Confessor

by Terry Goodkind

  Nicci found it appalling to contemplate all the individuals she was seeing. These had all once been living people who had been born, grown up, and lived lives probably filled with family and love. Now there were only bones to say that they had ever existed.

  Nicci swallowed at the frightening thought that she would soon end up yet another anonymous skull that someone might one day see and wonder about. Just as she didn’t know anything about these people, what they dreamed, what they believed, what they loved, or even how they had looked in life, she would be nameless bones slowly crumbling to dust.

  She had such a short time ago been up among the beauty of the palace, among color and life. Now she found herself among nothing but dust and dirt and death, on her way to her own.

  The two Sisters in front led them through a confusing series of intersections. Some of the passageways they took sloped downward. In several areas they had to descend yet more flights of stairs to halls even deeper in the ground.

  Everywhere there were rooms filled with bones, some with skulls, some with other bones stacked neatly in every available space, all bearing silent witness to lives once lived. Some of the passageways they passed through were made of brick but most had been constructed of stone. By the varying sizes of stone and styles of construction it seemed like they were passing from one era to another, each age preferring a different method to add to the ever-growing catacombs for their dead.

  The next turn took them past a room with a different kind of entrance. Thick stone slabs that had closed off the cavern beyond had been slid aside. Nicci was surprised to see another Sister standing guard there. Beyond, back inside, in the shadows, there were big Imperial Order guards. Judging by their size, the type of chain mail they wore, the leather straps crossing their chests, along with the tattoos back across their shaved heads, these were some of Jagang’s most trusted, and skilled, soldiers.

  Back behind them Nicci saw that the low room was tightly packed with shelves holding countless books. Beyond, behind the rows in various places, the light from lamps revealed where people were searching through the volumes. Jagang had teams of scholars devoted to scouring caches of books for him. They were specially trained and knew the sorts of things Jagang was looking for.

  The place reminded Nicci of nothing so much as the catacombs down in Caska. That was where, with the help of Jillian, Richard had discovered the Chainfire book. Nicci realized that these catacombs as well were liable to have a number of rooms with books.

  “You,” Sister Armina said to one of the guards, “come here.”

  When the man came to a stop out in the hall and leaned on his lance, she gestured back the way they had come. “Get some workmen together and—”

  “What kind of workmen?” the man interrupted. Men like these were not intimidated by Sisters of the Dark—mere captives, slaves of the emperor.

  “Men who know how to work with stone,” she said, “with marble slabs. Sister Greta will go with you and show you what must be done. His Excellency doesn’t want anyone to know that we’ve discovered a way into the palace.”

  Jagang, being a dream walker, frequently entered the minds of the Sisters. It was becoming increasingly obvious to the soldier that Sister Armina was operating under the direction of the emperor himself, so he nodded without objection as she went on.

  “There is a place right near where we entered up top where the stone has been damaged. It’s a small secondary network of halls. You will need to pull some of the undamaged slabs off the walls in the area with the damage and use them to block off that branch of halls. From the other side it needs to look like part of the wall of the main corridor. It needs to fool anyone who goes down that corridor into thinking there is not supposed to be an opening there. It needs to be done immediately.” She tipped her head toward Nicci. “Before anyone looking for her discovers the damage.”

  “Won’t people who know the place realize that an intersection has been blocked off?”

  “Not if it looks seamless, if it looks like it’s always been that way. It’s the tomb area of the palace. The Lord Rahl uses it to visit his ancestors, but only if he ever wishes to do such a thing. It’s likely to be rare for anyone else to go down there, so no one else is likely to notice that an intersection is missing—at least, not until it’s too late.”

  The man cast a forbidding look at Nicci. “Then what was she doing down there?”

  When Sister Armina turned a questioning look at her, Nicci felt a sudden shock of pain caused by the collar.

  Sister Armina lifted an eyebrow. “Well? Answer the man’s question.”

  Nicci gasped in a breath against the razor-sharp pain searing down her back and legs. “Just going for a walk…to have a private conversation…where no one would bother us,” she managed between gasps of agony.

  The Sister seemed indifferent to Nicci’s explanation. She turned back to the soldier. “See? It’s mostly an unused area. But before anyone goes down there looking for her, and the woman we killed, it needs to be done. Work as swiftly as possible.”

  The man smoothed a hand back over his bald, tattooed head. “All right. But it seems a lot of work to hide some damage.” He shrugged. “After all, if they see it, they won’t know why it’s damaged. They’ll probably think it’s from before. There have been battles in the palace in the recent past.”

  Sister Armina did not look pleased to have the man second-guess her. “His Excellency does not want anyone up there to know that we’ve found a way in. This is of paramount importance to him. Would you like me to tell him that you suggest the work is not worth the effort and he should simply not worry?”

  The man cleared his throat. “No, of course not.”

  “Besides that, it will give us a place to assemble and prepare without anyone knowing that we are all right there, just on the other side of a thin veneer of marble.”

  He dipped his head. “I will see to it at once, Sister.”

  Nicci felt sick. Once that opening was covered with marble slab the Order would be able to gather a sizable assault force veiled from those in the palace. No one would know that the enemy had found a way in. They were expecting the Order to have to finish the ramp before they could attack. The defending forces within the palace would be caught off guard.

  A jab of pain started Nicci moving again. Sister Armina guided her with that pain, rather than simply telling her where she needed to turn. They walked down endless corridors, all made of stone block and with barrel ceilings, that seemed to connect clusters of rooms and networks of corridors.

  As they rounded a corner, Nicci saw a knot of people in the distance lit by torches. As they got closer she saw a ladder ascending into darkness. She had long since understood where they had to be, and where they were going.

  Royal guards had massed around a place broken open in the barrel ceiling. These men were the elite. They knew their business.

  At the thought of what was up that ladder, Nicci feared her legs might give out.

  One of the royal guard, who obviously recognized Nicci, stepped aside, never taking his eyes off her.

  “Start climbing,” Sister Armina said.

  CHAPTER 22

  Nicci emerged into what appeared to be a vast pit gouged into the ground of the Azrith Plain. She couldn’t see what was up beyond the dirt and rock walls, but she didn’t need to see it to know what was up there.

  Out past the rim of the pit, the imposing ramp, lit by torches, rose up into the cold night sky. In the distance the dark shadow of the plateau that held the People’s Palace, looking like it touched the stars themselves, towered over the dirt and gravel ramp.

  The floor of the pit was a confusing maze of various elevations, apparently the result of different gangs of workers laboring to scoop up material for the ramp. Those workers were nowhere to be seen. It had to be that when they were digging in the area where she stood they had discovered the catacombs.

  While the laborers may have been long gone, there were now soldiers
everywhere. The ones she saw weren’t regular Imperial Order troops, who were little more than an organized mob of thugs. These were the professional soldiers, the experienced men closest to Jagang. These were the trusted core of men who had fought with him in various campaigns over the years.

  Because these were men who had always been closest to the emperor, Nicci recognized many of them. Although she didn’t see any individuals she knew by name, she knew many of the faces watching her. These men all recognized her as well.

  A woman like Nicci, with her fall of blond hair and shapely figure, hardly went unnoticed in the Imperial Order camp. More than that, though, she was recognized by every one of these men as Death’s Mistress.

  They knew her by that name because she had in the past commanded many of them. They feared her. She had killed some of their comrades who had failed to follow her orders in the way she had expected of them. Belief in the Order called for selfless sacrifice for the greater good—the sacrifice of this life for the afterlife—yet when she had brought that righteous sacrifice upon them, ushering them into their longed-for afterlife, the very core of the beliefs for which they fought, they hated her for it.

  Every one of these men also knew that she was Jagang’s woman. In a movement dedicated to the greater good over individual rights, to ideals of absolute equality of all, he enjoyed making it clear that she was his personal possession.

  Like the common soldiers, not one of these men ever dared to touch her. Jagang had in the past, however, given her as a favor to some of his inner circle of officers, men such as Commander Kadar Kardeef.

  Many of these men had been there the day Nicci had ordered Kardeef burned to death. Some of them, at her command, had helped tie their commander to a stake and put him over the fire. Despite their reluctance, they dared not contradict her orders.

  She kept her previous status in mind as she stood in the frigid night with all eyes upon her. Like a protective cloak, she once again wrapped that former persona around herself. That image of her was her only protection. She held her head erect, her back straight. She was Death’s Mistress and she wanted everyone to know it.

  Rather than wait for Sister Armina to direct her, Nicci started up the ramp. She had surveyed the encampment from up on the observation platform in the palace and knew how it was laid out. She knew where to find the command tents. She would have no trouble making her way to Jagang’s tent. Since Jagang was probably watching Nicci through Sister Armina’s eyes, the woman did not object to Nicci striking out on her own.

  There was no use being dragged kicking and screaming to the emperor’s feet. It wouldn’t change anything. She might as well go to her fate under her own power and with her head held high.

  More than that, though, Nicci wanted Jagang to see her in the same way as he had always seen her. She wanted him to see what he knew, see her as the same, even if she wasn’t. Even if he suspected she might be somehow different, she wanted to present him with the familiar.

  In the past her safety had been in her indifference to what he might do to her. That indifference gave Jagang pause. It infuriated him, it frustrated him, and it fascinated him. She had been someone who had fought on his side, fought for his goals, and yet she had been someone he could have only by force.

  Even if she didn’t have command of her power, she did have command of her mind, and it was her mind that was her true power—that was what Richard had taught her. With or without her gift, she could still be indifferent to what Jagang might do to her. That indifference gave her power.

  Once up and out of the pit and past the heavily armed perimeter guards, she began encountering row upon row of workers hauling dirt and rock from other pits. Hundreds of mules, pulling every sort of wagon, plodded along in long lines through the darkness. Torches showed the rows of men the way to the ramp. The men, the average soldiers in the Imperial Order, the young, the strong, the pride of the Old World, had become common laborers. Not exactly the glory for which they had gone off to fight.

  Nicci paid the activity little heed. It no longer mattered to her what they were doing with the ramp—the ramp was only a diversion. She felt sick at the thought of the brutes spread out in the camp getting up inside the palace.

  She had to think of a way to stop them.

  For a brief moment the very thought of her stopping them struck her as absurd. What was she going to do to stop them? She stiffened her resolve, along with her back. She would fight them with her last breath if need be.

  Sisters Armina and Julia both trailed behind as Nicci marched through all the activity of the camp. Sister Armina would only make herself look silly if she pushed her way out front, now. By taking the lead, Nicci had already re-taken her place as the Slave Queen.

  Old patterns were hard to break. Now that they were entering the camp, neither Sister wished to challenge what Nicci was doing, at least not for the moment. She was, after all, stalking off toward where they would have taken her anyway. They would have no way of knowing for sure if Jagang was in her mind or not. They knew, the same as the soldiers knew, that she was Jagang’s woman. That gave her unspoken rank over them. Even back at the Palace of the Prophets, she had always been a mystery to them. They had always been resentful and jealous of her—which meant that they feared her.

  For all they knew, it was possible that the emperor had merely sent them to bring his stubborn and defiant queen back to him. Jagang, no doubt watching Nicci through their eyes, seemed to be making no effort to change that perception in their minds. It could even be that Jagang really did look at it that way, that he really did think that he could have her back.

  She noticed but didn’t acknowledge the large contingent of guards who had formed up into a train behind her. A queen did not acknowledge her attendants. They were beneath her. Fortunately, they couldn’t hear her heart hammering.

  As they entered the camp proper, where the regular soldiers had set up their tents in squalid clusters, men stood mute, looking like beggars watching a royal procession passing before them. Others rushed up from the darkness to see what was happening. Hushed whispers passed through the crowd; Death’s Mistress had at long last returned.

  To many of these men, even though they feared her, she was a heroine of the Order, a powerful weapon for their side. They had seen her rain down death on those who opposed the teachings of the Fellowship of Order.

  Even though it felt strange to be back, the camp itself was no different than she remembered. It was the usual jumble of men, tents, animals, and equipment. The only difference was that as it sat unmoving for so long it was all beginning to take on the look of rot and decay. Firewood out on the Azrith Plain was virtually nonexistent, so fires were few and small, leaving the whole place gripped by a kind of grim gloom. Sloppy midden heaps growing everywhere among the men drew clouds of flies. With so many animals and men in the same place for so long the smell was worse than the usual stench.

  The crush of unkempt men crowding in all around, which she had never paid a great deal of attention to in the past, was unnerving. They barely looked human. In many ways they weren’t. In the past, not caring what happened to her, Nicci had been indifferent to these brutes. Now, since she cared about her life, it was different. More than that, though, in the past she had always known that she had the use of her power if their fear of her for some reason didn’t keep them away. Now she could only count on their fear to keep them at arm’s length.

  It was a long walk through hundreds of thousands of men to reach her destination, but because the camp had been in place for so long trails had become established. In places trails had widened into roads that had gradually pushed aside tents and corrals. Now, as Nicci walked those roads, trailed by her entourage, wide-eyed men lined the way, watching.

  Beyond the immediate silence of the men standing close by staring at her as she passed, the camp was a noisy place, even at this late hour. Behind her was the sound of the work on the ramp, wagons rolling, rock scraping and tumbling, and men cal
ling out in unison as they pulled on heavy lines. In the camp all around the voices of soldiers laughing, talking, and arguing carried through the cold night air. She heard orders being yelled over the rhythmic sound of hammers ringing.

  She could also hear the distant roar of crowds cheering for Ja’La games still going on even at this late hour. Sometimes collective boos of disapproval rose into the night air, only to be drowned out by wild yells of support. During runs with the broc men sometimes chanted shouts for their team to score.

  As she made her way past a corral filled with huge war-horses, and then a line of empty supply wagons, the command tents came into view. Beneath a starlit sky flags atop the tents fluttered in the cold breeze. The sight of the largest tent, the emperor’s tent, threatened to drain her of courage. She wanted to run, but she was not going to be able to run ever again.

  This was the place where Nicci’s whole life caught up with her.

  This was the place where it all ended.

  Rather than avoid the inevitable, she marched purposefully toward it. She didn’t slow for the first of the checkpoints in the outer rings of protection around the command area. The big men standing watch eyed her as she approached. Their gazes also took in the contingent of the emperor’s personal guard marching behind her. She was glad that she happened to be wearing a black dress because that was what she had always worn when these men would have seen her in the past. She wanted them to recognize her. A brief glare insured that none accosted her.

  Each successive layer of men in closer to the center of the compound was more trusted. Each ring of men around the command tents had their own units, methods, and equipment. Each wanted to be the ones to stop any harm from reaching their emperor. They each had different protocol for entering their area of responsibility.