Faith of the Fallen (75 page)

“The emperor…” several mumbled together in shock.

“That’s right, the emperor is arriving for the dedication tomorrow. I have come to make my own examination, first, and what do I find? Idiots! Here you stand, with your thumbs in your ears, while you should be standing to greet His Excellency as he arrives into the city mere hours from now.”

The guards’ eyes widened. “But…no one told us. Where is he coming in? We haven’t been informed—”

“And do you suppose a man as important as Jagang wishes his whereabouts to be known for any assassin in the neighborhood to find him? And if there are assassins about, here you fools stand!”

All the men bowed urgently.

“Where?” the sergeant asked. “Where is His Excellency arriving?”

“He’s arriving from the north.”

The man licked his lips. “But, but, which road from the north? There are any number of routes—”

Nicci planted her fists on her hips. “Do you suppose His Excellency is going to announce his route beforehand? And to the likes of you? If only one road was guarded, then any assassin would know where to expect the emperor, now wouldn’t they? All the roads are to be guarded! And here you stand, instead!”

The men bobbed and bowed nervously, wanting to leave to do their duty, but not knowing where to go.

Nicci gritted her teeth and leaned toward the sergeant. “Get your men out to one of the north roads. Now. That is your duty. All the roads are to be guarded. Pick one!”

The men bowed repeatedly as they sidestepped away. After scurrying only a few feet, they broke into a dead run. She watched them collect other guards as they went.

As they vanished out of the plaza, Nicci turned to the two startled men. They climbed the stairs, now unhindered by guards. Some of the people treading the cobblestone paths, come to look at the carvings on the walls, had heard yelling and turned to watch what she was doing. Women on their knees, praying up at the carvings in stone of the Light shining down on depraved people, looked over their shoulders.

As Victor and Ishaq reached the top of the plaza, Nicci untied the line, grabbed the linen in her fists, and ripped the shroud off the statue.

Both men stopped in their tracks.

In a half circle around the plaza, the walls were covered with the story of man’s inadequacy. All around them, man was shown small, depraved, deformed, impotent, terrified, cruel, mindless, wicked, greedy, corrupt, and sinful. He was depicted forever torn between otherworldly forces controlling every aspect of his miserable existence, an existence incomprehensible in its caldron of churning evil, with death his only escape into salvation.

Those who had found virtue in this world, under the protection of the Creator’s Light, looked lifeless, their faces without emotion, without awareness, their bodies as unbending as cadavers. They stared out at the world through a vacant, mindless stupor, while all around them danced rats, through their legs wriggled snakes, and over their heads flew vultures.

In the vortex of this torrent of tortured life, this cataclysm of corruption, this depravity and debauchery, rose up Richard’s statue in bold, glowing opposition.

It was a devastating indictment of all around it.

The mass and weight of the ugliness surrounding Richard’s statue seemed to shrink back into insignificance. The evil of the wall carvings seemed now to be crying out at their own dishonesty in the face of incorruptible beauty and truth.

The two figures in the center posed in a state of harmonious balance. The man’s body displayed a proud masculinity. Though the woman was clothed, there was no doubt as to her femininity. They both reflected a love of the human form as sensuous, noble, and pure. The evil all around seemed as if it was recoiling in terror of that noble purity.

More than that, though, Richard’s statue existed without conflict; the figures showed awareness, rationality, and purpose. This was a manifestation of human power, ability, intent. This was life lived for its own sake. This was mankind standing proudly of his own free will.

This was exactly what the single word at the bottom named it:

LIFE

That it existed was proof of the validity of the concept.

This was life as it should be lived—proud, reasoned, and a slave to no other man. This was the rightful exaltation of the individual, the nobility of the human spirit.

Everything on the walls all around offered death as its answer.

This offered life.

Victor and Ishaq were on their knees, weeping.

The blacksmith lifted his arms up toward the statue before him, laughing as tears ran down his face.

“He did it. He has done as he said he would. Flesh in stone. Nobility. Beauty.”

People who had come to see the other carvings, now began gathering to see what stood in the center of the plaza. They stared with wide eyes, many seeing for the first time the concept of man as virtuous in his own right. The statement was so powerful that it alone invalidated everything up on the walls. That it had been carved by man underscored its veracity.

Many of them saw it with the same understanding Nicci had.

The carvers wandered away from their work to come see what stood in the plaza. The masons came down from the scaffolding. The tenders set down their mortar buckets. The carpenters climbed down from their work at setting beams. The tilers laid aside their chisels. The drivers picketed their horses. Men digging and planting the surrounding grounds set down their shovels. They came from all directions toward the statue in the plaza.

People flowed up the steps in ever expanding ranks. They flooded around the statue, gazing in awe. Many fell to their knees weeping, not in misery as they had before, but with joy. Many, like the blacksmith, laughed, as tears of delight ran down their happy faces. A few covered their eyes in fear.

As people took it in, they began to run off to get others. Soon, men were coming down from the shops on the hill to see what stood in the plaza. Men and women who had come to watch the construction now ran off home to get loved ones, to bring them to see what stood at the emperor’s palace.

It was something the like of which most of these people had never in their lives seen.

It was vision to the blind.

It was water to the thirsty.

It was life to the dying.

Kahlan pulled her map out and took a quick look. It was hard to tell for sure. She glanced up and down the road and noted that the other buildings were not quite as well kept.

“What do you think?” Cara asked in a low voice.

Kahlan slipped the map back inside her mantle. She snugged the fur up over her shoulders a little, making sure it covered the hilt of Richard’s sword she wore strapped behind her shoulder. Her own sword was hidden under her cloak. At least the sun had just gone down.

“I don’t know. We don’t have much light left. I guess there’s only one way to be sure.”

Cara eyed the people who looked their way. For the most part, everyone in the city seemed remarkably incurious. With their horses stabled outside of the city, there would not be any swift escape if they needed to get away. The general indifference of people, though, somewhat eased Kahlan’s concern.

They had decided to simply be as aloof and casual as possible. She had thought they looked pretty simple in their traveling clothes, but in a place as drab as Altur’Rang, the two of them had a hard time being inconspicuous. In retrospect, she wished they would have had the time to find something shabby to wear. Kahlan felt they were about as inconspicuous as a pair of painted whores at a country farm fair.

She climbed the stairs to the place as if she knew where she was going and belonged there. Inside, the hallway was clean. It had the smell of freshly scrubbed wood floors. With Cara close at her heels, Kahlan moved down to the first door on the right. She could see the stairway farther down the hall. If this was the correct building, this would be the proper door.

Looking both ways, Kahlan gently rapped on the door. No answer came. She knocked again, a little louder. She tried the knob, but it was locked. After checking the hall again, she pulled a knife from her belt and worked it under the molding, springing it out until the door popped open. She grabbed Cara’s sleeve and pulled the woman in with her.

Inside, they both struck a pose prepared to fight. There was no one in the room. In the light coming in from two windows, Kahlan saw first that there were two sleeping pallets. What she saw next was Richard’s pack.

Kneeling on the floor in the far corner, she flipped back the flap and saw his things inside—his war wizard’s clothes were in the bottom. Near tears, she clutched the pack to her chest.

It had been over a year since she had seen him. For almost half the time she had known him, he had been gone from her. It seemed she could not endure another moment.

Kahlan heard a sudden noise. Cara seized the wrist of a young man as he charged in brandishing a knife. In one fluid motion she had his arm twisted behind his back.

Kahlan thrust her hand into the air. “Cara! No.”

Cara made a sour face as she lowered her Agiel from the young man’s throat. His eyes were wide with both fear, and indignation.

“Thieves! You’re thieves! That’s not yours! Put it back!”

Kahlan rushed to the youth, motioning for him to keep his voice down.

“Is your name Kamil, or Nabbi?”

The young man blinked in surprise. He licked his lips as he glanced over his shoulder at the woman towering above him.

“I’m Kamil. Who are you? How do you know my name?”

“I’m a friend. Gadi told me—”

“Then you’re no friend!”

Before he could scream for help, Cara clamped a hand over his mouth.

Kahlan shushed him. “Gadi murdered a friend of ours. After we captured him, Gadi told me your name.”

When she saw that he was taken aback by the news, Kahlan signaled for Cara to lower her hand.

“Gadi killed someone?”

“That’s right,” Cara said.

He stole a quick glance over his shoulder. “What did you do to him? To Gadi?”

“We put him to death,” Kahlan said, not revealing the full extent of the deed.

The young man smiled. “Then you really are friends. Gadi is a bad person. He hurt my friend. I hope he suffered.”

“It took him a long time to die,” Cara said.

The young man swallowed when he saw her grin from over his shoulder. Kahlan gestured and Cara released him.

“So, who are you two?” he asked.

“My name is Kahlan, and this is Cara.”

“So, what are you doing here?”

“That’s a little complicated, but we’re looking for Richard.”

His suspicion returned. “Yeah?”

Kahlan smiled. He was indeed Richard’s friend. She put her hand to the side of his shoulder as she held his gaze.

“I’m his wife. His real wife.”

Kamil blinked dumbly. “But, but—”

Kahlan’s voice hardened. “Nicci isn’t his wife.”

His eyes brimmed with tears as a grin overcame him. “I knew it. I knew he didn’t love her. I could never understand how Richard could have married her.”

Kamil suddenly threw his arms around Kahlan, hugging her with fierce happiness for Richard. Kahlan laughed softly as she smoothed the young man’s hair. Cara seized his collar and pulled him back, but at least did it gently.

“And you?” Kamil asked Cara.

“I am Mord—”

“Cara is Richard’s good friend.”

Kamil unexpectedly hugged Cara, then. Kahlan feared the Mord-Sith might crush his skull, but she endured it politely, even if she was ill at ease. Kahlan thought Cara might even have started to smile.

Kamil turned back to Kahlan. “But what is Richard doing with Nicci, then?”

Kahlan took a deep breath. “It’s a long story.”

“Tell me.”

Kahlan appraised his dark eyes for a moment. She liked what she saw there. Still, she thought it best to keep it simple.

“Nicci is a sorceress. She used magic to force Richard to go with her.”

“Magic? What magic?” he pressed without pause.

Kahlan took another breath. “She could have used her magic to hurt me, kill me, if Richard didn’t agree to go with her.”

Kamil gazed skyward as he thought it over. He finally nodded. “That makes sense. That’s the kind of man Richard is—he would do anything to save the woman he loved. I knew he didn’t love Nicci.”

“And how did you know that?”

Kamil gestured at the two pallets. “He didn’t sleep with her. I bet he slept with you, when you were together.”

Kahlan could feel her face flushing at his boldness. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t know.” He scratched his head. “You just look like you belong with him. When you say his name I can see how you care for him.”

Kahlan couldn’t help but smile through her weariness. They had been riding at a breakneck pace for weeks. They had lost a few horses along the way, and had to acquire others. They had gone with little sleep for the last week. She had trouble even thinking straight.

“So, do you know where Richard is, now?” Kahlan asked.

“At work, I’m sure. He usually comes home about now—unless he has to work at night, too.”

Kahlan briefly scanned the room. “What about Nicci?”

“I don’t know. She may have gone to buy bread or something. It’s a little funny—she’s usually home long before now. She almost always has dinner ready for Richard.”

Kahlan’s gaze drifted through the darkening room, from table, to basin, to cupboard. She would hate to leave, only to have him show up a minute after she left. Kamil thought it was odd that Nicci wasn’t home. That they were both gone was troubling.

“Where does he work?” Kahlan asked.

“At the site.”

“Site? What site?”

Kamil gestured into the distance. “Out at the emperor’s new palace they’re building. Tomorrow’s the big dedication.”

“The new palace is done?”

“Oh, no. It’s years and years from being done. It’s only started, really. But they are going to dedicate it to the Creator, now. A lot of people have come to Altur’Rang for the ceremony.”

“Richard is a laborer helping build the palace?”

Kamil nodded. “He’s a carver. At least, he is now. He used to work at Ishaq’s transport company, but then he got arrested—”

Kahlan seized him by the shirt. “He was arrested? They…tortured him?”

Kamil’s eyes turned away from her frantic expression.

“I gave Nicci my money so she could get in to see him. She and Ishaq and Victor the blacksmith got him out. He was hurt bad. When he got better, the officials made him take a job carving.”

Kamil’s words spun through her head. The ones that floated above all the rest were that Richard had recovered.

“He carves statues, now?”

Kamil nodded again. “He carves people in stone to decorate the walls of the palace. He helps me with my own carvings. I can show you, out back.”

Wonder of wonders. Richard carving. But all the carvings they had seen in the Old World were grotesque. Richard would not like to carve such ugliness. Obviously, he had no choice.

“Maybe later.” Kahlan rubbed her fingers across her brow as she considered what to do. “Can you take me there, now? To the site where Richard works?”

“Yes, if you’d like. But don’t you want to wait to see if he comes home, first? He may be home soon.”

“You said he works at night, sometimes.”

“For the last few months, he worked at night a lot. He’s carving some special statue for them.” Kamil’s face brightened. “He told me to go tomorrow to see it. With the dedication tomorrow, it may be he’s still finishing it. I’ve never seen where he works, but Victor, the blacksmith, may know.”

“We should go see this blacksmith, then.”

Kamil scratched his head again as his expression turned to disappointment. “But the blacksmith will be gone for the night.”

“Is there anyone else out there, now?”

“There may be a lot of people there. Crowds go out there to see the place—I’ve gone out there myself—and tonight there may be more than usual, because of tomorrow’s ceremony.”

That might be just what they needed. They wouldn’t look so out of place searching the area for Richard if there were crowds out there. It would give them an excuse to look around.

“We’ll give him an hour,” Kahlan said. “If he doesn’t return by then, then it’s most likely because he’s working. If he doesn’t come back, we’ll have to go out there and look for him.”

“What if Nicci shows up?” Cara asked.

Kamil waved his hand to dismiss their concern. “I’ll go out on the front steps and watch for Nicci. You two can wait in here, where no one will see you. I’ll come warn you if I see Nicci coming up the street. I can always take you out the back way if I see her returning home.”

Kahlan laid a hand over his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“That sounds good to me, Kamil. We’ll wait in here.”

Kamil hurried out to his guard post. Kahlan glanced around the tidy room.

“Why don’t you get some sleep,” Cara said. “I’ll stand guard. You stood guard last.”

Kahlan was exhausted. She glanced down at the sleeping pallet closest to Richard’s things, then nodded. She lay down on his bed. The room was getting dark. Just being where he slept was a comfort. Being so close, but so far, she couldn’t fall asleep.

Nicci’s heart sank when she saw that Richard wasn’t in their room. Kamil was nowhere to be found. She had felt so good out at the site, watching all the people come to see Richard’s statue. Throngs of people had come to see it and had been uplifted.

Some had been angered by it. She, of all people, understood that. Still, Nicci could hardly believe the hateful reaction of some people to such beauty. Some people hated life. She understood that, too. There were those who refused to see—who didn’t want to see.

Other people, though, had a reaction much like hers.

It had all come clear for her. For the first time in her life, life made sense. Richard had tried to tell her, but she hadn’t listened. She had heard the truth before, too, but others—her mother, Brother Narev, the Order—had shouted it down, and shamed her out of listening.

Her mother had trained her well, and from the first day she had seen Brother Narev, Nicci had been a soldier in the Order’s army.

When she saw the statue, she saw at last the truth she had always refused to see, suddenly and clearly standing before her. This was the valid vision of life for which she had hungered, yet which she had evaded, her entire life.

She understood, now, why life had seemed so empty, so pointless: she herself had rendered it so in refusing to think. Nicci had been a slave to everyone of need. She had given her masters their only real weapon against her; she had surrendered to their twisted lies by putting the crippling chains of guilt around her own neck for them, giving herself freely into slavery to the whims and wishes of others instead of living her life as she should have—for herself. She had never asked why it was right for her to be a slave to another’s desires, but not evil for them to enslave her. She was not contributing to the betterment of mankind, but was merely a servant to countless puling little tyrants. Evil was not one large entity, but a ceaseless torrent of small wrongs left unchallenged, until they festered into monsters.

She had lived her whole life on shifting quicksand, where reason and the intellect were not to be trusted, where only faith was valid, and blind faith was sacred. She, herself, had enforced mindless conformity to that empty evil.

She had helped bring everyone together, so they might have one collective neck around which the worst among men, in the name of good, could put their leash.