The Pillars of Creation (14 page)

The worst of it, though, was that he could not protect her from this unseen threat. In this, he was helpless.

“Althea, what does it mean?”

She hadn’t moved. She was staring at the smooth dark stones setting on her Grace.

“One who hears the voices is coming.”

Lightning ignited in a blinding angry flash, illuminating the room with white incandescence. The scintillating contrast between bright light and smothering shadow was dizzying. The intense strike flickered on as thunder crashed with a boom that shook the ground. A ripping crash followed on its heels, the clamor adding a confusion of sound to match the flashing of light.

Friedrich swallowed. “Do you know which one?”

She reached up and patted his hand resting on her shoulder. “Tea, you say? The rain gives me a chill. I’d like some tea.”

He looked from the crinkled smile showing in her eyes to the stones on the Grace. For whatever reason, she wasn’t going to answer that question, for now. He asked another, instead.

“Why did your stones fall like that, Althea? What does something like that mean?”

Lightning struck nearby. The crack of thunder felt as if it split air made of solid stone. Fists of rain beat against the window in petulant fits.

Althea finally looked away from the window, from Creation’s fury, and turned back to the board. She reached out and placed her forefinger on the stone in the center.

“The Creator?” he guessed aloud before she could name it.

She shook her head. “Lord Rahl.”

“But, the star in the center represents the Creator—his gift.”

“It does, in the Grace. But you must not forget, this is a telling. This is different. A telling only uses the Grace, and in this telling the stone in the center represents the one with His gift.”

“Then it could be anyone,” Friedrich said. “Anyone with the gift.”

“No. The lines coming from the eight points of the star represent the gift as it passes through life, through the veil between the worlds, and beyond the outer circle into the underworld. Thus it represents the gift in a sense that it conveys with no other person: the gift for magic of both worlds, the world of life, and the world of the dead: Additive and Subtractive. This stone in the center touches both.”

He glanced back at the stone in the center of the Grace. “But why would that mean Lord Rahl?”

“Because he is the only one born in three thousand years with both aspects of the gift. In all that time, until he came into his gift, no stone I have cast has ever landed in that place. None could.

“What has it been? Two years, now, since he succeeded his father? Less, since his gift came to life in him—which in itself leaves questions with only troubling answers.”

“But I recall you telling me years ago that Darken Rahl used both sides of the gift.”

Gazing off into dark memories, Althea shook her head. “He also used Subtractive powers, but he did not do so by birth. He offered the pure souls of children to the Keeper of the underworld in return for the Keeper’s favors. Darken Rahl had to trade for the limited use of such powers. But this man, this Lord Rahl, has been born with both sides of the gift, as those of old were.”

Friedrich wasn’t sure what to make of that, what danger it could be that he so strongly felt. He remembered quite distinctly the day the new Lord Rahl had risen to power. Friedrich had been at the palace to sell his small gilded carvings when the great event had taken place. That day, he had seen the new Lord Rahl, Richard.

It had been one of those moments in life never to be forgotten—only the third Rahl to mile in Friedrich’s lifetime. He remembered quite clearly the new Lord Rahl, tall, strong, with a raptor gaze, striding through the palace, seeming completely out of place, and at the same time belonging. And then there was the sword he carried, a legendary sword not seen in D’Hara since Friedrich had been a boy, way back before the boundaries had been brought into existence, cutting D’Hara off from the rest of the new world.

The new Lord Rahl had been walking through the corridors of the People’s Palace along with an old man—a wizard, people said—and a sublime woman. The woman, with long lush hair, wearing a satiny white dress, made the grandeur and majesty of the palace seem dull and common by comparison.

Richard Rahl and that woman seemed right together. Friedrich recognized the special way they looked at each other. The commitment, loyalty, and bond in the gray eyes of that man and the green eyes of that woman was as profound as it was unmistakable.

“What of the other stones?” he asked.

Althea gestured out past the larger circle of the Grace, where only the gilt rays of the Creator’s gift dared go, to the two dark stones sitting in the world of the dead.

“Those who hear the voices,” Althea said.

He nodded at having his suspicions confirmed. In such things dealing with magic, it wasn’t often that he was able to guess the truth from what appeared to be obvious.

“And the rest?”

Staring at the four stones resting at the cusps of lines, her voice came softly, mingling with the rain. “These are protectors.”

“They protect Lord Rahl?”

“They protect us all.”

He saw then the tears rolling down her weathered cheeks.

“Pray,” she whispered, “that they are enough, or the Keeper will have us all.”

“You mean to say, there are only these four who protect us?”

“There are others, but these four are pivotal. Without them, everything is lost.”

Friedrich licked his lips, fearful of the fate of the four sentinels standing against the Keeper of the dead. “Althea, do you know who they are?”

She turned then, putting her arms around him, pressing the side of her face to his chest. It was as childlike a gesture as he could imagine, one that touched his heart and made him ache with his love for her. Gently he put protective arms around her, comforting her, in spite of the fact that in truth he could do nothing to protect her from such things as she rightly feared.

“Carry me to my chair, Friedrich?”

He nodded, lifting her in his arms as she hugged his neck. Her withered, useless legs dangled. A woman of such power as could enforce a warm and rain-swept swamp around them in winter, yet she needed him to carry her to a chair. Him, Friedrich, a mere man she loved—a man without the gift. A man who loved her.

“You didn’t answer my question, Althea.”

Her arms tightened on his neck.

“One of the four protective stones,” she whispered, “is me.”

Friedrich’s wide eyes turned back to the Grace with the stones upon it. His jaw fell open when he saw that one of the four stones had crumbled to ash.

She had no need to look. “One was my sister,” Althea said. Cradled in his arms, he felt her grieving sob. “And now there are three.”

Jennsen moved out of the way of the flood of people flowing up the road from the south. Huddling close to Sebastian for shelter from the wind, she briefly considered simply curling up on the frozen ground off to the side and going to sleep. Her stomach grumbled with hunger.

When Rusty stepped sideways, Jennsen slid her grip up on the reins, closer to the bit. Betty, her eyes, ears, and tail alert, pressed up against Jennsen’s thigh for reassurance. The footsore goat occasionally huffed her annoyance at the passing throngs. When Jennsen patted her fat middle, Betty’s upright tail instantly became a wagging blur. She glanced up at Jennsen, swiped her tongue out for a brief lick of Rusty’s muzzle, and then folded her legs to lie down at Jennsen’s feet.

As his sheltering arm enclosed her shoulders, Sebastian eyed the wagons, carts, and people moving past on their way toward the People’s Palace. The sound of the wagons rumbling by, people talking and laughing, feet shuffling, and horses clopping all melted together into a steady drone punctuated by jangling metal and the rhythmic squeaking of axles. The clouds of dust lifted by all the movement carried the aroma of food along with the stink of people and animals and left the taste of dirt on her tongue.

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

The cold sunrise bathed the distant sheer cliffs of the huge plateau in glowing lavender light. The cliffs themselves rose what seemed thousands of feet from the Azrith Plains, but what man had made atop them rose higher yet. Countless roofs behind imposing walls collected together into the massive structure that was a city founded on the plateau. Low winter sunlight lent the soaring marble walls and columns a warm glow.

Jennsen had been little when her mother had taken her away. Her childhood memory of having lived here had not prepared her adult sensibilities for the actual splendor of the palace. The heart of D’Hara stood noble and proud, triumphant above a barren land. Her awe was dimmed only by the taint of it also being the ancestral home of the Lord Rahl.

Jennsen swiped a hand over her face, closing her eyes briefly against her pounding headache, against what it meant to be the prey of Lord Rahl. It had been a difficult and exhausting journey. After they had stopped each night, Sebastian used the cover of darkness to scout while she started to make camp. A number of times he had rushed back with the horrifying news that their pursuers were closing in. Despite exhaustion and her tears of frustration, they had to pack up and keep running.

“I think we came here for a reason,” she finally answered. “Now is a poor time to lose courage.”

“Now is the last chance to lose courage.”

She studied the note of caution in his blue eyes for only a moment before answering by wading back into the moving river of people. Betty sprang to her feet, peering up at the strangers as she pressed in close to Jennsen’s left leg. Sebastian moved in close on the other side.

An older woman in a cart beside them smiled down at Jennsen. “Care to sell your goat, dear?”

Jennsen, one hand grasping Betty’s rope along with Rusty’s reins, her other holding the hood of her cloak closed against a cold gust of wind, smiled, but shook her head firmly to decline. As the woman in the horse-drawn cart returned a disappointed smile and started to move away, Jennsen saw a sign on the cart proclaiming sausages for sale.

“Mistress? Are you here selling your sausages today?”

The woman reached behind, pushed aside a lid, and stretched her hand into one of the kettles nestled snugly in blankets and cloth. She came up holding a fat coil of sausage.

“Fresh cooked this morning. Could I interest you? Only a silver penny and well worth it.”

When Jennsen nodded eagerly, Sebastian passed the woman the coin requested. He cut the sausage in two and handed half to Jennsen. It was wonderfully warm. She quickly devoured a few bites, hardly taking the time to chew. It was a relief to dull the sharp edge of her gnawing hunger. Only after those bites were down did she begin to appreciate the taste.

“It’s delicious,” she called up to the woman. The woman smiled, seeming not at all surprised at the compliment. Walking abreast with the cart, Jennsen asked, “Would you happen to know of a woman by the name of Althea?”

Sebastian swept a furtive gaze around at the people walking within earshot. The woman, not at all shocked by the question, leaned down toward Jennsen.

“You’ve come for a telling, then?”

Although she couldn’t be sure, Jennsen thought it easy enough to guess what the woman meant. “Yes, that’s right. Would you know where I can find her?”

“Well, dear, I don’t know her, but I know of her husband, Friedrich. He comes to the palace to sell his gilded carvings.”

Many of the people moving up the road looked to have come to sell their wares. Jennsen dimly recalled when she was very young the palace being a buzz of activity, with throngs coming every day to sell everything from food to jewelry. Many towns near where Jennsen had lived when she was older had a market day. The People’s Palace, though, was a city with the buying and selling of goods taking place every day. She recalled her mother taking her to booths to buy food and, once, cloth for a dress.

“Would you know where we can find this man, Friedrich, or someone else who knows the way?”

The woman gestured ahead toward the palace. “Friedrich has a small booth in the marketplace. Up top. As I hear told, you’ll need to be invited out to see Althea. I’d advise you to talk to Friedrich, up top.”

Sebastian put a hand on Jennsen’s back as he leaned past her. “Up top?” he asked the woman.

She nodded. “You know. Up top, where the palace is. I don’t go up there myself.”

“Then where do you sell your sausages?” he asked.

“Oh, I have my cart and horse, so I stay down along the road, selling to those going to and from the palace. They won’t let you take those horses of yours up, if it be your intention to go look for Althea’s husband. Your goat, neither, for that matter. There are ramps for horses inside for the soldiers and those with official business, but wagons with supplies and such mostly use the cliff road on the east side. They don’t let just anyone ride their horses up. Only the soldiers keep horses up top.”

“Well,” Jennsen said, “I guess we’ll need to stable them, if we’re to go up to find Althea’s husband.”

“Friedrich doesn’t come often. You’ll be lucky to catch him on a day he’s here. Best, though, if you could talk to him.”

Jennsen swallowed another mouthful of sausage. “Do you know if he would be here today? Or what days he does come to the palace?”

“Sorry, dear, but I don’t.” The woman pulled an oversized red scarf over her head and fastened it tight with a knot under her chin. “I see him now and then, that’s all I know. I sold him sausages a time or two to take home to his wife.”

Jennsen glanced up at the looming People’s Palace. “I guess we’ll just have to go for a look, then.”

They weren’t even inside, yet, and already Jennsen’s heart was pounding at a furious pace. She saw Sebastian’s fingers glide over his cloak, touching the hilt of his sword. She couldn’t resist brushing her forearm against her side, checking for the reassuring presence of her knife under her own cloak. Jennsen hoped not to be in the palace long. When they found out where Althea lived, they could be on their way. The sooner the better.

She wondered if Lord Rahl was at the palace, or off making war on Sebastian’s homeland. She felt great empathy for his people being at the mercy of Lord Rahl—a man she knew to be without a shred of mercy.

On their journey to the People’s Palace, she had asked Sebastian about his homeland. He had shared with her some of the convictions and beliefs of the people in the Old World, their sensitivity for the plight of their fellow man, and their longings for the blessings of the Creator. Sebastian spoke passionately about the beloved spiritual leader of the Old World, Brother Narev, and his disciples of Order, who taught that the welfare of others was not only the responsibility but also the sacred duty of all people. She had never imagined a place with people who were so compassionate.

Sebastian said that the Imperial Order was fighting back valiantly against Lord Rahl’s invaders. She, of all people, understood what it was to fear the man. It was that fear that worried Jennsen about going into the palace. She feared that if Lord Rahl was there, his powers might somehow tell him that she was near.

An orderly column of soldiers in chain mail and dark leather armor rode out, headed in the opposite direction. Their weapons—swords, axes, lances—flashed menacingly in the morning sunlight. Jennsen kept her eyes turned to the ground ahead and tried not to stare at the soldiers. She feared they could pick her out of the throng by sight, as if she were glowing with some mark only they could see. She kept the hood of her cloak pulled up to cover her red hair, fearing that it would attract unwanted attention.

As they drew near the great portals into the plateau the crowds grew thicker. Spread out on the Azrith Plains to the south of the cliffs, vendors had set up their stalls in makeshift streets. Those newly arrived settled in wherever they found room. Despite the cold, everyone seemed in a good mood as they went about setting out their wares. Many were already doing a brisk business.

D’Haran soldiers seemed to be everywhere. They were all big men, all wearing the same orderly leather, chain mail, and wool uniforms. All were armed with at least a sword, but most carried additional weapons—an axe, spiked mace, or knives. While the soldiers were alert and watchful, they didn’t appear to be bothering the merchants or hampering their business.

The woman selling sausages waved her good wishes to Jennsen and Sebastian before she pulled her cart off the road at an empty space beside three men setting out casks of wine on a short table. The three men, with the same strong jaws, broad shoulders, and tousled blond hair, were obviously brothers.

“Careful who you leave your animals with,” she called after them.

Many of the people who set up their stands down on the plain had animals and it seemed easy enough to conduct business where they were, rather than go up to the palace. Other people roamed the crowds, hawking items to passersby. Perhaps their simple wares sold better to those come to the open-air market. Some, like the woman with the cart, came to sell food they had cooked, and since there were plenty of people down below they had no need to go up inside. Jennsen suspected that others were content to be away from what was sure to be the greater scrutiny of officials and yet more guards in the palace proper.

Sebastian took it all in without looking obvious. She imagined in his gaze a running tally of troops. To others it would appear he was merely looking about at the merchants, enticed by the variety of wares for sale, but Jennsen saw that his vision focused beyond, to the great portals between towering stone columns.

“What should we do with the horses?” she asked. “And Betty?”

Sebastian gestured to one of the enclosures where horses were picketed. “We’re going to have to leave them.”

In addition to being so close to the home of the man trying to kill her, Jennsen didn’t like being among the press of so many people. She felt so flush with the sense of danger that she couldn’t think straight. Leaving Betty at a stable in a town was one thing, but leaving her lifelong friend out here, among all these people, was something else.

She pointed with her chin to the scruffy men minding the livestock enclosure. They were busily engaged in a game of dice.

“Do you think we can trust the animals to people like that? They could be thieves, for all we know. Maybe you could stay with the horses while I go look for Althea’s husband.”

Sebastian turned back from his survey of the soldiers near the entrance. “Jenn, I don’t think it’s a good idea to separate in a place like this. Besides, I don’t want you going in there alone.”

She gauged the concern in his eyes. “And if we get into trouble? Do you really think we could fight our way out?”

“No. You have to use your head—keep your wits about you. I’ve brought you this far, I’m not going to abandon you now and let you go in there alone.”

“And if they draw swords on us?”

“If it came to that, fighting wouldn’t save us in a place like this. It’s more important to give people a worry, make them think twice about how dangerous you might be, so that you don’t end up fighting in the first place. You have to bluff.”

“I’m not any good at that kind of thing.”

He grunted a short laugh. “You do it well enough. You did it with me that first night when you drew the Grace.”

“But that was just with you, and with my mother there. That’s different than in a place with so many people.”

“You did it at the inn in the way you showed the innkeeper your red hair. Your manner loosened her tongue. And, you kept the men at bay with nothing but your bearing and a look. All by yourself you gave all those men worry enough that they left you alone.”

She had never thought about it in that way. She viewed it more as simple desperation than calculated deception.

As Betty rubbed the top of her head against Jennsen’s leg, she idly stroked the goat’s ear and watched as the men left their game of dice to take horses from travelers. She didn’t like the rough way the men handled the horses, using switches instead of a steady hand.

Jennsen scanned the crush of people until she spotted the red scarf. She coiled the slack out of Betty’s rope and started off, pulling Rusty along with her. Surprised, Sebastian stepped quickly to catch up.

The woman in the red scarf was setting out pots with her sausages when Jennsen reached her. “Mistress?”

She squinted in the sunlight. “Yes, dear? Some more sausages?” She lifted a lid. “They are good, aren’t they?”

“Delicious, but I was wondering if you would accept a payment to watch our horses, and my goat.”

The woman replaced the lid. “The animals? I’m not a stableman, dear.”

Jennsen, holding the rope and the reins in one hand, rested her forearm on the side of the cart. Betty folded her legs and laid down beside the wheel. “I thought you might like the company of my goat for a while. Betty is a fine goat and wouldn’t cause you any trouble.”