Stone of Tears tsot-2

by Terry Goodkind

  Richard gave a little bow. “Yes, thank you, Sisters. Please give the Prelate my kindest regards.”

  “I told you she wouldn’t see us,” Pasha said on the way out.

  Richard hiked his pack up higher on his shoulder. “Well, we gave it our best try. Thanks for indulging me.”

  He had known that Pasha had been right, that the Prelate wouldn’t see them, but he had seen what he had come to see. He had only been interested in knowing the layout of the building and grounds for future reference.

  Richard hadn’t changed his mind about his captivity, but he had decided to try a different approach for a while. He would bide his time, and see what they could teach him. Nothing would please him more than to be released from the collar without having to hurt anyone.

  In the building that housed his room, Gillaume Hall, named after a prophet, Richard had learned, a young man came hesitantly out of the shadows on the lower level, before the wide marble stairs. His head of curly blond hair was cut short at the sides. His hands were stuck into the opposite sleeves of his violet robes. Silver brocade circled the cuffs and neck. He looked smaller than he was because of the way he hunched over.

  His head bowed to Pasha while his blue eyes searched for a safe place to settle. “Blessings on you, Pasha,” he said softly. “You look lovely tonight. I pray you are well.”

  Pasha squinted in thought. “Warren, isn’t it?” His head bobbed, surprised that she knew his name. “I’m fine, Warren. Thank you for asking. This is Richard Cypher.”

  Warren smiled shyly at Richard. “Yes, I saw you before the Sisters, yesterday.”

  “I suppose you, too, want to know about the mriswith,” Pasha said with a sigh.

  “Mriswith?”

  “Richard killed a mriswith. Isn’t that what you wanted to ask about?”

  “Really? A mriswith? No . . .” He turned back to Richard. “I wanted to ask if you would care to come down to the vaults sometime, and look at the prophecies with me.”

  Richard didn’t want to embarrass the young man, but he had no interest in prophecies. “I’m honored by the offer, Warren, but I’m afraid that I’m not much good with riddles.”

  Warren diverted his eyes to the floor. “Of course, I understand. Not many of the others are much interested in the books, either. I just thought that maybe, well, I just thought that since you mentioned that particular prophecy yesterday, that maybe you would want to talk about it. It’s a unique piece of work. But I understand. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  Richard frowned. “What prophecy?”

  “The one you mentioned at the end. About you being, well”—Warren swallowed—“the bringer of death. It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from the prophecies before.” He blinked in awe. “Since you are in the prophecies, I thought, well, I thought maybe . . .” His voice trailed off. He looked down at the floor as he started to turn away. “But I understand. I’m sorry to have . . .”

  Richard gently caught hold of Warren’s arm and turned him back. “Like I said, I’m not very good with riddles. But maybe you could teach me something about them, so I wouldn’t be so ignorant. I do like to learn.”

  Warren’s face brightened. His whole body seemed to swell. When he straightened, he was almost as tall as Richard.

  “I’d like that. I would really like to talk to you about that prophecy. It’s a real conundrum. To this day, the argument over it has never been settled. Maybe with your help . . .”

  A broad-shouldered man in plain robes, and wearing a Rada’Han, slipped up silently, took a fistful of Warren’s robe at the shoulder, and moved him aside. His eyes were locked on Pasha the whole time. He gave her a smooth smile.

  “Good evening, Pasha. It will be dinnertime soon. I’ve decided to take you.” His eyes glided down the length of her and then back up. “If you can get yourself cleaned up. And do something with your hair. You look a mess. You better get to it.”

  He started to turn away. Pasha put her arm through Richard’s.

  “I’m afraid I have other plans, Jedidiah.”

  Jedidiah gave Richard a cursory glance. “What, this country boy? The two of you going to go chop wood, or maybe skin rabbits?”

  “You’re the one,” Richard said. “I remember your voice. You’re the one who called down from the balcony, yesterday, asking, ‘All by yourself?’ ”

  Jedidiah’s condescending smile looked to come easily to him. “An appropriate question, don’t you think?”

  Pasha lifted her chin. “Richard killed a mriswith.”

  Jedidiah’s eyebrows went up in mock wonder. “Well, how brave of the country boy.”

  “You’ve never killed a mriswith,” Warren spoke up.

  Jedidiah slowly turned a withering glare on Warren. Warren shrank away. “What are you doing above ground, Mole?” He turned back to Pasha. “And did you see him kill it? I would wager he was alone when he claimed to have killed it. He probably found a mriswith that had died of old age, stabbed it with his sword, and then bragged to you, to try to impress you.” He redirected a smirk to Richard. “Isn’t that about the way it happened, country boy?”

  Richard grinned. “You’ve caught me cold. You have it right.”

  “As I thought.” He twitched a small smile to Pasha. “Come to me later, child, and I’ll show you some real magic. A man’s magic.”

  Jedidiah strode away imperiously and disappeared around a corner. Pasha put her fists to her hips.

  “Why did you say that! Why did you let him think that!”

  “I did it for you,” Richard said. “I thought you wanted me to stop causing trouble and act a gentleman.”

  She folded her arms in a huff. “Well, I do.”

  Richard turned to Warren, still shrunk back against the marble newel post. “If he does anything to you, Warren, I want you to come tell me. It’s me that’s the thorn in his pants. If he takes it out on you, you come tell me.”

  Warren brightened. “Really? Thank you, Richard. But I don’t think he would bother with me. And I’ll be seeing you down in the vaults, when you have the time.” He cast a shy smile at Pasha. “Good night, Pasha. So nice to see you again. You look lovely tonight. Good night.”

  She smiled. “Good night, Warren.” She watched him scurry off down the hall. “What a strange young man. I almost couldn’t remember his real name. Everyone calls him the Mole. He almost never comes up from the vaults under the palace.”

  She glanced sideways to Richard. “Well, you’ve made a friend tonight who can be of no help to you, and an enemy who can harm you. You stay away from Jedidiah. He’s an experienced wizard, close to being released. Until you learn to defend yourself with your Han, he can hurt you. He can kill you.”

  “I thought we were one big happy family.”

  “There is a pecking order among wizards. Wizards with the strongest power vie for dominance. It sometimes gets very dangerous. Jedidiah is the pride of the palace, and does not take well to the idea that another may challenge his supremacy.”

  “I’m hardly a challenge to the power of a wizard.”

  Pasha lifted an eyebrow. “Jedidiah never killed a mriswith, and everyone knows that.”

  Feeling decidedly uncomfortable in the red coat Pasha had selected, Richard tried to enjoy the lentil porridge they had prepared especially for him. Pasha wore a stunning dark green dress that did more to reveal her figure than cover it. Richard thought it revealed more of her breasts than was prudent. The young men there as guests of Sisters or their novices did little eating, and a lot of watching. None missed a move Pasha made.

  Many of the young men in collars came by and introduced themselves to Richard, saying they wanted to get to know him better. They promised to show him the city and some of its more interesting sights. Pasha’s face reddened at the last.

  Richard asked if they knew where the guards went for ale, and they promised to take him there whenever he wished.

  Sisters of every age, shape, and size came to
greet him. They all acted as if the events of the night before had never taken place. When Richard asked Pasha why, she said all the Sisters understood the difficulty a young man had in making the adjustment of coming to the palace. She said they were accustomed to such outbursts of emotion, and didn’t take them to heart. Richard kept to himself the thought that this time they should.

  Some of the Sisters smiled and said they hoped they would be given the opportunity to work with him, and a few scowled and promised they would be seeing him, and promised not to be tolerant of anything less than his best efforts. Richard smiled and said he would give them nothing less than his best. He wondered to himself what he was committing to.

  Near the end of the meal, two attractive young women, one in a satiny pink dress, the other in yellow, rushed in, stopping at various tables, speaking in whispers to other young women. They at last came to the corner where Richard and Pasha sat.

  One bent close to Pasha. “Have you heard?” Pasha stared with a blank look. “Jedidiah fell down a flight of stairs.” Her eyes sparkled with the telling of the gossip. She leaned closer with the titillation of what she had to tell next. “Broke his leg.”

  Pasha gasped. “No! When? We just saw him a while ago.”

  The woman giggled and nodded. “Yes, it’s true. It just happened, not but a few minutes ago. The healers are with him now. No need for concern; he’ll be back to good by morning.”

  “How did it happen?”

  The woman shrugged. “Just clumsy. Tripped on the carpet and tumbled down.” She lowered her voice. “He was so furious he flamed the carpet to ash.”

  “Wizard’s fire!” Pasha whispered incredulously. “In the palace? Such a high crime . . .”

  “No, no, not wizard’s fire, of course not, silly girl. Even Jedidiah is not that brazen. Just simple fire. But it was one of the oldest carpets in the palace. The Sisters are not pleased at his display of temper. They ordered the bone, and the pain, not be mended until morning, as punishment.”

  Their gossip finally expended, the two young women’s eyes and smiles settled on Richard. Pasha introduced them as two friends of hers, Celia and Dulcy, two novices with charges of their own. Richard was polite, complimenting them on their pretty dresses, and the way their hair was curled. Their smiles widened.

  Taking his arm when they finally left, Pasha thanked him.

  “For what?”

  “I’ve never been permitted to eat with the Sisters, or with the novices who have a young man to train. This is the first time I’ve ever been to dinner just like I was a Sister. You were pleasant and considerate of everyone; I was so proud to have you with me. And, you look very handsome in those clothes.”

  “In that dress, I would imagine you could easily get someone better bred than me as a dinner companion.” Richard pulled open the fancy shirt collar. “I’ve never worn a shirt this ruffled, or white. Nor a coat this red. I think I look foolish.”

  A self-satisfied smile spread on Pasha’s face. “I can promise you that Celia and Dulcy do not think you look foolish. I’m surprised you couldn’t see them glowing green. I thought maybe they might decide to sit right down on your lap.”

  Richard thought that if Celia and Dulcy liked the red coat so much, they could have it, but he kept the thought to himself. “Why doesn’t an important wizard like Jedidiah wear fancy clothes?”

  “Only beginning wizards wear clothes like this, and are permitted to go into the city. At certain milestones in a wizard’s advancement, they change to a particular form of dress. The further a wizard progress, the more modest his dress. That’s why Jedidiah wears simple tan robes, because he has nearly reached the end of his training.”

  “What’s the purpose of such an odd rule?”

  “To teach humility. Those with the nicest clothes, the most freedom, and unlimited money, are those with the least power. No one respects them for these things. It’s meant to teach the young men that mastery comes from within, not from external trappings.”

  “Then, wearing these things is a demotion for me. I was already wearing humble clothes.”

  “You are not yet entitled to wear humble robes. You may wear your own clothes occasionally, if you wish. If they were simple robes, though, it would not be allowed.

  “The people in the city know a wizard’s abilities and power by his dress. No wizard who wears simple robes is permitted to go into the city.” She smiled. “Someday, when you have advanced enough, you will be permitted to wear the robes of a wizard.”

  “I don’t like robes. I like the clothes I was wearing.”

  “When you have your collar off, and leave the palace, you may wear what you wish. Of course, most come to respect the robes of their profession, and wear them the rest of their lives.”

  Richard changed the subject. “I want to go see Warren. Tell me how to get down there.”

  “Now? Tonight? Richard, it’s been a long day, and I must give you your first lesson yet tonight.”

  “Just tell me how to get down there. Will Warren be down there this late?”

  “I don’t know that he is ever seen anywhere else. I think he must sleep on the books. I was surprised to see him up in the palace today. That in itself will be gossip for weeks.”

  “I don’t want him to think I forgot him. Just tell me how to get down there.”

  “Well,” she sighed, “if you insist on going, we will go together. I’m supposed to escort you wherever you go in the Palace of the Prophets. For now, anyway.”

  Chapter 54

  In the core of the Palace of the Prophets, they began their descent down into the vaults. The stairways on the upper levels were elegant. Lower down, the stairs became utilitarian stone, with their leading edges worn round and smooth. The maidservants he had seen on the upper levels were nowhere to be seen.

  Paneled walls gave way to stone. In some places he had to duck under huge beams. Lamps were no longer stationed on the walls, but, instead, widely spaced torches lit the way. Sounds of palace life were left far behind, to be replaced by dead silence. Some of the hallways were wet with leaking water.

  “What’s in these vaults?” Richard asked.

  “The books of prophecy. Books of history, and records of the palace are also kept there.”

  “Why are they way down here?”

  “For protection. Prophecies are dangerous to the untrained mind. All novices study books of prophecy, but only certain Sisters are permitted to read them all, and work with them. Young wizards who show that their gift gives them an aptitude for prophecy are taught by these Sisters.

  “There are a few young men who work and study in the vaults, but Warren is to the vaults what Jedidiah is to other forms of magic. Every wizard has a specialty. We will work with you to discover what your innate ability is. Until we can learn this, it will be hard to take your training very far.”

  “Sister Verna told me something about that. So, what do you think my talent is?”

  “Usually, we can tell by the personality of the boy. Some like to work with their hands, and end up making things of magic. Some like to help the sick or injured, and become healers. Things like that. We can usually tell.”

  “So what about me?”

  She glanced briefly in his direction. “None of us has ever seen anyone like you before. We have no idea, yet.” Pasha’s face brightened. “But we will.”

  A huge, round stone door, as thick as Richard was tall, stood open in the gloom. Beyond it were rooms carved from the bedrock that the palace sat atop. Lamps did little to brighten the place. There were a number of long, timeworn tables with books and papers scattered about on them, and shelves in rows that extended into the distance to each side. Two women sat at the tables, taking notes as they read by the light of candles set close.

  One of them peered up and addressed Pasha. “What are you doing down here, child?”

  Pasha curtsied. “We came to see Warren, Sister.”

  “Warren? Why?”

  Just then, Warre
n came scurrying out of the darkness. “It’s all right, Sister Becky. I asked them to come.”

  “Well, the next time, please let someone know in advance.”

  “Yes, Sister, I will.”

  Warren burrowed between the two of them and took their arms, leading them into the shelves. When he realized he was touching Pasha he jerked his hand away and turned red.

  “You look . . . dazzling, Pasha.”

  “Why, thank you, Mole.” She flushed red herself. She put a hand to his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Warren . . . I didn’t mean anything by that. I meant to call you Warren.”

  He smiled. “It’s all right, Pasha. I know people call me the Mole. They think it a pejorative, but I take it as a compliment. You see, a mole can find its way in the dark, where others are blind. That is much like what I do; I find the way where others see nothing.”

  Pasha sighed in relief. “I’m glad, Warren. Mole, did you hear that Jedidiah fell down a flight of stairs and broke his leg?”

  “Really?” He searched her eyes. “Maybe the Creator was trying to teach him that when you hold your nose so high in the air, you can’t see where you are going.”

  “I don’t think Jedidiah paid any heed to the Creator’s lessons,” Pasha said. “I heard tell that he was so angry he burned a prized carpet to ash.”

  Warren still held her eyes. “You are the one who should be angry, not Jedidiah. He said cruel things to you. No one should say cruel things to you.”

  “He is usually kind to me, but I admit, I did look a mess.”

  “Some of these books look a mess to people, but it is what’s inside that matters, not the dust on their covers.”

  Pasha blushed. “Why, thank you, Mole . . . I think.”

  Warren looked to Richard. “I didn’t know if you would really come. Most people say they will, but they never do. I’m so pleased you did. Come this way. Pasha, I’m afraid you must wait here.”

  “What!” She leaned forward, and Richard thought that maybe her breasts might spill out if she didn’t straighten up. “I’m going, too.”

  Warren’s eyes widened. “But I must take him into one of the back rooms. You are a novice. Novices are not allowed.”