The woman pressed her lips tight as she considered a moment.
“That one,” the woman finally said, with cold reckoning, pointing at Estelle. “As I’m leaving, I’ll help you get that one. Then it’s up to you two to get away.”
Beata saw the man laughing, groping Estelle’s breasts as she tried to fight him. Beata knew what that was like.
“But we have to get Emmeline, too.” She gestured off toward the barracks where they’d dragged her.
“That one has a broken leg. You can’t take her; she’ll get you caught.”
“But she’s—”
“Forget her. What are you going to do? Carry her? Stop being a fool child. Think. Do you want to try to get away with that one, or do you want to get yourself captured for sure going after both. I’m in a hurry. Decide.”
Beata struggled to breath, wishing she couldn’t hear the screams coming from the barracks. She didn’t want to find herself in there with those men. She already had a taste of one of them.
“The one, then. Let’s go,” Beata said with finality.
“Good for you, child.”
The woman was deliberately calling her that, Beata knew, to put her in her place, hoping it would keep her in line and save her life.
“Now, listen and do exactly what I say. I’m not sure you’ll make it, but it’s your only chance.”
Desperate to escape the nightmare, Beata nodded.
“I’m going to go up there and take out that man. I’ll see to it you have at least two horses. I’ll send the girl down while you grab the horses. Get her up on a horse with you and then head out there and don’t stop for anything.”
The woman was pointing out past the Dominie Dirtch, out to the wilds. “You just keep going, away from Anderith, to some other place in the Midlands.”
“How are you going to keep them from getting us?”
“Who said I was? You just get the horses and then you two run for your lives. All I can do is try to give you a lead.” The woman held a finger before Beata’s face. “If for any reason she doesn’t make it down the steps, or get on the horse, you leave her and run.”
Beata, numb from terror, nodded. She just wanted to get away. She didn’t care about anything else anymore. She just wanted to escape with her life.
Beata clutched the red leather sleeve. “I’m Beata.”
“Good for you. Let’s go.”
The woman sprang up, running in a crouch. Beata followed after her, imitating her low run. The woman came up behind a soldier standing in their way and knocked his feet out from behind. As soon as he crashed to his back, before he could call out, she dropped on him, crushing his windpipe with a blow from her elbow. Two more quick blows silenced him.
“How did you do that?” Beata asked, dumbfounded.
She pushed Beata down in a thick clump of grass by the man. “Years of training in how to kill. It’s my profession.” She checked the Dominie Dirtch again. “Wait here until the count of ten, then follow. Don’t count fast.”
Without waiting for Beata’s answer, she sprang into a dead run. Some men watched, confused by what was going on since she wasn’t trying to escape, but heading right for the center of all the men. The woman dodged between all the horses racing around the Dominie Dirtch, their riders hooting and hollering.
The man next to Beata was burbling blood from his crushed nose, maybe drowning in it as he lay there on his back.
The man holding Estelle turned. The woman in red yanked the striker from the holder, tearing it away from the restraints. The restraints added momentum as they broke. When the striker clouted the man in the head, Beata could hear it crack his skull from where she stood as she finally reached the count of ten. He toppled backward over the rail and fell beneath the hooves of running horses.
In the grip of terror, Beata jumped up and started running.
The woman, with a mighty swing, brought the striker around, slamming the Dominie Dirtch.
The world shook with the dull drone of the weapon going off. The sound was overpowering, like it might shimmy her teeth out of their sockets and vibrate Beata’s skull apart.
The men on horseback out front screamed. Their horses screamed. The cries ended abruptly as man and beast alike came apart in a bloody blast. Men still running round the Dominie Dirtch couldn’t stop in time. They skidded or tumbled past the line to their death.
Beata ran for all she was worth even as she felt her joints might come apart from the terrible chime of the Dominie Dirtch.
Wielding the striker, the woman whacked men off their horses. She seized Estelle by her arm and practically threw her down the steps as Beata gathered the reins to two frightened animals.
The men were in a state of confused panic. They didn’t know what would happen with the weapon, if it would chime again and in turn kill them, too. Beata snatched a confused, terrified Estelle by the arm.
The woman in red leaped from the railing onto the back of a man still mounted. The woman still had the broken neck of the black bottle. She gripped the man around the middle and ground the broken bottle into his eyes. He fell screaming from his horse.
She scooted forward into the saddle and snatched up the reins. She reached the tired animal she had arrived on, grabbed her saddlebags and, with a cry of fury urged her horse into a dead run toward Fairfield.
“Up!” Beata screamed to a dazed and bewildered Estelle.
Thankfully, the Ander woman understood her chance to escape and seized it as Beata, too, scrambled atop a horse. Both animals wheeled all about in the confusion.
Men went charging off after the woman in red leather. Beata was no horsewoman, but she knew what she must do. She thumped her heels against the animal’s ribs. Estelle did the same.
The two of them, one Haken, one Ander, ran for their lives.
“Where are we going, Sergeant?” Estelle cried out.
Beata didn’t even know what direction she was running, she was just running.
She wanted the uniform off. It was just another cruel joke played on her by Bertrand Chanboor.
“I’m not a sergeant!” Beata yelled back, tears streaming down her face. “I’m just Beata, a fool, same as you, Estelle.”
She wished she had thanked the woman in red for saving their lives.
65
Dalton glanced up to see Hildemara gliding into his new office. She was wearing a revealing dress of a gold-colored satin with white trim, as if anyone would be all that interested in what she had to reveal.
He rose behind his new, expansive desk, the like of which he had never imagined would be his.
“Hildemara. What a pleasure to have you stop in for a visit.”
She smiled as she peered at him like a hound eyeing a meal. She ambled around his desk to stand close beside him, leaning her bottom against the desk’s edge so she could face him intimately.
“Dalton, you look marvelous in that outfit. New? Must be,” she said, running a finger down the embroidered sleeve. “You look good in his office, too. Better than my worthless husband ever looked. You bring it some… class.”
“Thank you, Hildemara. I must say, you look ravishing yourself.”
Her smile widened—with true pleasure or in mockery, he wasn’t sure. She had not been shy about expressing her admiration for him since the old Sovereign unexpectedly passed on. On the other hand, he knew her well enough not to be lulled into turning his back on her, in a manner of speaking. He wasn’t able to decide if she was being warm and friendly, or if she hid an executioner’s axe behind her back. Either way, he was on guard.
“The vote is counted from the city, and beginning to come in from the returning soldiers.”
Now he thought he knew the reason for her smile, and the results of the people’s say. Still, one could never be certain of such things.
“And how are the good people of Anderith responding to Lord Rahl’s invitation to join with him?”
“I’m afraid Lord Rahl is no match for you, Dalton.”
A tentative smile began to work its way up onto his face. “Really? How convincing is it? If it isn’t a resounding rejection, Lord Rahl may feel he has cause to press his case.”
She shrugged in a teasing manner. “The people of the city, of course, are reluctant to believe Lord Rahl. Seven of ten gave him an X.”
Dalton tipped his head up, closed his eyes, and let out a sigh of relief.
“Thank you Hildemara,” he said with a grin. “And the rest?”
“Just starting to come in. It will take the soldiers a time to ride back—”
“But so far. How goes it so far?”
She dragged a finger around on the desktop. “Surprising.”
That confused him. “Surprising. How so?”
She turned a beaming smile up at him. “The worst for us is only three in four votes our way. Some places have had as many as eight and nine in ten giving Lord Rahl an X.”
Dalton put a hand to his chest as he let out another sigh of relief. “I thought as much, but one can never know for sure in such things.”
“Simply amazing, Dalton. You are a wonder.” She turned her palms up. “And you didn’t even have to cheat. Imagine that.”
Dalton made two fists of excitement. “Thank you, Hildemara. Thank you for bringing me the news. If you’ll excuse me, I must go straightaway and tell Teresa. I’ve been so busy, I’ve hardly seen her for weeks. She’ll be so glad to hear the news.”
He started to move, but Hildemara put a restraining finger to his chest. Her smile had that deadly edge to it again.
“Teresa already knows, I’m sure.”
Dalton frowned. “Who would have told her before I was told?”
“Bertrand told her, I’m sure.”
“Bertrand? What would he be doing telling Teresa news like this?”
Hildemara made a little simper. “Oh, you know how Bertrand talks when he’s between the legs of a woman he finds thrilling.”
Dalton froze. Alarm bells chimed in his head as he began recalling all the times he had been absent from Teresa since Bertrand had been named Sovereign, recalling how taken Teresa was with the figure of Sovereign. He recalled how she had spent the night up in prayer after meeting the old Sovereign. He recalled her awe at Bertrand becoming Sovereign.
He made himself stop speculating in such a fashion. Such speculation was an insidious enemy that could eat you away from inside. Hildemara, knowing how busy he had been, was probably just hoping to give him a fright, or cause trouble. That would be like her.
“That isn’t the least bit amusing, Hildemara.”
Propping one hand on the desk, she leaned toward him and ran a finger of the other hand down his jaw. “Not meant to be.”
Dalton stood silent, carefully trying to keep from making the wrong move before he knew what was really going on. This could still be a foolish trick of hers, just to make him angry at Tess, thinking it would somehow drive him into her own arms, or it could be nothing more than news she misunderstood. He knew, though, that Hildemara was not likely to get news like this wrong. She had her own sources and they were as reliable as Dalton’s.
“Hildemara, I don’t think you should be repeating slanderous rumors.”
“Not a rumor, my dear Dalton. A fact. I’ve seen your good wife coming from his room.”
“You know Teresa, she likes to pray—”
“I’ve overheard Bertrand brag to Stein about having her.”
Dalton nearly staggered back. “What?”
The smirk spread in deadly perfection.
“Apparently, from what Bertrand tells Stein, she is quite the unrestrained courtesan, and enjoys being a very bad little girl in his bed.”
Dalton felt the blood go to his face in a hot rush. He considered killing Hildemara where she stood. As his finger touched the hilt of his sword, he considered it very seriously. Finally, instead, he kept himself under control, although he could feel his knees trembling.
“I just thought you should know, Dalton,” she added. “I found it quite sad: my husband is humping your wife and you don’t know anything about it. It could be… awkward. You could inadvertently embarrass yourself, not knowing.”
“Why, Hildemara?” he managed to ask in a whisper. “Why would you get so much satisfaction from this?”
At last her smile bloomed into true pleasure. “Because I always hated your smug superiority about your vows of fidelity—the way you looked down your nose, believing yourself and your wife better than all the rest of us.”
By sheer force of will, Dalton restrained himself. In times of trial or exigency, he was always able to become analytical in order to apply the best solution to the situation that confronted him.
With ruthless resolve, he did that now.
“Thank you for the information, Hildemara. It could indeed have been embarrassing.”
“Do me a favor and don’t go all gloomy about it, Dalton. You have reason to be enormously pleased. This is the Sovereign we’re talking about. It is, after all, an honor for any man to provide his wife for as reverend and sublime a figure as the Sovereign of Anderith. You will be loved and respected all the more because your wife is giving the Sovereign release from the stresses of his high calling.
“You should know that, Dalton. After all, you made the man who he is: the Creator’s advisor in this world. Your wife is simply being a loyal subject.” She chuckled. “Very loyal, from what I’ve overheard. My, but it would take quite the woman to match her.”
She leaned close and kissed his ear. “But I’d like to try, Dalton, dear.” She looked him in the eye as she straightened. “I’ve always been fascinated by you. You are the most devious, dangerous man I’ve ever met, and I’ve met some real pieces of work.”
She turned back from the doorway. “After you come to accept it, you will find it of no importance, Dalton. You’ll see.
“And then, as you suggested to me before, once your vow was broken, I will be the first you come to? Don’t forget, you promised.”
Dalton stood alone in his office, his mind racing, thinking on what he should do.
.
Kahlan laid her arms on his shoulders and leaned over, putting her cheek against his ear. It felt warm and comforting, despite the unneeded distraction. She kissed his temple.
“How is it going?”
Richard stretched with a yawn. Where did one begin?
“This man was bent seriously out of straight.”
“What do you mean?”
“I still have a lot to translate, but I’m beginning to get a picture of what happened.” Richard rubbed his eyes. “The man is sent here to banish the chimes. He at once scrutinizes the problem, and sees a simple solution. The wizards at the Keep thought it was inspired genius, and told him so.”
“He must have been proud,” she said, clearly meaning the opposite.
He understood her sardonic tone, and shared the sentiment. “You’re right, not Joseph Ander. He doesn’t say it here, but from what we’ve read before, I know the way he thinks. Joseph Ander would have felt not pride in himself for understanding it, but contempt for those who had failed to.”
“So,” she said, “he had the solution. Then what?”
“They told him to see to it at once. Apparently they were having problems similar to ours with the chimes, and wanted the threat ended immediately. He complained that if they had the good sense to send him to see to it, then they should stop telling him what to do.”
“Not a good way to treat his superiors at the Keep.”
“They implored him to stop the chimes because of the people dying. Apparently, they knew him well enough to realize they had better not threaten the man, at least not with the rest of the war to worry about. So, they told him to use his best judgment, but to please hurry with a solution so people would be safe from the threat.
“He was much more pleased to get such a message, but used it as a club to start lecturing the wizards at the Keep.”
“About what?
”
Richard ran his fingers back into his hair. It was frustrating to try to put into words what Joseph Ander was about.
“There’s a lot left in here to translate. It’s slow going. But I don’t think this book is going to tell us how to banish the chimes. Joseph Ander just doesn’t think that way—to write it down.”
Kahlan straightened and turned around with her back to the table so she could stand facing him.
She folded her arms. “All right, Richard. I know you better than that. What aren’t you telling me?”
Richard stood and turned his back to her as he pressed his fingers to his temple.
“Richard, don’t you trust me?”
He turned to her. He took up her hand. “No, no, it isn’t that. It’s just… just that some of the things he says, I don’t know where truth leaves off and Joseph Ander’s madness begins. This goes beyond anything I’ve ever heard about, been taught, or believed about magic.”
Now she did look concerned. He guessed, in one way, he was raising her fears wrongly. On the other hand, he couldn’t begin to raise them to the levels of his own fears.
“Joseph Ander,” he began, “thought he was just better than the other wizards.”
“We already knew that.”
“Yes, but he may have been right.”
“What?”
“Sometimes, in madness resides genius. Kahlan, I don’t know where to draw the line. In one way not knowing about magic is a liability, but in another it means I’m not burdened by preconceived notions, the way the wizards at the Keep were, so I might recognize the truth in his words where they did not.
“You see, Joseph Ander viewed magic not so much as a set of requirements—you know, a pinch of this, this word three times while turning round on your left foot, and all that kind of thing.
“He saw magic as an art form—a means of expression.”
Kahlan was frowning. “I don’t follow. Either you cast a spell properly to invoke it, or it doesn’t work. Like I call my power with a touch. Like the way we called the chimes by fulfilling specific requirements of the magic, thereby releasing it.”
He knew that with her magical ability, her background, and her learning about magic, she would have the same problem the other wizards did. Richard felt just a trace of the frustration Joseph Ander must have felt. In that, too, he understood the man that much better—understood a tiny bit of the frustration of having people tell you the hard facts of something when you knew better, yet couldn’t get them to see the abstract concept of the greater whole right before them.
Soul of the Fire Page 73