She kept turning it over in her mind as she ascended the rise of rock, up among the trees, among the limbs and leaves. Animals, distant strange creatures, called out through the humid air. Others, more distant, answered with the same echoing whoops and whistles. The smell of the swamp rose to her on hot waves of air.
Jennsen recalled that Tom had seen her knife when she’d been looking for her purse that had been stolen. She had pulled back her cloak only to find that the leather thong from her purse of coins had been cut. He had seen the knife then.
Jennsen paused in her climb and straightened. Could it be that Tom thought she was some kind of…some kind of representative, or agent, of the Lord Rahl? Could it be that Tom thought she was on an important mission on behalf of Lord Rahl? Could it be that Tom thought she knew Lord Rahl?
Was it the knife that made him think she was someone special? Perhaps it had been her pressing determination to go on a seemingly impossible journey. He certainly knew how important she thought it was. Perhaps it was that she had told him it was a matter of life and death.
Jennsen moved on, ducking under heavy limbs drooping down close over the rock. On the other side, she stood and looked around, realizing that darkness was quickly descending. With a renewed sense of urgency, she scrambled up the steep slope.
She recalled how Tom had looked at her red hair. People were often worried about her because of her red hair. Many thought she had the gift because of it. She had often encountered people who feared her because of her red hair. She had used that fear deliberately to help herself stay safe. That first night, with Sebastian, she had made him think she had some kind of magical ability to protect her if he harbored hostile intent. She had used people’s fear to ward the men at the inn.
All of those things churned together in Jennsen’s mind as she climbed ever upward, gasping for breath at the strenuous effort. Darkness was enveloping her. She didn’t know if she could still make it through in such conditions, but she knew she had to try. For Sebastian, she had to keep going.
Just then, something dark swept up, right at her face. Jennsen let out a clipped cry and nearly fell as the dark thing fluttered away. Bats. She put a hand over her racing heart. It was beating as fast as their wings. The little creatures had come out to snatch the bugs that were so thick in the air.
She realized, then, that in her surprise, she might easily have stepped back and fallen. It was frightening to think how a lapse of attention in the dark, a fright, a loose rock, or a slip, could put her over an edge from which there could be no return. She knew, though, that remaining in the swamp at night might be just as fatal.
Weary from the day’s struggles, the sudden scares, she climbed, stumbling in the dark, feeling the rock, groping her way, trying to stay on the ridge and not wander off what she knew to be steep drops to either side. She worried, too, what creatures might still come out in the darkness to seize her just as she thought she was nearly free of the swamp.
Althea had said that no one could come into the swamp by the back way. A new worry gripped her: maybe after dark, Tom would be in danger. Under cover of night, one of the creatures might venture out of the swamp to snatch him. What if she reached the meadow only to discover Tom and his horses mauled by the monsters created out of Althea’s magic? What would she do, then?
She had worries enough. She told herself not to come up with new ones.
Jennsen stumbled suddenly out into the open. There was a fire burning. She stared, trying to reconcile it.
“Jennsen!” Tom jumped up and rushed over. He put his big arm around her shoulders to steady her. “Dear spirits, are you all right?”
She nodded, too exhausted to speak. He didn’t see the nod—he was already running for the wagon. Jennsen sank down to sit heavily on the grassy ground, catching her breath, surprised to be there at last, and relieved beyond words to be free of the swamp.
Tom ran back with a blanket. “You’re soaking wet,” he said as he threw the blanket around her. “What happened?”
“I went for a swim.”
He paused at mopping her face with the corner of the blanket to frown at her. “I don’t want to tell you your business, but I don’t think that was a good idea.”
“The snake would agree with you.”
His frown tightened as his face drew closer to hers. “Snake? What happened in there? What do you mean, the snake would agree with me?”
Still struggling to get her breath, Jennsen waved a hand, dismissing it. She had been so afraid of being caught down there in the dark that she had virtually been running up the steep hillside for the last hour, on top of the exertion of the rest of it. She was spent.
The fear of it all was catching up with her. Her shoulders began to tremble. She realized then that she was clutching Tom’s muscular arm for dear life. He seemed not to notice, or if he did, he didn’t comment on it. She drew back, despite how good it felt to feel his strength, his solid reliable form, his sincere concern.
Tom protectively bunched more of the blanket around her. “Did you make it through to Althea’s?”
She nodded, and when he handed her a waterskin, drank greedily.
“I swear, I’ve never heard of anyone ever making it back out of that swamp—except going in the other side when they were invited. Did you see any of the beasts?”
“I had a snake, bigger round than your leg, wrapped around me. I got a pretty good look at it—more of a look than I wanted, actually.”
He let out a low whistle. “Did the sorceress help you, then? Did you get what you needed from her? Is everything all right, then?” He halted abruptly, and seemed to rein in his curiosity. “Sorry. You’re all cold and wet. I shouldn’t be asking you so many questions.”
“Althea and I had a long talk. I can’t say that I got what I needed, but just knowing the truth is better than chasing illusions.”
Concern showed in his eyes and the way he made sure the warm blanket was covering her. “If you didn’t get the help you needed, then what will you do now?”
Jennsen drew her knife, along with a breath to steel herself. Holding the knife by the blade, she held it up before Tom’s face, so that the handle was lit by the firelight. The worked metal that made up the ornate letter “R” glimmered as if it were covered in jewels. She held it out before her like a talisman, like an official proclamation cast in silver, like a demand from on high that could not be denied.
“I need to get back to the palace.”
Without pause, Tom scooped her up in his massive arms, as if she were no more weight than a lamb, and carried her to the wagon. He lifted her over the side and gently set her in the back, among the nest of blankets.
“Don’t worry—I’ll get you back there. You did the hard part. Now, you just rest in those warm blankets and let me get you back there.”
Jennsen was relieved to have her suspicions confirmed. In a way, though, it made her feel slimy, like falling into the swamp again. She was lying to him, using him. That wasn’t right, but she didn’t know what else to do.
Before he turned away, she seized his arm. “Tom, aren’t you afraid to be helping me, when I’m involved in something so…”
“Dangerous?” he finished for her. “What I’m doing is nothing much compared to the risk you took in there.” He gestured to her matted red hair. “I’m nothing special, like you, but I’m glad you allowed me to do the small part I could do.”
“I’m not nearly as special as you think I am.” She suddenly felt very small. “I’m just doing as I must.”
Tom pulled blankets from the back up toward her. “I see a lot of people. I don’t need the gift to tell you’re special.”
“You know that this is secret business, and I can’t tell you what it is I’m doing. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Of course you can’t. Only special people carry such a special weapon. I’d not expect you to say a word and I’d not ask.”
“Thank you, Tom.” Feeling even more detestable to be usi
ng him as she was, and when he was such a sincere man, Jennsen squeezed his arm in gratitude. “I can tell you it’s important, and you’re a huge help in it all.”
He smiled. “You wrap yourself in those blankets and get yourself dry. We’ll soon be back out on the Azrith Plains. In case you forgot, it’s winter out there. Wet as you are, you’ll freeze.”
“Thank you, Tom. You’re a good man.” Jennsen slumped back into the blankets, too exhausted from the ordeal to sit up any longer.
“I’m counting on you to tell Lord Rahl,” he said with his easy laugh. Tom quickly doused the fire and then climbed up into the wagon seat.
Without guile, he was helping her, at what he had to believe was at least some risk. She feared to think what they might do to him were he to be caught helping Darken Rahl’s daughter. Here he thought he was helping the Lord Rahl, and he was doing the opposite without even knowing the chance he was taking.
Before it was over, she would put him at greater risk yet.
Despite her fear that they were racing back to the palace of the man who wanted to kill her, the stomach-churning anxiety of what lay ahead, the disappointment of failing to get the help she had hoped for, the heartbreak of learning all she had from Althea, the cold that was making her wet clothes feel like ice, and the bouncing wagon, Jennsen was soon fast asleep.
Chapter 25
Swaying atop the seat of the wagon, Jennsen watched the immense plateau gradually drawing closer. The morning sun lit the soaring stone walls of the People’s Palace, warming them in a pastel glow. Although the wind had died down, the morning air remained bone-chilling cold. After the reeking rot of the swamp, she welcomed the flat, dry, stony scent of the open plain.
With her fingertips, Jennsen rubbed her forehead, trying to soothe her dull throbbing headache. Tom had driven all night and she had slept in the back of the bouncing wagon, but not well nor nearly long enough. At least she had slept some, and they had made it back.
“Too bad Lord Rahl isn’t there.”
Shocked out of her private thoughts, Jennsen opened her eyes. “What?”
“Lord Rahl.” Tom gestured off to the right, to the south. “It’s too bad he isn’t here to help you.”
He had pointed south, the direction of the Old World. On occasion, Jennsen’s mother had spoken of the bond connecting the D’Haran people with the Lord Rahl. Through its ancient and arcane magic, D’Harans were somehow able to sense where the Lord Rahl was. While the strength of the bond varied among D’Haran people, they all shared it to some degree.
What the Lord Rahl accrued from the bond, Jennsen didn’t know. She thought of it as yet more chains of domination around his people. In her mother’s case, though, it helped them avoid Darken Rahl’s clutches.
From her mother’s descriptions, Jennsen was aware of the bond, but for some reason never felt anything of it. Perhaps it was so weak in her, as it was with some D’Haran people, that she simply couldn’t feel it. Her mother said it had nothing to do with one’s level of devotion to the Lord Rahl, that it was purely a link of magic, and, as such, it would be governed by criteria other than her feelings about the man.
Jennsen remembered times when her mother would stand in the doorway of their home, or at a window, or pause out in the forest, and stare off toward the horizon. Jennsen knew at those times that her mother was sensing Darken Rahl through the bond, where he was, and how close. It was a shame that it told her only where the Lord Rahl himself was, and not the brutes he sent after them.
Tom, being D’Haran, took that bond to the Lord Rahl for granted, and had just given Jennsen a valuable bit of information: Lord Rahl was not at his palace. That news buoyed her hopes. It was one less obstacle, one less thing to worry about.
Lord Rahl was off to the south, probably in the Old World making war on the people there, as Sebastian had told her.
“Yes,” she finally said, “too bad.”
The marketplace below the plateau was already busy. Wisps of dust drifted above the crowds gathered there and over the road south. She wondered if Irma the sausage lady was there. Jennsen missed Betty. She wanted so much to see the goat’s little tail wagging furiously, to hear her bleating with elation at being reunited with her lifelong friend.
Tom pointed his team toward the market, to where he had been set up selling his load of wine. Maybe Irma would go to the same place. Jennsen would have to leave Betty again in order to go up through the entrance and into the plateau. It would be a long climb up all those stairs, and then she had to find where Sebastian was being held.
As the wagon rumbled across the hardpan of the Azrith Plains, Jennsen stared at the empty road that wound its way up the side of the plateau.
“Take the road,” she said.
“What?”
“Take the road up to the palace.”
“Are you sure, Jennsen? I don’t think that’s wise. It’s only for official business.”
“Take the road.”
In answer, he urged the horses to the left, away from their course toward the market, and toward the base of the road, instead. From the corner of her eye she saw him snatch glances at his inscrutable passenger.
Soldiers stationed at the base of the plateau, where the road began its ascent, watched them approach. As the wagon rolled closer, Jennsen drew out her knife.
“Don’t stop,” she said to Tom.
He stared over at her. “What? I have to. They have bows, you know.”
Jennsen continued to stare ahead. “Just keep going.”
When they reached the soldiers, Jennsen held the knife out, holding it by the blade so that the handle stuck up above her fist. She kept her arm out straight and stiff, pointed down at the cluster of men, so that they might see what she was announcing. She didn’t look at them, but watched the road ahead, showing them the knife as if she couldn’t be bothered to talk to them.
Every pair of eyes watched that knife handle with the ornate letter “R” upon it as it flashed past their eyes. None moved to stop the wagon, or to nock an arrow. Tom let out a low whistle. The wagon shook and rattled as it rolled onward.
The road switched back and forth as it made its way steadily up the plateau. In some places there was ample room, but occasionally the road narrowed, forcing the wagon to ride close to the dizzying drop. Each tight bend offered them a new vista, a new view of the expanse of the Azrith Plains spread out far below. Off in the distance the plains were rimmed by dusky blue mountains.
When they arrived at the bridge, they finally did have to stop; the bridge was pulled up. Her faith in herself, and her plan, faltered as she realized that this, and not her bold bluff, was probably the reason the soldiers below had let her pass so easily. They knew she couldn’t get over the chasm unless the guards lowered the bridge. They knew she couldn’t simply barge into the palace, and at the same time they didn’t have to challenge a woman who had what very well might be an official pass, of sorts, from the Lord Rahl himself. Worse yet, she now saw how the soldiers had also isolated, in a place without escape or hope of rescue by reinforcements, people they deemed potential intruders. Any hostile foray would be stopped cold, here, and in all likelihood, captured or killed on the spot.
It was no wonder Tom had advised against using the road up.
Stimulated by the effort of the climb, the big horses tossed their heads at the interruption. One man stepped in front and took control of the horses’ bits to keep them still. Soldiers approached the side of the wagon. Jennsen sat on the cliff side, and although she saw men guarding the rear quarter on her side, most of the men approached on Tom’s side.
“Good day, Sergeant,” Tom called out.
The man scrutinized the inside of the wagon and, after finding it empty, looked up at the two in the seat. “Good day.”
Jennsen knew that this was no time for her to become timid. If she failed here, everything would be lost. Not only would Sebastian have no hope, but she would likely join him in a dungeon. She could not afford to
lose her nerve. When the soldiers were close enough, she reached past Tom to hold the knife down toward the sergeant of the guards, showing him the handle as if she were flashing a royal pass.
“Drop the bridge,” she said before he had a chance to ask them anything.
The sergeant took in the knife handle before meeting her glare. “What’s your business?”
Sebastian had told her how to bluff. He had explained how she had done it her whole life, that she was a natural at it. Now she had to do it with deliberate intent if she was to save him, and get out alive, herself. Despite how fast her heart pounded, she showed the man a stern but empty expression.
“Lord Rahl’s business. Lower the bridge.”
She thought that he was taken back a bit by her tone, or possibly he was worried by her unexpected words. She could see his level of caution rise, tensing his features. Nevertheless, he stood his ground.
“I need a little more than that, ma’am.”
Jennsen twirled the knife, weaving it over and under and between her fingers, the polished metal flashing in the sunlight as it spun, until it came to an abrupt halt with the handle upright in her fist once more, the ornate letter “R” showing to the soldier. In a deliberate manner, she pushed the hood of her cloak back, exposing her fall of red hair to the morning sunlight and the men’s stares. She could see in their eyes that her implication had been clearly understood.
“I know you have a job to do,” Jennsen said with terrible calm, “but so do I. I’m on official business for Lord Rahl. I’m sure you can appreciate how displeased Lord Rahl would be with me were I to discuss his business with everyone who asked about it, therefore, I have no intention of doing so, but I can tell you that I wouldn’t be here were it not a matter of life or death. You are wasting my precious time, Sergeant. Now, lower the bridge.”
“And what might be your name, ma’am?”
Jennsen leaned farther past Tom in order to more directly scowl at the sergeant.
“Unless you lower that bridge, Sergeant, and right now, you will forever after remember me as Trouble, sent by Lord Rahl himself.”
The Pillars of Creation Page 27