Chainfire

by Terry Goodkind

  His big hand gave her an assuring pat between her shoulder blades. “Numbers do not matter. He will help give you the strength you need.” Grandfather lifted a cautionary finger. “And don’t forget, Jillian, the tellings say that you must be devoted to this one. He is to be your master.”

  Jillian nodded as they entered the vast graveyard. In the lower reaches there were simple stone markers. As they climbed higher, past row upon row of graves, they eventually came to larger and more ornate monuments to the dead. Some of them had grand statues of people in proud poses atop them. Some had carvings of the flame of life that represented the Creator’s light. Some had ancient inscriptions of lasting love. A few had only an ancient symbol on them that her grandfather told her was called a Grace. Some of the great monuments had only a name.

  Deep in the place of the dead, near the highest spot, where the weathered trees grew large and twisted, they came at last to a grand grave marked with a huge, ornately crafted stone monument. Atop it sat a speckled gray granite urn that held olives, pears, and other fruits, with grapes spilling out over one side, all carved from the same piece of stone. Grandfather, who had taken her to see this monument many times as he gave her tellings, said that the urn was meant to represent the bounty of life that man created through his creative efforts and hard work.

  He watched her as she paused and then stepped closer to a huge gravestone for someone long dead, carved from one piece of stone back in the time that the ancient city had been alive. She wondered what he had been like. She wondered if he had been kind, or cruel, or young, or old.

  Lokey alighted atop the carved stone grapes and ruffled his glossy black feathers before settling himself. She was glad that Lokey would keep her company in such a lonely place.

  Jillian reached out and traced a finger through the letters that spelled out the name carved in the gray granite.

  “Do you think the tellings are true, Grandfather? I mean, really true?”

  “I was taught that they are.”

  “Then he really will come back to us from the world of the dead? Really, truly come back to life from the dead?”

  She looked back over her shoulder. Her grandfather, standing close behind her, reached out and reverently touched the stone monument. He nodded solemnly.

  “He will.”

  “Then I will wait for him,” she said. “The priestess of the bones will be here to welcome him and serve him when he returns to life.”

  Jillian briefly glanced at the dust rising at the horizon and then turned back to the tomb. “Please hurry,” she implored of the dead man.

  As her grandfather watched, she gently ran her small fingers through the bold letters on the tomb.

  “I can’t cast the dreams without you,” Jillian said softly to the name carved in the stone. “Please hurry, Richard Rahl, and return to the living.”

  Chapter 45

  As Nicci’s horse, Sa’din, stepped through the empty city, the clop of his hooves on the stone cobbles echoed among the canyons of deserted buildings like a forlorn call that went unanswered. Colorful shutters stood open on some of the windows, closed on others. On the second floor of many of the buildings, tiny balconies overlooking the empty streets had wrought-iron railings standing in front of doors with drapes pulled tightly closed. There was no breeze to move the legs of a pair of pants Nicci saw hanging on a line strung between the second floors on opposite sides of an empty alleyway. The owner of the pants had long ago walked off without them.

  The quiet was so imposing that it bordered on ominous. It was an eerie feeling being within a city without its people, the mere shell that had once held life and vitality, now with form but no purpose. It was somewhat reminiscent of viewing a corpse, the way that it seemed so nearly alive and yet so still that there could be no doubt as to the terrible truth. If left this way, if not brought back from the cold brink with life, it would eventually crumble into forgotten ruins.

  Through narrow gaps between buildings, Nicci caught glimpses of the Wizard’s Keep embedded in a rocky slope high up on the monstrous mountain. The vast, dark complex perched like a menacing vulture ready to pick over the remains of the silent city. Spires, towers, and high bridges rising up from the Keep snagged clouds slowly drifting past the sheer, fractured face of the rock. The immense edifice was as sinister a sight as she had ever seen. Still, she knew that in reality it wasn’t a sinister place, and she was relieved to at last have arrived.

  It had been a long and difficult journey from the Old World up to Aydindril. There had been times when she had feared she would never be able to escape the snares of troops strung out along the way. There had been times when she had for a time lost herself in killing them. There were so many, though, that she knew she had no realistic hope of making any meaningful reduction in their numbers. It had enraged her that she could be little more than a pest to them. Still, her real purpose had been to reach Richard. The Order troops were merely an obstacle in her way.

  Through the conjured connection she had forged with Richard, Nicci knew that she was at long last near to him. She hadn’t found him yet, but she knew she soon would.

  For a time, before she had even started on her way, she had come to think that she would never again have a chance to see him.

  The fighting for control of Altur’Rang had been brutal. The troops who had attacked, having been surprised and bloodied in the beginning as evening had fallen, being as experienced and battle-hardened as they were, had quickly gathered their wits and their numbers and, by the light of fires they’d set, made a concentrated effort to turn the tide of battle.

  Even with as much as Nicci knew about the manner in which Jagang would deal with the insurrection in Altur’Rang, even she didn’t expect all that he had thrown an them. For a time, with the help of an unexpected third wizard, it had seemed that the Order troops would overpower the inexperienced defenders. It was a darkly hopeless moment when it appeared that the efforts of the people of Altur’Rang to defend themselves were to be for naught. The specter of failure, and the ensuing slaughter everyone knew such a failure would bring, came to seem not only inevitable, but all too real. For a time, Nicci and those with her believed they would not survive the night.

  Despite her wounds and exhaustion, and even more than her sincere desire to help the people she knew in Altur’Rang and all the innocent and helpless souls who would be slaughtered if they lost, the thought of never seeing Richard again had galvanized Nicci and given her the extra strength of will to push on. She used her fear of never seeing Richard again to ignite a fierce rage that could only be quenched with the blood of the enemy who stood in her way.

  At the crucial point in the battle, in the harsh, flickering light of the roaring blazes from buildings burning all around, as the enemy wizard stood on the platform of a public well in an open square casting death and ghastly suffering as he urged his men onward, Nicci appeared like an avenging spirit in the midst of their ranks and bounded up onto the platform. It was an event so unexpected that it caught the attention of everyone. In that brief fraction of time when they all stared in stunned surprise, in full view of the Order troops, she abruptly cleaved the chest of their astonished wizard and with her bare hands ripped out his still beating heart. With a cry of primal anger, Nicci held the bloody trophy up for his soldiers to see and promised them the same.

  At that moment, Victor Cascella charged with his men into the center of the invaders. He was gripped by rage of his own, not just that the marauding thugs would murder and pillage the people of Altur’Rang, but that they would steal his hard-won liberty. Had he the gift, his fierce glare alone might have cut down the enemy. As it was, his bold attack was as unexpected as it was ferocious. That combination of events broke the courage of the attackers. None of them wanted to face the wrath of the blacksmith and fall under the fury of his mace any more than they wanted a mad sorceress who seemed like the avenging spirit of death itself to rip out their hearts.

  The elite Order troops
turned and tried to escape from the city, from the middle of an enraged populous. Rather than let the people of the city be satisfied with victory, Nicci had insisted that the enemy be pursued and killed to a man.

  She alone fully understood how important it was that none of the soldiers escaped to tell the tale of their loss. Emperor Jagang would be awaiting word that his home city had been brought back under his command, that the insurrectionists had been tortured to death, and that the people of the city had been driven to their knees, that there was such slaughter that it would for all time serve as a warning for others.

  Even though he expected success, Nicci knew that Jagang would have taken word of the defeat in stride. He had lost battles before. It did not deter him. From losses he learned the measure of the opposition. He would have simply sent more troops the next time, enough to accomplish the task, and to do so as viciously as possible not only to insure victory, but to insure an extra measure of punishment for resisting his authority.

  Nicci knew the man. He did not care about the lives of his soldiers—or the lives of anyone, for that matter. If men fought for the Order and died, then glory in the afterlife would be their reward. They could expect only sacrifice in this life.

  But if no word of the battle for Altur’Rang ever arrived, that was something altogether different.

  Nicci knew that Jagang was nettled by lack of knowledge more than any enemy. He did not like the unknown. She knew that sending off crack troops—along with three rare and valuable wizards—and then never again hearing another word from any of them, would gall him no end. He would work the mystery over and over in his mind the way a nervous man worked a worry stone in his fingers.

  In the end, not having any testimony whatsoever as to the outcome of the battle for Altur’Rang would spook him more than a simple defeat. He did not fear losing men—life meant little to him—so a defeat he could handle, but he didn’t at all like the unknown. Perhaps worse, his army, composed of men prone to superstition, would take such an event as a bad omen.

  As Nicci followed the twisting turns of the narrow cobblestone street, she came around a curve and looked up to see, between the buildings lining each side, a sight that nearly took her breath away. On a hill in the distance, lit by the sun, set on a sweep of beautiful grounds of emerald green, stood a magnificent palace of white stone. It was as elegant as anything she had ever seen. It was a structure that stood proud, strong, and pleasingly possessed of a distinctly feminine grace. This, she knew, could be nothing other than the Confessors’ Palace.

  The sight of it, exquisite, authoritative, pure, stood in stark contrast to the towering mountain behind it upon which rose the dark, soaring walls of the Keep. It seemed clear to Nicci that the Confessors’ Palace was meant to be majesty backed by dark threat.

  This had been, after all, the place that for millennia had ruled the Midlands. The larger lands of the Midlands had palaces in the city for their ambassadors and members of the Central Council, which had ruled the collective lands of the Midlands. The Mother Confessor reigned over not only the Confessors, but the Central Council as well. Kings and queens answered to her, as did every ruler of every land of the Midlands. From the narrow street she was on, Nicci didn’t see the palaces representing the various lands, but she knew that not a one of them would be as grand as the Confessors’ Palace—especially not with the imposing Keep as a backdrop.

  Through a gap in the buildings to the side, movement caught Nicci’s attention. When she saw that it was dust rising into the still air, she laid the reins over and swung Sa’din around, directing him down a side street. Squeezing her lower legs, she urged him into a canter. Without pause he charged off down the narrow dirt street. In flashes between buildings, she could see the dust rising in the distance. Someone was riding at speed up a road toward the mountain where the Keep stood. Through her link with him, she knew who it had to be.

  Nicci had helped end the threat to Altur’Rang as swiftly as possible primarily so that she could be off after Richard. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about those people, or eliminating the animals sent to massacre them, it was just that she cared more about getting to Richard. At first, she had it in her mind to ride as fast as she could and catch up with him and Cara. It had quickly became apparent, however, that there was no chance of that. He was simply traveling too swiftly. When Richard was focused on a goal and determined to get to it, he was relentless.

  Nicci realized that her only hope of ever catching up with him again was, instead of chasing him, to head toward where he would go next and intercept him. She knew that the witch woman couldn’t help him find a woman who didn’t exist, so Nicci reasoned that Richard would next head north to try to get help from the only wizard he knew, his grandfather, Zedd, at the Wizard’s Keep in Aydindril. Since she’d still been a long way back to the southeast, Nicci had decided to take the shortest route to Aydindril, thereby needing to cover much less distance than he would and thus be able to intercept him there.

  As she broke out of the narrow confines of the buildings of the city, Nicci’s heart quickened when she saw that she was right, when she finally saw Richard.

  He and Cara were charging up a road, pulling a long ribbon of dust behind them. Nicci recalled that they’d left Altur’Rang with six horses; they now had only three. By the way they were riding, Nicci strongly suspected that she knew why. When Richard had his mind set on something he was unstoppable. He had probably ridden the other horses to death.

  As Nicci galloped out of the city to cut them off, Richard immediately spotted her and slowed his pace. Sa’din carried her swiftly over the small rises, past paddocks, stables, workshops, deserted market stands, a blacksmith’s shop, and fenced pastures with buildings for animals that were no longer there. Stands of pine trees flashed past and she raced under the broad crowns of white oaks crowded close to the road in places.

  Nicci couldn’t wait to see Richard again. Her life suddenly had purpose again. She wondered if anything had happened with the witch woman to finally convince him that there was no woman from his dreams that he remembered as real. Nicci even held out some hope that he had recovered from his delusions and was now back to his old self. Her relief at seeing him sitting tall atop his horse overcame her concern as to why he would be racing for the Keep.

  Since she had been separated from him, Nicci had gone over everything that had happened, trying to pinpoint the source of his delusion, and she had come to a frightening theory. Going over it a thousand times in her mind, trying to remember every detail, Nicci had come to fear that she had actually been the cause of his problem.

  She had been working at a rapid pace as she tried to save his life. There were other people around creating a distraction. She was worried that enemy soldiers would attack at any moment and so she dared not slow what she was doing. Even worse, she was attempting things she had never done before—things she’d never even heard of before. After all, Subtractive Magic was used to rain ruin, not to heal. She was doing things she wasn’t sure would work. She also knew that there was no other hope and so she had no choice.

  But she feared that in that dangerous mix, she was the one who had accidentally induced the problem with Richard’s memory, with his mind. If that was true, she would never forgive herself.

  If she had made a mistake with Subtractive Magic, and had eliminated some element of his mind, some vital part that made him able to interact effectively with reality, there would be no way to restore such a loss. Eliminating something with Subtractive Magic was as irreversible as death. If she had damaged his mind, he would never again be the same, dwelling forever in a twilight world of his own imagination, never again able to recognize the truth of the world around him…and it would all be her fault.

  That thought had taken her to the edge of despair.

  Richard and Cara halted beside the road as they waited for Nicci to reach them. Fields of tall summer grass grew at the base of wooded hills beyond. Their horses took the opportunity to
crop at that long grass where it came close to the side of the road.

  The sight of Richard swelled Nicci’s heart with joy. His hair was a little longer, and he looked dusty from the ride, but he looked as taut, as tall, as powerful, as handsome, as masterful, as incisive, as focused, as driven as he always looked, like nothing in the world around him escaped his notice. Despite his simple and dusty travel clothes, he looked every inch the Lord Rahl himself.

  Still, it seemed there was something not right about him.

  “Richard!” Nicci called out as she raced up to him and Cara, even though they saw her. Nicci reined in Sa’din as she reached them. Once she was stopped, the dust she had outpaced began to catch up and drift past. Richard and Cara waited. With the way Nicci had shouted they looked like they expected her to say something urgent, when it had been nothing more than her excitement at seeing him.

  “I’m relieved to see that you’re both well,” Nicci said.

  Richard visibly relaxed and draped both hands over the pommel of his saddle. His horse shivered flies off its rump. Cara sat up straight in her saddle, her horse close and behind Richard’s, tossing its head a little at how tightly she had him reined in after the gallop.

  “I’m glad to see you looking well, too,” Richard said. His warm smile said that he meant it. Nicci could have bubbled over into joyous laughter at seeing that smile, but she restrained herself and simply returned it. “How did it go in Altur’Rang?” he asked. “Is the city safe?”

  “They destroyed the invaders.” Nicci tightened the reins to settle down an excited Sa’din. She gave his neck a reassuring pat to help calm him down. “The city is safe for now. Victor and Ishaq said to tell you that they are free and will stay that way.”

  Richard nodded with quiet satisfaction. “You’re all right, then? I was worried about you.”