“If you have these arrows, then why weren’t you able to stop Sister Odette?”
“We didn’t have them back then.”
Verna’s frown darkened. “Then where did you get them?”
The general smiled with the satisfaction of a man who knew he would not again be defenseless against a gifted enemy. “When Wizard Rahl was here he asked me about our defenses. I told him about the attack by the sorceress and how we were helpless against her power. He searched the palace and found these weapons. Apparently they were in some safe place where only a wizard could retrieve them. He is the one who supplied my men with the arrows and the crossbows to fire them.”
“How good of Wizard Rahl.”
“Yes, it was.”
The general carefully replaced the bolt in the special quiver rack that kept the arrows separated. She understood, now, why that was necessary. There was no telling how ancient these weapons really were, but Verna suspected that they were relics from the great war.
“Wizard Rahl instructed us on how to handle such dangerous weapons.” He held up his hand and wiggled his gloved fingers. “Told us that we must always wear these special gloves to handle the arrows.”
He removed the glove and tucked it behind his belt with its mate. Verna clasped her hands before herself, taking a deep breath and with it care in how she framed her words.
“General, I have known Nathan Rahl since long before your grandmother was born. He is not always candid about the dangers involved in the things he does. Were I you, I would handle those weapons with the utmost care, and treat anything he told you about them, even casually, as a matter of life and death.”
“Are you suggesting he’s reckless?”
“No, not deliberately, but he often tends to downplay matters that he finds—inconvenient. Besides that, he is very old and very talented, so sometimes it’s easy for him to forget just how much more he knows about some very arcane subjects than most other people, or that he can do things with his gift that they aren’t able to do, much less comprehend. You might say he’s like an old man who forgets to tell visitors that his dog bites.”
Men up and down the hall exchanged looks. Some of them lifted an elbow or a hand away from the quivers at their belts.
General Trimack hooked a thumb around the hilt of the short sword in its sheath at his left hip. “While I take seriously your warning, Prelate, I hope that you will understand that I also take seriously the lives of the hundreds of my men who died the last time a Sister showed up and we were defenseless against her magic. I take seriously the lives of these men here. I don’t want any such thing to happen again.”
Verna wet her lips and reminded herself that the man was only doing his job. With the way the palace drained away her Han, she had an uncomfortable empathy with his feeling about being powerless.
“I understand, General Trimack.” She smoothed back a wave of hair. “I, too, know the heavy weight of responsibility for the lives of others. Of course the lives of your men are valuable and anything that will prevent the enemy from taking those lives is worthwhile. It is in that vein that I’m advising you to be careful with weapons that are wrought with magic. Such things are not typically intended for the unsupervised use of the ungifted.”
The man nodded once. “We take your warning seriously.”
“Good, then you should also know that what is in that room is dangerous in the extreme. It’s a danger to all of us. It would be in all our interest if, while I’m here, I just make sure it’s safe.”
“Prelate, I understand your concern, but you must understand that my orders gave me no discretion for exceptions. I simply can’t allow you to go in there on your word that you are who you say you are, or that your intent is only to help us. What if you were a spy? A traitor? The Keeper himself in the flesh? A sincere looking woman though you may be, I didn’t get to the rank of commander general by letting attractive women talk me into things.”
Verna was momentarily startled by being called an “attractive woman” in front of all these people.
“But I can personally assure you that no one—no one at all has been in there since Lord Rahl himself was in there last. Not even Nathan Rahl went in there. Everything in the Garden of Life remains untouched.”
“I understand, General.” It would be a long time before she ever made it back to the palace. There was no telling where Richard was or when he would return. She rubbed her fingers on her forehead as she considered the quandary. “Tell you what, how about if I don’t go in and instead I just stand in the doorway—outside the Garden of Life—and look in to make sure the three boxes being held in there are safe. You can even have a dozen of your men point those deadly arrows at my back.”
He chewed his lip as he considered. “Men in front of you, men to the sides, and men to the back will have you under the points of their arrows and their fingers will be on the release levers. You can look past my men, through the doorway, and into the Garden of Life, but you may not cross the threshold under penalty of death.”
Verna didn’t actually need to get close enough to touch the boxes. Truth be told, she didn’t really even want to get close to them. All she really wanted to do was to make sure that they were untouched by anyone else. At the same time, she wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of all those men being only a finger twitch away from releasing one of those deadly arrows at her. After all, the notion to check on the boxes of Orden had only been an afterthought, being as she was already at the palace. It wasn’t why she had come to the palace. Still, she was so close.
“Bargain struck, General. I only need to see that they are safe so that we all can sleep a little easier.”
“I’m all for sleeping easier.”
Berdine and Verna, with a knot of soldiers surrounding them, were led by Commander General Trimack down a broad passageway of polished granite. Columns spaced against the wall framed great slabs of stone as if they were artwork. To Verna, they were visual evidence of the Creator’s hand, artwork from the garden he had cultivated that was the world of life. The sound of all the men moving along with them echoed up and down the great hallway as they passed a series of intersections that were arms of the spell-form all pulling back into the center that was the Garden of Life. They at last came to a pair of doors covered in carvings of rolling hills and forests and sheathed in gold.
“Beyond is the Garden of Life,” the general told her in a sober tone.
As soldiers surrounded her, raising their crossbows, the general began drawing one of the great gold doors open. Some of the men to the side and rear pointed their arrows at her head. The four men who moved in front of her leveled their crossbow bolts at her heart. She was at least relieved not to have the ones in front of her pointed at her face. She thought the whole thing was silly, but she knew that these men were dead serious, so she treated it as such.
As the gold-clad door was swung wide, Verna, in lockstep with her cadre of personal assassins, shuffled closer to the opening so that she could see. She had to crane her neck and finally swish a hand to gently urge one of the men to move a little to the side so that she could have a clear view into the great room.
From the rather dimly lit hallway, Verna peered inside and saw that overcast skies lit the place in all its glory through leaded windows high overhead. She was astonished to see that all the way up in the center of the People’s Palace, the Garden of Life looked just like—a lush garden.
From what she could see, around the outside of the room walkways wound their way through flower beds. The ground was littered with petals, a few still-colorful reds and yellows but most long since dried and shriveled. Beyond the flowers grew small trees and then beyond them were short, stone, vine-covered walls. Contained within the walls was a variety of shrubs and ornamental plants, although they were in sorry shape from lack of care. Many were gangly with long, new shoots and in need of a trimming. Others were infested with invasive vines. It looked as if General Trimack had been telling the t
ruth that no one, not even the gardeners, had been allowed into the place.
At the Palace of the Prophets they had had an indoor garden, although on a much smaller scale. There had been a system of pipes coming from collection barrels on the roof that kept the garden watered. Recognizing similar pipes in a corner, Verna realized that rainwater collected on the roof provided a constant supply of water in this place as well or everything in the garden, lit by such wonderful light, would be dried up and dead.
In the center of the expansive room was an area of shaggy lawn that swept around almost into a circle, the grass ring interrupted by a wedge of white stone. On that stone sat two short, fluted pedestals that held a slab of smooth granite.
Atop the granite altar sat three boxes, their surfaces such an inky black that it almost surprised her that they didn’t suck the light entirely out of the room and pull the whole world with it into the eternal darkness of the underworld. Just the sight of such sinister things made her heart feel as if it were coming up in her throat.
Verna knew the three boxes as the gateway, and they were exactly what the name implied. In this case, they were together a kind of gateway between the world of the living and the world of the dead. The gateway was constructed of the magic of both worlds. If that passage between worlds were ever to be undone, the veil would be breached and the seal would be off the Nameless One—the Keeper of the Dead.
Because the information had been in highly restricted books, only a few people at the Palace of the Prophets were even aware of the gateway by its ancient name, the boxes of Orden. The three boxes worked together, and together they constituted the gateway. As far as anyone at the Palace of the Prophets knew, the gateway had been lost for over three thousand years. Everyone thought that it was gone, vanished, disappeared for good. There had even been speculation for centuries as to whether or not such a gateway had ever really existed. If such a gateway could even exist had been the source of much heated theological debate.
The gateway—the boxes of Orden—did exist, and Verna was having trouble taking her eyes off it.
It made her heart race to see such vile things. Cold sweat dampened her dress.
It was small wonder that three wizards had ordered the general to allow no one into the room. Verna reconsidered her opinion of Nathan for equipping the First File with such dangerous weapons.
The jeweled covering had been removed, leaving the sinister black of the boxes themselves, because Darken Rahl had put the boxes in play and had planned to use the power of Orden to claim mastery over the world of the living. Fortunately, Richard had stopped him.
Stealing the boxes now, though, wouldn’t do a thief any good. Extensive information was required to understand how the magic of Orden worked and how the gateway functioned. Part of that information was contained in a book that no longer existed except in Richard’s mind. That, in fact, had been part of how he had defeated Darken Rahl.
In addition to vast knowledge and information, any thief would also would need to have both Additive and Subtractive Magic in order to use the gateway or to claim the power of Orden for himself.
The real danger would probably be to any person foolish enough to handle such treacherous things.
Verna sighed with relief at seeing the three boxes untouched, right where Richard had said he’d left them. For now, there was no safer place to keep such dangerous magic. Someday, maybe Verna could help find a way to destroy the gateway—if such a thing were even possible—but for now it was safe.
“Thank you, General Trimack. I’m relieved to see that everything is as it should be.”
“And it will stay that way,” he said as he put his weight against the door. It soundlessly moved closed. “No one is getting in there except Lord Rahl.”
Verna smiled at the man. “Good.” She glanced around at the magnificent palace around her, the illusion of permanence, peace, and security it exuded. If only it were so. “Well, I’m afraid that we need to be on our way. I have to get back to our forces. I will tell General Meiffert that things here at the palace are well in hand. Let us hope that Lord Rahl will be joining us soon and we can stop the Imperial Order before they ever reach this place. Prophecy says that if he joins us for the final battle, we have a chance to crush the Imperial Order, if not drive them back to the Old World.”
The general gave her a grim nod. “May the good spirits be with you, Prelate.”
With Berdine at her side, Verna made her way back out of the restricted area and away from the Garden of Life. As they once again descended the stairs, she was relieved to be on her way back to the army, even if she was worried over their mission. She realized that since coming to the palace she felt more of a sense of commitment, and more of a sense of connection to what had became the D’Haran empire under Richard. Even more than that, she seemed to care more about life.
But if they didn’t find Richard and get him to lead their forces in the battle they would face when they finally met the Imperial Order, then the mission to stop Jagang’s army was suicide.
“Prelate?” Berdine said as she pushed closed the door with a snake carved on it.
Verna paused and waited as the woman tapped the palm of her hand on the top of the bronze skull door handle.
“What is it, Berdine?”
“I think I should stay here.”
“Stay?” Verna met the Mord-Sith’s gaze. “But why?”
“If Ann finds Lord Rahl and takes him to the army, he will have you and a number of other Mord-Sith who are there to protect him—and he will be where you say he needs to be. But maybe she won’t find him.”
“She must. Richard is also aware of the weight of prophecy and he knows that he must be there at the final battle. Even if Ann doesn’t find him, I have faith that he will come to join us.”
Berdine shrugged with the difficulty of trying to find the right words. “Maybe. But maybe not. Verna, I’ve spent a lot of time with him. He doesn’t think like that. Prophecy doesn’t mean as much to him as it does to you.”
Verna heaved a sigh. “You said a mouthful, Berdine.”
“This is Lord Rahl’s home, even if he never really lived here except as a captive. Even so, he has come to care about us as his people, and his friends. I’ve spent time with him; I know how much he cares about us and I know that he is aware of how much we all care about him. Maybe he will feel a need to come home.
“If he does, I think I should be here for him. He depends on me to help him with books, with translations—at least, I like to believe he does. He makes me feel important to him, anyway. I don’t know, I just think I should remain at the palace in case he comes here. If he does, he will need to know that you are desperately trying to find him. He will need to know of the impending final battle.”
“Does your bond tell you where he is?”
Berdine gestured west. “Somewhere in that direction, but very distant.”
“The general said the same thing. That can only mean that Richard is at least in the New World again.” Verna found reason to smile. “At long last. That much is good to know.”
“The closer those with the bond are to him, the better able they will be to help you find him.”
Verna considered it a moment. “Well, I will miss your company, Berdine, but I guess you must do as you see fit and I have to admit that what you say does make some sense. The more places we watch for him to show up, the better our chances of finding him in time.”
“I really think it’s right for me to stay here. Besides, I want to study some of the books and try to match up some of what Kolo says. There are a few things bothering me. Maybe if I work it out, I can even help Lord Rahl to win that final battle.”
Verna nodded with a sad smile. “See me out?”
“Of course.”
Both turned to the sound of footsteps. It was another Mord-Sith, in red leather. She was blond, and taller than Berdine. Her piercing blue eyes took Verna in with the kind of measured calculation that betrayed utter, fear
less confidence.
“Nyda!” Berdine called.
The woman smiled with one side of her mouth as she came to a hall. She placed a hand on Berdine’s shoulder, a gesture that Verna recognized as being as close to wild jubilation as it got among Mord-Sith, except perhaps for Berdine.
Nyda gazed down at Berdine, her eyes drinking her in. “Sister Berdine, it has been a while. D’Hara has been lonely without you. Welcome home.”
“It’s good to be home and see your face again.”
Nyda’s gaze slid to Verna. Berdine seemed to remember herself.
“Sister Nyda, this is Verna, the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light. She is a friend and advisor to Lord Rahl.”
“He is on his way here?”
“No, unfortunately,” Berdine said.
“Are you two sisters, then?” Verna asked.
“No,” Berdine said, waving a hand at the notion. “It’s more like you calling the other women of your kind ‘Sister.’ Nyda is an old friend.”
Nyda glanced around. “Where is Raina?”
Berdine’s face went white at the unexpected encounter with the name. Her voice fell to a whisper. “Raina died.”
Nyda’s face was unreadable. “I didn’t know, Berdine. Did she die well, with her Agiel in her hand?”
Berdine swallowed as she stared at the floor. “She died of the plague. She fought it until her final breath—but in the end it took her. She died in Lord Rahl’s arms.”
Verna thought that she could detect that Nyda’s blue eyes were just a little more liquid as she gazed at her sister Mord-Sith.
“I’m so sorry, Berdine.”
Berdine looked up. “Lord Rahl wept as she died.”
By the silent but astonished look on Nyda’s face, Verna could see that it was unheard of for the Lord Rahl to care if a Mord-Sith lived or died. By the look of wonder that surfaced, such reverence for one of them was homage of profound proportions.
“I have heard such tales about this Lord Rahl. They are really true, then?”
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