Stone of Tears tsot-2

by Terry Goodkind

  Sister Verna was silent as the three horses thundered on. Richard’s eyes were squeezed shut. When he judged they should be at the brink, he held his breath. He prayed that the good spirits would be with him this time.

  His legs tingled in anticipation of plummeting over a cliff. He tried not to think of what it would be like on the way down. Shared fear, that’s all it was. He realized he was holding Bonnie’s mane in a death grip. He relaxed his fingers but kept his eyes closed.

  The plunge didn’t come.

  The three horses galloped on. He did nothing to slow them, but let them run as they would. They were in a frisky mood from grazing all day, and he could tell they were enjoying the run. They were running for the sheer joy of it.

  After a time, Richard realized that the sound of their hooves was changing. It wasn’t as sharp; it had grown softer.

  “Richard! We’re out of the valley!”

  He looked back over his shoulder to see the wisp of dark storm clouds boiling at the edge of the horizon. The golden sun hung low in the sky over the grassy, undulating ground beneath them. Their horses slowed to a canter.

  “Are you sure? Are you sure we’re away from it?”

  She nodded. “This is the Old World. I know this place.”

  “But it could still be an illusion, to give us confidence, and trap us before we’re clear.”

  “Must you always question what I tell you? I can feel it with my Han. This is no illusion. We are safely out of the valley and away from its magic. It cannot reach us now.”

  Richard wondered briefly if she could still be an illusion. But he, too, sensed that the danger was no longer there. He leaned forward and gave Bonnie’s warm neck a big hug.

  The immense hills they were entering were barren of trees, covered with clumps of grass and wildflowers, the low places sprinkled throughout with sandy-colored rocks. The sun shined warmly, but it no longer scorched the land. Richard laughed into the wind at his face.

  He grinned at Sister Verna, but she wasn’t smiling. Her brow was creased with a scowl as she scanned the sweep of hills before them.

  “Wipe that grin off your face,” she snapped.

  “I’m just happy we made it. I’m happy you’re alive, Sister.”

  “If you had any idea how angry I am with you right now, Richard, you would not be quite so pleased I am still with you. Take this advice seriously: you would be doing yourself a great favor, right now, if you kept that tongue of yours still.”

  He could only shake his head.

  Chapter 33

  “You must cut off my arm.”

  Zedd drew the sleeve of the sky blue, satin robe down her arm, covering the wound that wouldn’t heal, and the faint green glow of her flesh.

  “I’m not cutting off your arm, Adie. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  He set the cut-glass lamp back on a side table inlaid with silver worked in floral patterns, next to the tray of brown bread and half-eaten lamb stew, and strolled across the carpets to draw the heavy, embroidered curtains back a bit with a thin finger. He peered, without seeing, out the frost-laced window, at the dark street. The glow from the fire in the outer room cast a warm, dim light through the open double doors. The rooms were fairly quiet, considering the size of the crowd down in the dining room.

  The Ram’s Horn did a bustling business despite it being the dead of winter, or perhaps because of it. The open road was no place to sleep in this cold and snow, and trade couldn’t stop simply because of the season. Merchants, drivers, and travelers of every sort filled this inn, as well as all the others in Penverro.

  He and Adie had been lucky to find lodging. Or perhaps the innkeeper had been the lucky one, lucky that someone would come along who was willing to pay the outrageous price he asked for his finest rooms.

  But the price of the rooms did not concern Zedd; producing the required price in gold was no problem for a wizard of the First Order. He had real problems, though. The gash where the skrin had cut Adie with its claw wasn’t healing. In fact, it was getting worse. And it would do no good trying to use more magic to cure the wound; magic was the trouble.

  “Listen to me, old man.” Adie levered herself up in the bed, onto one elbow. “It be the only way to stop it. You have tried, and I do not fault your efforts. But if we don’t stop it, I will die. What be one arm, compared to my life? If you do not have the courage, then give me a knife. I can do the work myself.”

  He scowled over his shoulder. “Of that, dear lady, I have no doubt. But it would do no good, I’m afraid.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked in a low rasp.

  He plucked a cold chunk of lamb from the gold-rimmed bowl and popped it in his mouth before he hiked his lavish robes up a bit and sat on the edge of the bed. He took up her good hand as he chewed. It seemed thin and frail, but he knew her to be more the stuff of iron.

  “Adie, do you know anyone with knowledge of this sort of taint?”

  She ignored his question. “Why do you say it will do no good?”

  Zedd patted her hand. “Answer the question. Do you know anyone who would know anything about this?”

  “I would have to think on it some, but I do not think there be anyone still alive who would have such knowledge. You be a wizard, who would know better than you? Wizards be healers.” She took back her hand. “And what do you mean cutting off the arm would do no good?” She was silent a moment, and then her eyes widened. “You mean it be too late . . . ?”

  Zedd stood and turned away from her. He put a hand on his bony hip as he considered the options. There was not much to consider.

  “Think on it, Adie, and do so with haste. This is beyond my knowledge, and it is serious.”

  He heard the bed squeak as Adie sank back down onto the pillows. She released a tired sigh.

  “Then I be dead. At least my spirit will be with my Pell, at last. You must go on now. Do not waste any more time. I have already slowed you too much, been in this bed too many days. You must get to Aydindril. Please, Zedd, don’t let me be responsible for what will happen if you don’t get to Aydindril. Go help Richard, and leave me to my end.”

  “Adie, please do as I ask, and think. Who would be able to help us?”

  Too late, he realized he had just made a mistake. He winced and waited for what he knew what was coming.

  He heard the bedsprings squeak again. “Us?”

  “I simply mean . . .”

  She snatched the sleeve of his fine robes and spun him around. Her brow was set in a serious scowl. She gave a firm tug, forcing him to sit on the bed next to her. Her eyes seemed more pink than white in the lamplight, yet he could see the dim haze of green in them.

  “Us?” she repeated. This time it came out in a growling rasp. “And you complain about the small secrets a sorceress would choose to keep to herself! Out with it, or I will make you sorry you dragged me along with you.”

  Zedd gave a tired sigh. It was just as well; he couldn’t keep it from her much longer anyway. He drew the dark sleeve of his robe up his arm.

  The flesh of his upper arm, in the same place where her arm had been cut, was blotched with cloudy black circles about the size of gold coins, and had the same faint green glow as her arm. She stared at it without reaction.

  “Wizards use the magic of empathy to cure people. We take the pain and the essence of the discordance, the sickness or injury, into ourselves. We have passed the test of pain, so in this, as in other things, we are able to endure what we take from another. We use the gift to sustain us, and to give strength to the person, allowing the magic to cure what is out of order. The harmony within us corrects the disharmony. Sickness and injury is an aberration, and the magic restores the flows of power in a person to what it is intended to be.” He stroked her hand. “Within limits, of course. We are not the hand of Creation. But from it, we have the gift to use when it is appropriate.”

  “But . . . why be your arm like mine?”

  “The actual transfer of the
sickness or injury is blocked. Only the pain and disharmony of it is taken on, so we may pass strength, healing, and wellness to the one we are helping.” He took hold of the silver brocade at the cuff and drew the sleeve back down his arm. “Somehow, the taint of the skrin passed through that barrier.”

  Concern creased her features. “Then we must both lose our arms.”

  Zedd worked his tongue to wet it. “No. I’m afraid that wouldn’t help. When I try to cure someone, I can sense where the injury or sickness, the disharmony, lies.” He stood again, turning his back to her. “Though the wound is on your arm, the taint of the skrin’s magic is evident throughout your body.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It is also throughout me, now.”

  Zedd could hear the muffled laughter from down in the dining room. Merry music seemed to ooze up through the elegant, richly colored carpets. A bard was singing a bawdy tale about a princess masquerading as a serving wench. Her father and king had pledged her to a prince she loathed. After having exposed the suitor as a scoundrel and greedy opportunist, she found that, despite having to endure her bottom being pinched, she preferred the occupation of serving wench to that of princess, and went on to live a life of singing and dancing. The crowd roared their approval, thumping their mugs in time with the tune.

  Adie’s voice came softly from behind him. “We be in a great deal of trouble, old man.”

  He nodded absently. “Indeed.”

  “I be sorry, Zedd. Forgive me for what I have brought upon us.”

  He dismissed her regrets with a wave of his hand. “What’s done is done. It’s not your fault, dear lady. If anything, it’s mine, for not thinking before I used magic on this; the price of using your heart before using your head.” The price, too, for violating the Wizard’s Second Rule, he thought, but did not voice it.

  The heavy folds of his robes swirled around him as he turned back to face her. “Adie, think. There must be someone who would know about this taint, someone who knows about the skrin. Is there anyone you visited when searching knowledge of the underworld who would know something? Even if it’s just a little, it might give me the clue I need to rid us of this.”

  Her weight settled deeper into the pillows as she frowned in thought. Finally, her head rolled from side to side.

  “When I visited the women with the gift, I be young. They be old, at least older than I. They would all be dead by now.”

  Zedd stepped closer. “Did any have daughters? Daughters with the gift?”

  Adie’s eyes came to his, her eyebrows lifted, and a smile grew on her finely wrinkled face. “Yes! One who taught me some of the most important things about the skrin had daughters.” She propped herself up on her good elbow. “Three daughters.” Her grin grew. “They all had the gift. They be little at the time, but they had the gift. They would not be nearly as old as I. If their mother lived long enough, she would have taught them what she knew. That be the way of a sorceress.”

  Despite the dull ache of a foreign magic in his bones, Zedd’s step was lively with excitement. “Then we must go to them! Where are they?”

  Adie winced as she sank back down on the pillows. She drew the blanket up to her chest. “Nicobarese. They be in a remote part of Nicobarese.”

  “Bags.” Zedd let out a sigh. That’s a long way in the wrong direction.” He stroked a thumb and finger down opposite sides of his smooth jaw. “Can you think of anyone else?”

  Adie whispered to herself as, one at a time, she lifted open the fingers of a closed hand. “Sons,” she muttered. “She had only sons.” She lifted open another finger. “No, she didn’t know anything of the skrin.” Finally, she lifted open the last finger. “No children.” Her hands fell limp to her sides. “I be sorry, Zedd. The three sisters be the only ones who might know something, and they be in Nicobarese.”

  “And this woman, their mother, where did she learn these things? Maybe we could go there.”

  Adie smoothed the blanket against her stomach. Her hand slipped away to rest at her side. “The light only knows. The only place I know we can go to seek answers be Nicobarese.”

  Zedd pointed a bony finger skyward. “Then we go to Nicobarese!”

  Adie looked at him dubiously. “Zedd, there be Blood of the Fold in Nicobarese. My name be remembered there. And not remembered fondly.”

  “That was an awfully long time ago, Adie. Two kings ago.”

  “Time means nothing to the Blood.”

  He rubbed his chin as he thought. “Well, no one knows who we are; we’ve been hiding our identity to remain out of the Keeper’s sight. We will simply continue to be two wealthy travelers.” He scowled at her. “I’m already wearing this ridiculous outfit.” The lavish robes they both wore had been her idea, and not one he enjoyed.

  Adie shrugged. “It would appear we have no choice. What must be done, must be done.” She grunted with the effort of sitting up in the bed. “We must be on our way.”

  Zedd waved his hand dismissively. “You are weak and need rest. I will secure us transportation. It’s too difficult to ride horseback anymore. I’ll hire us a coach, or something.” He lifted an eyebrow as he gave her a sly smile. “After all, if we’re going to wear these garish outfits, and feign being wealthy travelers, it would be best to play the part with a coach.”

  She watched as he scrutinized himself in front of the tall, standing mirror. He held the full robes out, examining their volume. The robe was a heavy, maroon fabric, with black sleeves and cowled shoulders. The cuffs of the sleeves had three rows of silver brocade. Around the neck and down the front were bands of gold brocade woven in a coarser design. The waist was held with a flashy, red satin belt set with a gold buckle. The whole effect was so ostentatious it made him groan inwardly.

  Well, necessary was necessary. Zedd swept his arm across his middle while bowing dramatically.

  “How do I look, dear lady?”

  Adie plucked a slice of brown bread from the tray. “Foolish.”

  He straightened in a rush and finally shook a finger at her. “May I remind you that you picked it out!”

  She shrugged. “Revenge. You picked mine. I thought it only fitting to seek redress.”

  He strode across the expanse of carpets in a huff, muttering that he thought she had gotten the better of the bargain by far. “You get a little rest. I’ll see about our transportation.”

  Adie tore a chunk of bread off with her teeth and spoke around the mouthful as he headed for the door. “Don’t forget your hat.”

  Zedd froze with a wince. He spun on the balls of his feet. “Bags, woman! Must I wear the hat, too!”

  She chewed a moment and then swallowed. “The man who sold us the outfit said it be all the rage among noblemen.”

  Zedd forced out a noisy breath and then snatched the limp, red hat off the marble tabletop beside the double doors to the outer room. He plopped it atop his wavy white hair. “Better?”

  “The feather be crooked.”

  He clenched his fists. At last he reached up and rearranged the floppy hat, straightening the long peacock feather.

  “Happy?”

  She smiled—at his expense, he presumed. “Zedd, I said you look foolish only because you be such a handsome man that the fancy clothes look silly in trying to improve upon perfection.”

  A grin stole back onto his face. He gave another quick bow. “Why, thank you, madam.”

  She pulled the piece of bread in half. “And Zedd, be careful.” He cocked his head with a questioning frown. “Masquerading in that outfit, like the princess in the song, you may get your bottom pinched.”

  Zedd gave her a mischievous wink. “I won’t let any stray wench trespass on your territory.”

  He canted his hat to a jaunty angle and, humming a merry tune, swept through the doors. A cane, he thought. Perhaps he should have a cane. An ornate one, of course. It seemed to him that a gentleman should have a proper cane.

  Chapter 34

  Warm air ascended the stairs from the dining room a
long with the buzz of the packed room. The aroma of roasting meats drifted in from the kitchen to mix pleasantly with the sweet tang of pipe smoke. Zedd rubbed his stomach as he descended the stairs, wondering if he might spare the time to sample a plate.

  On the landing sat a tall basket holding three canes. Zedd pulled the most ornate, a straight black cane with an elaborate head worked in silver, from the basket. He tapped the flamboyant cane on the wood landing, testing its length and heft. Seemed a tad heavy, he thought, but it would do as a proper accessory.

  The proprietor, Master Hillman, a rotund man with his white shirtsleeves rolled up above his dimpled elbows and wearing a sparkling white apron, spied him as he reached the bottom of the steps and immediately rushed across the room, shoving men out of his way. The man’s round, pink cheeks plumped out farther as his small mouth spread with a familiar grin.

  “Master Rybnik! So good to see you again!”

  Zedd almost turned to see to whom the man was speaking before he remembered that was the name he had given. He had told the innkeeper that his name was Ruben Rybnik, and had given Adie’s name as Elda, saying she was his wife. Zedd had always favored the name Ruben. Ruben. He rolled the sound pleasantly through his mind. Ruben.

  “Please, Master Hillman, call me Ruben.”

  The man’s head bobbed. “Of course, Master Rybnik. Of course.”

  Zedd held out the cane. “I find I have need of a cane, of late. Could I convince you to part with this one?”

  The man opened his arms in a wide gesture. “For you, Master Rybnik, anything. My nephew makes them, and I let him display them here for my discriminating guests. But this one is special, and costly.” He came forward at Zedd’s skeptical expression, lifting the cane. He leaned close to speak confidentially. “Let me demonstrate, Master Rybnik. I don’t show this to anyone. Might give them the wrong impression of my establishment, you know. Here. You see? You twist, and here at the silver band, it comes open.”