shoulder under it. Richard lifted two and extended his arm forward to steady it, resting the heavy steel on the bunched muscles of his shoulder.
“Come on,” he said to Nicci. “Let’s get you inside where you can start to dry out and get warm.”
She tried to lift a steel bar to help, but it was beyond her strength. There were times when Nicci missed her power. She could at least feel it through the link to the Mother Confessor. It took more effort, but even at this great of a distance she was still able to maintain the link. She walked beside Richard as they followed the man to the dry room Richard had just won for her.
The next day dawned clear. Rainwater still dripped from the eaves, though. The night before, as Richard helped Ishaq lug the load into the warehouse, Nicci had used a light rope Richard had in his pack, stringing it between racks so she could hang up their wet things. By morning, most of their clothes were reasonably dry.
They’d slept on wooden pallets, the only other choice being the dirt. Everything smelled of iron dust, and was covered with a fine black film. There was nothing in the warehouse to keep them warm, other than a single lantern Ishaq had left them, over which Nicci could at least warm her hands. They slept as best they could in their wet clothes. By morning, those, too, were reasonably dry.
Much of the night, Nicci hadn’t slept, but, by the light of that lantern warming her hands, had watched Richard sleep as she thought about his gray eyes. It had been a shock to see those eyes in her father’s business. It brought back a flood of memories.
Richard opened the warehouse door just enough to squeeze through and carried their things out into the breaking dawn. The sky over the city looked as if it were rusting. He left her to watch their things while he went back in to lock the door from inside. She could hear him climbing the racks in the warehou
se to get up to a window. He had to jump to the ground.
When Ishaq finally came up the street with the fresh wagon, Richard and Nicci were sitting on a short wall on the entrance road to the warehouse doors. When the wagon rolled past them into the yard outside the building and came to a halt before the double doors, Nicci saw that the driver who had abandoned Ishaq the night before was at the reins.
The lanky driver set the brake as he eyed them suspiciously.
“What’s this?” he asked Richard.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Richard said, “but I just wanted to get here before you opened up so I could inquire if there might be any work available.”
Ishaq glanced at Nicci, seeing that she was dried out. He eyed the locked door and realized Richard had kept his word, and kept him from the possibility of getting in trouble for letting someone sleep in the warehouse.
“We can’t hire people,” the driver said. “You have to go to the office and put your name on the list.”
Richard sighed. “I see. Well, thank you, gentlemen. I’ll give it a try. A good day to you both.”
Nicci had learned to recognize in Richard’s voice when he was up to something. He gazed up the street, and then down the street, as if he were lost. He was up to something, now. He seemed to be giving Ishaq an opportunity to offer more than he had paid for the help. Ishaq had let Richard carry twice as much of the load the night before. Richard had done so without a word of protest.
Ishaq cleared his throat. “Hold on there.” He climbed down from the wagon to unlock the door, but paused before Richard. “I’m the load master. We need another man. You look to have a strong back.” Using the toe of his boot, he drew a little map in the mud. “You go to the office”—he lifted his thumb over his shoulder—“down this street, here, to the third turn, then right, past six more streets.” He made an X in the mud. “There’s the office. You get your name on the list.”
Faith of the Fallen Page 57