The Pillars of Creation tsot-7

by Terry Goodkind

  “Why haven’t we encountered such constructed spells before?” Sebastian asked with growing impatience. “And why now, all of a sudden?”

  Sister Perdita stared at him for a moment, a picture of bottled anger that Jennsen knew she would never have dared direct at the emperor, even though the attack on the Confessors’ Palace, which he ordered, against her warning, had resulted in the deaths of many of her Sisters of the Light.

  With a show of deliberate care, Sister Perdita pointed up at the dark Keep hard against the mountain above them. “There are a thousand rooms in the Wizard’s Keep if there’s one,” she said in a low voice. “A good many of them will be stuffed full of nasty things. It’s likely that when we drove them here for the winter, that wizard of theirs—Wizard Zorander—finally had the good long time he needed to search through the Keep, looking for just the kinds of things he hitherto lacked, so as to be ready for us when spring arrived and we advanced toward Aydindril. I fear to think what catastrophic surprises he yet has in store for us. That Keep has stood invincible for thousands of years.”

  Sebastian’s glare turned as dark as Jagang’s. “Why haven’t you warned us about this? I never heard you say anything.”

  “I did. You were gone.”

  “You’ve also advised against many other things, as well, and we’ve overcome them,” Jagang growled at her. “When you fight a war, you must expect to take risks and to take casualties. Only those who dare, win.”

  Sebastian gestured up at the Keep. “What other things might we expect?”

  “Constructed spells are only one of the dangers in fighting these people. None of us Sisters really considered constructed spells a great threat because they’re so rare, but, as you can see, even one constructed spell is profoundly perilous. Who knows what even more deadly things might be waiting to be unleashed.

  “What’s more, there’s a whole world of dangers we can’t even begin to conceive of. Their winter weather, alone, has killed hundreds of thousands of our men without the enemy having to lift a finger or risk a single man. That, alone, has done more damage to us than almost any battle or calamity of magic. Did we expect such losses from something so simple as snow and cold weather? Did our size and strength protect us from it? Are those hundreds of thousands any less of a loss because they died of fever rather than some fancy application of magic? What difference does it make to the dead—or those left to fight?

  “I admit, to a soldier, winning because your enemy falls ill might not seem very glamorous or heroic, but dead is dead. Our army outnumbers these people many times over, yet we lost those hundreds of thousands to fever because of simple weather—not the magic you are so worried about us protecting you from.”

  “But in a real fight,” Sebastian scoffed, “then our numbers really mean something and will win out.”

  “Tell that to those who died of fever. Numbers don’t always determine the winner.”

  “That’s outlandish,” Sebastian shot back.

  Sister Perdita pointed at the line of dead. “Tell it to them.”

  “We must take risks if we’re to win,” Jagang said, settling the matter. “What I want to know is if the enemy can be expected to throw more of these constructed spells at us?”

  Sister Perdita shook her head, as if to say she had no idea. “I doubt that Wizard Zorander knows much about the constructed spells kept there. Such magic is no longer understood well.”

  “He apparently understood one of them pretty well,” Sebastian said.

  “And, that might have been the only one he understood well enough to use. As I said before, once used, constructed spells are used up.”

  “But it’s also possible,” Jennsen interrupted, “that there are more constructed spells he does understand.”

  “Yes. Or, for all anyone knows, this could have been the last constructed spell in existence. On the other hand, he might be sitting in there with a hundred of them in his lap, all much worse than this one. There is simply no way to know.”

  Jagang’s black eyes gazed out at his fallen cavalry elite. “Well, he certainly used this one to cut—”

  There was a sudden blinding flash off at the horizon.

  The world around them lit with the intensity of a flash of lightning, but the flash didn’t die out as lightning did. Jennsen seized the reins just under Rusty and Pete’s bits to keep them from bolting. Other horses spooked, rearing up.

  White-hot light flared up from the river valley down over the hills—in the direction of the army. The light was so white, so pure, so hot, that it lit the clouds from underneath all the way to the opposite horizon. It was a light of such power, such intensity, that many of the men dropped to a knee in alarm.

  The incandescent glow expanded outward with incredible speed, dwarfing the hills, yet it was so distant that they heard nothing. The rocky slopes of the mountains ringing the city were all illuminated in the harsh glare.

  And then Jennsen heard at last a deep rumbling boom that vibrated in her chest. It shook the ground beneath their feet. The powerful, resonant boom stretched out into a growing, clacking roar.

  A dark dome expanded up through the light. Jennsen realized that, because of the distance, what looked to her like a spreading dome of dust had to be debris at least as big as trees. Or wagons.

  As the dark cloud expanded upward through the light, it dissipated, as if evaporating in the might of that consuming heat and light. Jennsen could see a wave, like the rings made by tossing a rock in a pond, radiating outward, except this was a single wave racing across the ground.

  As everyone stood transfixed, gripped in fright, a sudden wall of wind, driving dirt and sand before it, blasted up the hill toward them. It was the shock of the wave that had finally reached them. It was so abrupt and so powerful that if the branches were not already bare, they would have been stripped of leaves right then and there. Limbs snapped as trees shuddered under the concussion of wind.

  More horses panicked, bucking and bolting. Men dropped to the ground to protect themselves from what might come next. Jennsen, staggered by the blast of wind, shielded her eyes with a hand while huge soldiers recited prayers learned in childhood, begging the Creator for salvation.

  Jagang stood facing the sight with angry defiant challenge.

  “Dear spirits,” Jennsen finally said, squinting, blinking the dust from her eyes as the aftermath seemed to abate. “What could that have possibly been?”

  Sister Perdita had gone ashen. “A light web.” Her voice was low and heavy with what Jennsen had never detected from her before: dread.

  “Impossible!” Emperor Jagang roared. “There are Sisters down there warding for light spells!”

  Sister Perdita said nothing. She couldn’t seem to take her gaze from the arresting sight.

  Jennsen could tell that the pain was wearing heavily on Sebastian, but he spoke forcefully. “I’ve been told that a light web can’t do any more damage than”—he gestured back at the palace—“perhaps to destroy a building.”

  Sister Perdita said nothing, and with that silence offered the evidence to the contrary that was clearly before his eyes.

  Jennsen took the reins to both horses in one hand and put the other to Sebastian’s back in sympathy. She ached for him and wanted him to be somewhere safe where his injury could be tended to. The Sisters had said that it was serious and needed their attention. Jennsen suspected that the wound he suffered at the hands of the sorceress needed the intervention of magic.

  “How can it be a light web!” Jagang demanded. “There’s not even anyone here! No troops, no army, no force—except maybe a couple of their gifted.”

  “That’s all it would take,” Sister Perdita said. “Such a thing needs no supporting troops. I told you that something was wrong. With the Keep here, in Aydindril, there’s no telling what even a lone wizard might be able to do to hold off an army—even our army.”

  “You mean,” Sebastian asked, “it’s like the way a small force in a high pass, for exa
mple, can hold off a whole army?”

  “That’s right.”

  Jagang looked incredulous. “You mean to say that you think that even that one skinny old wizard, in a place like the Keep, might be able to do all that?”

  Sister Perdita’s gaze shifted to the emperor. “That one skinny old wizard, as you call him, has just managed to do the impossible. He has not only found what was probably a light web constructed thousands of years ago, but, even more inconceivable, he somehow managed to ignite it.”

  Jagang turned to stare off to where the light was finally dying. “Dear Creator,” he whispered, “that’s right where the army is.” He wiped a hand back across his shaved head as he considered the frightening implications. “How could they ignite a light web among our army? We’re warded for that! How!”

  Sister Perdita’s eyes turned toward the ground. “There is no way for us to tell, Excellency. It could be something as simple as a box containing an ancient light web from which he removed all the fail-safes and then left it for us to come across. As our men set up camp, maybe a man found it, wondered what was in the innocent-looking little box, opened it, and the light of day was the final trigger. It could be something else entirely else that we could never begin to dream up or imagine, much less forestall. We’ll never know. Whoever triggered it is now part of that cloud of smoke hanging over the river valley.”

  “Excellency,” Sebastian said, “I urgently advise that we get the army out of here—move them back.” He paused to wince in pain. “If they’re able to unleash such a defense—with all the gifted and their protection we have—then taking the Keep might be impossible.”

  “But we must!” Jagang roared.

  Sebastian sagged forward, waiting for a stitch of pain to pass. “Excellency, if we lose the army, then Lord Rahl will triumph. It’s as simple as that. Aydindril is not worth the risk it has proven itself to be.” This was not so much the Sebastian Jennsen knew, as it was Sebastian, the Order’s strategist, speaking. “Better for us to withdraw and fight another day on our terms, not theirs. Time is our ally, not theirs.”

  In silent fury, the emperor stared off toward his imperiled army as he considered Sebastian’s advice. There was no telling how many men had just died.

  “This is Lord Rahl’s doing,” Jagang finally whispered. “He has to be killed. In the Creator’s name, he must be killed.”

  Jennsen knew that she was the only one who could accomplish such a thing.

  Chapter 51

  Jennsen paced in the dimly lit tent, her footsteps silent across the emperor’s opulent carpets. A Sister stood vigil near the outer entry, making sure that no one could come into the tent to disturb the emperor, or, more important, to harm him. Outside, a massive contingent of guards, including more Sisters, patrolled the area. Occasionally, the Sister over by the outer entry glanced at Jennsen as she paced.

  Pacing was all she could do. Her insides were a painful knot of worry over Sebastian. He had lost consciousness on the long ride back to the encampment. Sister Perdita said that he was in danger of losing his life. Jennsen couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. He was all she had.

  Emperor Jagang was also in grave condition after having lost so much blood and then having to endure the long hard ride back with the tattered remnants of the elite cavalry, but he’d refused to delay his return for any reason, even his own well-being. He never thought of himself, only of getting back to his army. Both men were at last now secure in the confines of the emperor’s tents, being attended to by Sisters of the Light. Jennsen had wanted to stay with Sebastian, but the Sisters chased her out.

  The emperor had been made worse by the sight of the army. He’d been fit to kill anyone who gave him an excuse. Jennsen could understand his rage of emotion.

  The light web had ignited close to the center of the encampment. Even this many hours after the event, the place was still mass confusion.

  Many units had scattered, preparing for the possibility of an imminent attack. Others, it was suspected, had simply run for the hills. In the area where the light web had ignited there was nothing but a vast depression of blackened ground. In the ensuing chaos, no one had been able to determine how many men had been killed. It was next to impossible, with so many either killed or scattered, to get an accurate count of units, much less individuals, but there was no argument that the devastation was staggering.

  Jennsen had overheard whispers of over half a million men turned to dust in an instant, and maybe as many as twice that number. In the end, the number killed might prove to be much higher; there were inestimable numbers of seriously injured soldiers—men burned or blinded, men severely cut or with limbs taken off by flying debris, men partially crushed by heavy wagons and equipment toppling on them, men made deaf, men so insensate, so stupefied, that they could only stare unblinking at nothing. There were not enough army surgeons or Sisters of the Light to even begin to attend to the tiniest fraction of the wounded. With every hour that passed, thousands of those who survived the initial blast died of their injuries.

  As staggering a blow as it was, it was not fatal to the great beast of the Imperial Order army. The encampment was immense, and precisely because it was so vast, much of it had survived. According to the emperor, it was only a matter of time before they replaced the dead with fresh troops, and then he would unleash his men to seek vengeance on the people of the New World.

  Jennsen was beginning to understand why Sebastian had always been so adamant that all magic must eventually be eliminated. There was no good that she could think of that could offset such wickedness. She hoped magic could at least spare his life.

  Despite Emperor Jagang’s conviction that their forces would soon recover, there were difficult times ahead for them. Much of the food had been destroyed, along with vast amounts of equipment and weapons. Every tent in the entire encampment had been at least knocked down. It was a cold night and many men would be exposed to the elements. Fortunately, even though the emperor’s tent had been flattened, men had been able to erect it again for the injured emperor and Sebastian.

  Jennsen paced, burning, not only with worry, but with rage. She doubted that a greater monster than Richard Rahl had ever lived. Surely, no single man had ever been the cause of so much suffering in the world. It was inconceivable to her that anyone could have such a lust for power that they would lead a cause that could murder so many people. She didn’t see how Richard Rahl could be a part of Creation; surely, he was the Keeper’s disciple.

  Tears ran down Jennsen’s cheeks at her gnawing apprehension. She prayed fervently to the good spirits that Sebastian would not die, that the Sisters could heal him.

  In agonizing worry, she halted in her pacing and leaned on a table she had not seen the last time she had been in the tent. When the tent had fallen, it had been hastily erected, and this table, probably from the emperor’s private quarters, apparently hadn’t been replaced in its proper location. There was a small bookcase at the rear of the top.

  Looking for something that might divert her mind from the ache of anxiety while she waited for word of Sebastian, Jennsen idly scanned the old books. She didn’t understand the words on any of them. For some reason, though, one in particular drew her attention—something about the rhythm of the foreign words. She pulled the book out and turned it toward the candlelight, trying to read the title. She ran her fingertips over the four gilded words on the cover. They made no sense to her, yet they seemed somehow almost familiar.

  Jennsen gasped in surprise when the Sister, who had been over by the door, lifted the book from her hands. “These belong to Emperor Jagang. Besides being very old and very fragile, they are quite valuable. His Excellency doesn’t like anyone to touch his books.”

  Jennsen watched the woman inspect the book for any damage. “I’m sorry. I meant no harm.”

  “You are a very special guest, and we have been instructed to accord you every privilege, but these are His Excellency’s most prized works. He is a man of gr
eat learning. He collects books. As a guest, I think you should respect his wishes that no one but he touch them.”

  “Of course. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Jennsen chewed her lower lip as she looked back at the curtain drawn across the doorway to the back, where Sebastian was being seen to. She wished there would be some word. She turned back to the Sister. “I was only puzzled because I’ve never seen such words.”

  “These are in the tongue of the emperor’s homeland.”

  “Really?” Jennsen gestured to the book the Sister was returning to its place. “Do you know what it says?”

  “I don’t know the language very well, but . . . let me see if I might be able to tell.”

  In the dim light, the Sister squinted at the book for a time, her lips moving silently as she worked at the translation, before finally sliding the volume back in place.

  “It says, The Pillars of Creation.”

  “The Pillars of Creation . . . What can you tell me about such a book?”

  The woman shrugged. “There’s a place in the Old World called by that name. I would guess the book must be about that.”

  Before Jennsen could ask anything else, Sister Perdita suddenly emerged from behind the rear partition of the tent, the candles casting harsh shadows across her somber face.

  Jennsen rushed to meet her. “How are they?” she asked in an urgent whisper. “They’re both going to be all right, aren’t they?”

  Sister Perdita’s gaze shifted to the Sister who had just replaced the book. “Sister, you are needed by the others. Please go help them.”

  “But His Excellency told me to guard—”

  “His Excellency is the one who needs the help. The healing is not going well. Go and help the Sisters.”

  At that, the woman nodded and rushed off to the back.

  “Why isn’t the healing going well?” Jennsen asked after the Sister had vanished behind the heavy curtain.

  “A healing that is started and then interrupted, as Emperor Jagang’s was, creates unique problems—especially since the Sister who started it is dead. Each person brings unique ability to the task, so to go in later and try to unravel exactly how it was started, much less build on it, makes the healing much more difficult and delicate.” She offered a small smile. “But we’re confident that His Excellency will be fine. It’s just a matter of some concentrated work by the Sisters of the Light. I imagine they will be at it most of the night. By morning, I’m sure everything will be under control and the emperor will be as strong as ever.”