by Angreal
Jennsen leaned in again. "Was that magic?"
"Must have been," Richard told her as he started to unroll the letter.
"But I saw it fall apart," she said in a confidential tone.
"Did you see anything else?"
"No, it just all of a sudden crumbled."
With a thumb and finger, Richard lifted some of the disintegrated wax from his palm. "She probably put a web of magic around the letter and keyed that spell to my touch. If anyone else had tried to break that web to open the letter it would have ignited the spell. I guess that my touch unlocked the seal. You saw the result of the magic—the broken seal—not the magic itself."
"Oh, wait!" Sabar smacked his forehead with the flat of his palm. "What am I thinking? I'm supposed to give you this, too."
Shrugging the straps off his shoulders and down his arms, he pulled his pack around onto his lap. He quickly undid the leather thongs and reached inside, then carefully lifted out something wrapped in black quilted material. It was only about a foot tall but not very big around. By the way Sabar handled it, it appeared to be somewhat heavy.
Sabar set the wrapped object on the ground, upright, in front of the fire. "Nicci told me that I should give this to you, that the letter would explain it."
Jennsen leaned in a little, fascinated by the mystery of the tightly wrapped object. "What is it?"
Sabar shrugged. "Nicci didn't tell me." He made a face that suggested he was somewhat uncomfortable with the way he was in the dark about much of the mission he'd been sent on. "When Nicci looks at you and tells you to do something, it goes out of your head to ask questions."
Richard smiled to himself as he began to unroll the letter. He knew all too well what Sabar meant.
"Did Nicci say anything about who could unwrap that thing?"
"No, Lord Rahl. She just said to give it to you, that the letter would explain it."
"If it had a web around it, like the letter, she would have warned you." Richard looked up. "Cara," he said, gesturing at the bundled package sitting before the fire, "why don't you unwrap it while Kahlan and I read the letter."
As Cara sat cross-legged on the ground and started working on the knots in the leather thongs around the black quilted wrap, Richard held the letter sideways a bit so that Kahlan could read it silently along with him.
Dear Richard and Kahlan,
I am sorry that I cannot tell you everything right now that I would have you know, but there are urgent matters I must see to and I dare not delay. Jagang has initiated something I considered impossible. Through his ability as a dream walker, he has forced Sisters of the Dark he controls to attempt to create weapons out of people, as was done during the great war. This is dangerous enough in itself, but because Jagang does not have the gift, his understanding of such things is very crude. He is a blundering bull trying to use his horns to knit lace. They are using the lives of wizards as the fodder for his experiments. I don't yet know the exact extent of their success, but I fear to discover the results. More of this in a moment.
First, the object I sent. When I picked up your trail and began tracking it to where we were to meet, I discovered this. I believe you have already come across it because it has been touched by a principal involved in the matter or involved with you.
The object is a warning beacon. It has been activated—not by this touch, but by events. I cannot overstate the danger it represents.
Such objects could only be made by the wizards of ancient times; the creation of such an object required both Additive and Subtractive Magic, and required the gift of both to be innate. Even then, they are so rare that I have never actually seen one.
I have, however, read about them down in the vaults at the Palace of the Prophets. Such warning beacons are kept viable by a link to the dead wizard who created them.
Richard sat back and let out a troubled breath. "How can such a link be possible?" Kahlan asked.
He hardly had to read between the lines to be able to tell that Nicci was warning him in the gravest possible terms.
"It has to be linked somehow to the underworld," Richard whispered back.
Little points of firelight danced in her green eyes as she stared at him.
Kahlan glanced again at Cara as she worked at the knots, pulling off one of the leather thongs around an object linked to a dead wizard in the underworld. Kahlan held up the edge of the letter as she urgently read along with him.
From what I know of such warning beacons, they monitor powerful and vital protective shields created to seal away something profoundly dangerous. They are paired. The first beacon is always amber. It is meant to be a warning to the one who caused the breach of the seal. The touch of a principal or one involved with a principal kindles it so it may be recognized for what it is and serve as it was intended—as a warning to those involved. Only after alerting the one it is meant to warn can it be destroyed. I send it to be absolutely certain you have seen it.
The precise nature of the second beacon is unknown to me, but that beacon is meant for the one able to replace the seal.
I don't know the nature of the seal or what it was protecting. Without doubt, though, the seal has been breached.
The source of the breach, while not the specific cause activating this beacon, is self-evident.
"Oh, now wait a minute," Cara said, standing, backing away as if she had released a deadly plague from the black quilting, "it isn't my fault this time." She pointed down at it. "You told me to, this time."
The translucent statue Cara had touched before now stood in the center of its unfolded black quilted wrapping.
It was the same statue: a statue of Kahlan.
The statue's left arm was pressed to its side, the right arm was raised, pointing. The statue, in an hourglass shape, looked as if it were made of transparent amber, allowing them to see inside.
Sand trickled out of the top half of the hourglass, through the narrowed waist, into the bottom of the full dress of the Mother Confessor.
The sand was still trickling down, just as it had been the last time Richard had seen the thing. At that time, the top half had been more full than the bottom half. Now, the top held less sand than the bottom.
Kahlan's face had gone ashen.
When he'd first seen it, Richard wouldn't have needed Nicci to tell him how dangerous such a thing was. He hadn't wanted any of them to touch it. When they had first come across it, in a recess of rock beside the trail, looking almost like part of the rock itself, the thing was opaque, with a dull, dark surface, yet it was clearly recognizable as Kahlan. It was lying on its side.
Cara wasn't pleased to find such a thing and didn't want to leave a representation of Kahlan lying about for anyone to find and to pick up for who-knew-what. Cara snatched it up, then, even though Richard started to yell at her to leave such a thing be.
When she picked it up, it started turning translucent.
In a panic, Cara set it back down.
That was when the right arm had lifted and pointed east.
That was when they could begin to see through the thing, to see the sand inside trickling down.
The implied danger of the sand running out had them all upset. Cara wanted to pick it up again and turn it over, to stop the sand from falling. Richard, not knowing anything about such an object and doubting that so simple a solution would have any beneficial effect, hadn't allowed Cara to touch it again. He had piled rocks and brush around it so no one else would know it was there. Obviously, that hadn't worked.
He knew now that Cara's touch had nothing to do with what was happening, except to initiate the warning, so he thought to confirm his original belief. "Cara, put it down."
"Down?"
"On its side—like you wanted to do the last time—to see if that will stop the sand."
Cara stared at him for a moment and then used the toe of her boot to tip the figure over on its side.
The sand continued to run as if it still stood upright.
"How can the sand do that?" Jennsen asked, sounding quite shaken. "How can the sand still fall—how can it fall sideways?"
"You can see it?" Kahlan asked. "You can see the sand falling?"
Jennsen nodded. "I sure can, and I have to tell you, it's giving my goose bumps goose bumps."
Richard could only stare at her staring at the statue of Kahlan lying on its side. If nothing else, the sand running sideways through the statue had to be magic. Jennsen was a pillar of Creation, a hole in the world, a pristinely ungifted offspring of Darken Rahl. She should not be able to see magic.
And yet, she was seeing it.
"I have to agree with the young lady," Sabar said. "That's even more frightening than those big black birds that I've seen circling for the last week."
Kahlan straightened. "You been seeing—"
When he heard Tom's urgent warning yell, Richard rose up in a rush, drawing his sword in one swift movement. The unique sound of ringing steel filled the night air.
The magic did not come out with the sword.
* * *
CHAPTER 14
Kahlan ducked to the side, out of harm’s way, as Richard pulled his sword free. The distinctive ring of steel being drawn in anger fused with Tom’s warning yell still echoing through the surrounding hills to send a flash of fright tingling across her flesh. As she stared out into the empty blackness of the surrounding night, her instinct was to reach for her own sword, but she had packed it in the wagon rather than wear it, so as not to raise suspicions about who they might be—women in the Old World did not carry weapons.
By the light of the fire, Kahlan could clearly see Richard’s face. She had seen him draw the Sword of Truth countless times and in a variety of situations, from that very first time when Zedd, after giving him the sword, commanded him to draw it and Richard tentatively pulled it from its scabbard, to times he pulled it free in the heat of battle, to times like this when he drew it suddenly in defense.
When Richard drew the sword, he was also drawing its attendant magic. That was the function of the weapon; the magic had not been created simply to defend the sword’s true owner, but, more importantly, to be a projection of his intent. The Sword of Truth was not even really a talisman, but rather a tool, of the Seeker of Truth.
The true weapon was the rightly named Seeker who wielded the sword. The sword’s magic answered to him.
Each and every one of the times Richard had drawn the sword, Kahlan had seen that magic dancing dangerously in his gray eyes.
This was the first time he had drawn the sword that she didn't see the magic in his eyes; the raptor's glare was pure Richard.
While seeing him draw the sword without seeing its concomitant magic evident in his eyes shocked her, it seemed to surprise Richard even more. For an instant he hesitated, as if mentally stumbling.
Before they had time to even wonder what had prompted Tom's warning yell, shadowy shapes slipping through the cover of the nearby trees suddenly stormed out of the darkness and into their midst. The sudden sound and fury of bloodcurdling cries filled the night air as men rampaged into the camp, lit at last by firelight.
They didn't appear to be soldiers—they weren't wearing uniforms—and they weren't attacking as soldiers would, with weapons drawn. Kahlan didn't see any of the men brandishing swords or axes or even knives.
Weapons or not, there were a lot of men and they yelled fierce battle cries as if they intended nothing short of bloody murder. She knew, though, that the sudden shock of deafening noise was a tactic designed to render the intended target powerless with fright, making them easier to cut down. She knew because she used such tactics herself.
Blade in hand, Richard was fully in his element; focused, resolute, ruthlessly committed—even without his sword's attendant magic.
As assailants charged in, the sword, driven by Richard's own wrath, flashed through the air, a flash of crimson light from the fire's flames reflected along the blade's length, lending it a fleeting stain of red. In that charged moment of attack met, there was a split second when Kahlan feared that without the sword's magic, it all might go terribly wrong.
In an instant, the camp that had been so quietly tense became pandemonium. Although the attackers weren't dressed like soldiers, they were all big and as they swept in there was no doubt whatsoever as to their hostile intent.
A man rushing onward threw his arms up to seize Richard before his sword could be brought to bear. The sword's tip whistled as it came around, driven by deadly commitment. The blade severed one of the man's raised arms before exploding through his skull. The air above the fire filled with a spray of blood, bone, and brain. Another man lunged. Richard's sword ripped through his chest. In the space of two blinks, two men were dead.
The magic at last seemed to slam into Richard's eyes, as if finally catching up with his intent.
Kahlan couldn't make sense of what the men were doing. They attacked without weapons drawn, but they seemed no less fierce for it. Their speed, numbers, and size, and the angry look of them, were enough to make most anyone tremble in fright.
From the darkness, more men rushed in on them. Cara stepped into the path of the attack, lashing out with her Agiel. Men cried out in horrifying pain when her weapon made contact, causing hesitation among the attackers. Sabar, knife to hand, tumbled to the ground with one of the men who had seized him from behind. Jennsen ducked away from another man snatching for her hair. As she spun away from him, she slashed his face with her knife. His cries joined a strident chorus of others.
Kahlan realized that it wasn't just men yelling, but the horses were also screaming in fright. Cara's Agiel against a bull neck brought a terrifying shriek. Men yelled with effort and shouted orders that were cut off abruptly as Richard's sword tore through them. All the yelling seemed directed at the task of overwhelming the four of them.
Kahlan understood, then, what was going on. This was not an attempt to kill, but to capture. For these men, killing would be a great mercy compared to what they intended.
Two of the burly men dove across the fire, arms spread wide as if to tackle Richard and Kahlan. Cara reached out and seized a fistful of shirt, abruptly spinning one of the two around. She drove her Agiel into his gut, dropping him to his knees. The other man unexpectedly encountered Richard's sword thrust straight in with formidable muscle driving it. The scream of mortal pain was brief before the sword slashed his throat. Cara, standing above the man on his knees, pressed her Agiel to his chest and gave it a twist that dropped him instantly.
Already, Richard was leaping over the fire to penetrate into the brunt of the attack. As his boots landed with a thud, his sword cut the man atop Sabar nearly in two, spilling his viscera across the ground.
The man Jennsen had slashed rose up only to be met by her knife driven by desperate fright. She jumped back as he tumbled forward, clutching the base of his throat where she had severed his windpipe. Cara snagged the man Jennsen didn't see going for her back. The Mord-Sith, her face a picture of savage resolve, held her Agiel to his throat, following him to the ground as he choked on his own blood.
Then, among the men Richard ripped into, Kahlan saw the knives coming out. The men abandoned their failed attempt to bring him down by grabbing and overpowering him, and decided, instead, to knife him. If anything, the threat of the knives served only to further unleash Richard's fury. By the look in his eyes, the sword's magic seemed to be fully engaged in the battle.
For an instant, Kahlan stood transfixed by the sight of Richard so ruthlessly committed to self-defense that the act of killing became a graceful manifestation of art—a dance with death. Compared with Richard's fluid movements, the men blundered like bulls. Without wasted motion, Richard slipped among them as if they were statues, his sword delivering unrestrained violence. Each thrust met a vital area of the enemy. Each swing sliced through flesh and bone. Each turn met an attack and crushed it. There was no lost opportunity, no slash that missed, no thrust gone wide, no bobble that only
slightly wounded. Each time he spun past the thrust of a blade, met a rush, or turned to a new attack, he cut without mercy.
Kahlan was furious that she didn't have her sword. There was no telling how many more men there were. She knew all too well what it was like to be helpless and overwhelmed by a gang of men. She started edging toward the wagon.
Jennsen and Sabar were both tackled by a burly man diving in out of the darkness. As they hit the ground, the man landed atop them, knocking the wind from them. His big hands pinned their wrists to the ground, keeping their knives at bay.
Richard's blade swept past with lightning speed, slicing across the man's back, severing his spine. Richard went to a knee as he turned, whipping the sword around to impale another attacker rushing in at a dead run, trying to get to Richard before he could recover. The look on the man's face was a picture of horrified surprise as he ran instead onto Richard's sword, running it into his own chest up to the hilt. The heavy man atop Jennsen and Sabar convulsed, unable to draw a breath, as they threw him off. Richard, still on one knee, yanked the sword free as the mortally wounded man fell past him.
As another man rushed into camp, looking around, trying to get his bearings, Cara slammed her Agiel against his neck. As he crumbled, she drove her elbow up to smash the face of a man following the first in, trying to grab her from behind while she was occupied. Crying out, his hands covered crushed bone and gushing blood. She spun and kicked him between the legs. As he fell forward, his hands going to his groin, she broke his jaw with her knee, turned, and dropped a third man by slamming her Agiel to his chest.
Another attacker threw himself at Sabar, knocking him back. Sabar lashed out with his knife, making solid contact. Another man saw the opening and snatched up Nicci's letter lying on the ground. Kahlan dove for the letter in his fist, but missed as he yanked his hand back before dashing away. Jennsen blocked his escape. He straight-armed her as he charged past. Jennsen was knocked reeling, but came around to bury her knife between his shoulder blades.