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58
The reflections of the Mother Confessor, in her white dress, rotated around the polished black columns as she marched down the gallery, the Mother Confessor's private entrance to the Council chambers. Kahlan was an hour early. She planned to be sitting in the First Chair as she watched all the Councilors arrive. She didn't want them talking among themselves before she was present.
She froze to a halt as she threw the doors open. The room was packed. Every Council chair was occupied. The galleries were all packed with people; not only officials, administrators, staff, and nobility, but ordinary people: farmers, shop keepers, merchants, cooks, tradesmen, wagon drivers, and laborers. Men and women of every sort. Every eye was on her as she stood before the doors.
Across the huge room, the Councilors all sat in their chairs. No one made a sound. Someone was sitting in the First Chair. From this distance, she couldn't see who it was, but she knew.
Kahlan touched her fingers to the bone necklace at her throat and prayed to the good spirits for protection and strength. Her boots echoed off the marble as she strode through patches of sunlight. There was something on the floor before the dais, but she couldn't tell what it was.
When Kahlan reached the curved desk, the man sitting in the First Chair was not the one she expected. Stretched out on a litter before the dais lay the body of Prince Fyren. His skin was pasty. His arms were folded, his hands laid over the blood soaked ruffles of his shirt. His sword rested across his body. Prince Fyren's throat had been sliced open nearly to his spinal column.
Kahlan looked up to the solemn, dark eyes watching her. He came forward from the back of the First Chair and folded his hands together on the desk. A quick glance revealed what she hadn't noticed before: a ring of guards around the room.
She glared up at the man with the dark hair and beard. "Get out of my chair, or I will kill you myself."
The room rang with the sound of swords being drawn. Without taking his dark eyes from her, the man gave a flick of his hand. Every sword went hesitantly back into its scabbard.
"You are done killing people, Mother Confessor," he said in a quiet voice. "Prince Fyren was your last victim."
Kahlan frowned. "Who are you?"
"Neville Ranson." Still, his eyes did not leave her as he turned his hand up. A ball of flame ignited above his palm. "Wizard Neville Ranson."
Still, his eyes did not leave her as he cast the ball of flame skyward. It rose obediently toward the peak of the dome, where it broke, with a pop, into thousands of sparkles. Astonished gasps filled the room.
Wizard Ranson leaned back and drew open a scroll. "We have a great many charges, Mother Confessor. Where would you like to begin?"
Without turning her head, Kahlan's eyes took a sweep of what she could see of the room. There was no chance of escape. None. Even if the man before her were not a wizard.
"Since they will all be invented, I guess it doesn't matter. Why don't we just dispense with the mockery, and simply proceed to the execution."
The room remained dead silent. Wizard Ranson did not smile. His eyebrows lifted.
"Oh, no mockery, Mother Confessor, but serious charges. We are here to get to the truth of them. Unlike the Confessors, I refuse to put an innocent person to death. Before we are finished today, everyone here will know the truth of your treason. I want the people to know the full extent of your vile tyranny."
Kahlan clasped her hands together as she stood with her back straight. She wore her Confessor's face, as her mother had taught her. The people all leaned forward a little.
"Since it is a long list," Ranson said, "We might as well begin with the most serious charge." He glanced down. "Treason."
"And since when is defending the people of the Midlands treason?"
Wizard Ranson slammed his fist to the desk as he shot to his feet. "Defending the people of the Midlands! I have never in my life heard such filth from the mouth of a woman!" He smoothed his tan robes at his stomach and then sat back down. "Your 'defense' of the people was to plunge them into war. You would condemn thousands to die, to assuage your dread that someone other than yourself would rule. And rule with the unanimous agreement of the Council, I might add."
"It is hardly unanimous if the Mother Confessor dissents."
"Dissents for her own selfish motives."
"And who is it that you would have rule the Midlands? Kelton? Yourself?"
"The saviors of all people. The Imperial Order."
A prickling sensation rose up her legs. Kahlan felt as if the whole of the dome overhead were collapsing down on her. Her head spun. She thought she might be sick right there, in front of everyone. She forced her stomach to behave.
"The Imperial Order! The Imperial Order slaughtered Ebinissia! They crush all opposition to steal rule for themselves!"
"Lies. The Imperial Order is dedicated to benevolent rule. They simply wish to put your murderous intents to an end."
"Benevolent! They raped and butchered the people of Ebinissia!"
Ranson chuckled. "Come, come, Mother Confessor. The Imperial Order has murdered no one." He turned to a man Kahlan didn't recognize. "Councilor Thurstan, has your crown city been harmed by anyone?"
The jowly man looked surprised. "I have just arrived two days ago from the beautiful city of Ebinissia, and they know nothing of their slaughter."
The crowd chuckled with him. Ranson smiled petulantly at her.
"Did you not expect, Mother Confessor, that we would have witnesses to expose your preposterous stories? This is simply a fiction meant to inflame people's fears, and stir them to war."
Ranson snapped his fingers. A woman in drab, worn clothes came in and stood to the side. Ranson gently told her not to be frightened, and to tell her story. The woman told of how her children had to go to bed hungry, because she had no money. She said she had been forced into prostitution to feed her children. Kahlan knew it was a lie. There was no scarcity of charitable people and groups who would help anyone truly needing it.
For the next hour, one witness after another was paraded in, and each told a story of hunger and want, and how the Palace would not give them money to feed and clothe themselves, not caring if their children starved. The people in the balconies listened with rapt attention to the sad stories, some weeping with the witnesses.
Kahlan recognized a few of the people testifying. She remembered Mistress Sanderholt offering them work in the past. She had told Kahlan that when they had come in, they scoffed at the things they were asked to do. Mistress Sanderholt ended up having to do many of the tasks herself.
Wizard Ranson rose to his feet, after the last witness had told his tearful story, and turned to each side, addressing the people gathered. "The Mother Confessor has a vast treasury, and she intended to use it to finance a war against the people of the Midlands who would wish to be free of her rule. She first takes the food from your mouths, and the mouths of your children, and then, to keep you from thinking about the gnawing hunger in your gut, invents an enemy, and starts a war with your hard earned money, which she has stolen for her already wealth friends.
"While you people go hungry, she eats well! While you need clothes, she would buy weapons! While your sons would bleed to death in battle, she lounges in the lap of luxury! When your family members are unjustly accused of crimes, she uses her magic to make them confess to crimes they did not commit to silence their protests against her tyranny!"
People were weeping. A few cried out with anguish at the last part. Still more angrily demanded justice. Kahlan began to doubt that she would be beheaded. This mob would probably tear her apart before she ever made it to the block.
Ranson held his arms open to the people gathered. "As a representative of the Imperial Order, I direct that the people get what they really need. The treasury of Aydindril will be put to its best use. It will be turned back to the oppressed. I direct that every family shall be entitled to one gold piece a month, to clothe and feed your children. There will be no starvati
on allowed under the rule of the Imperial Order."
Cheering erupted in the great hall. The wild applauding and huzzah went on unabated for a good five minutes. Ranson sat and steepled his fingers while he listened to the celebration. He never took his eyes from Kahlan, nor she from his.
Kahlan knew that life's hardships were not that simple to eradicate. She knew that seeming kindness could in truth be cruel. She calculated that the payments would take, at most, six months to empty the treasury. She wondered what would happen the following month, when the money was gone, and people would have by then stopped working, or planting, to provide for themselves. Then there certainly would be hunger and starvation—in the guise of generosity.
At last the noise died out. Ranson leaned forward.
"There is no way of telling how many people have gone hungry, or starved to death, or died in war, by your command, Mother Confessor. It is obvious you are guilty of treason against the people of the Midlands. I see no reason to draw the evidence out, as we could, for weeks." The other Councilors all gave yeas of agreement. Ranson slapped his hand to the desk. "Guilty of the first charge then: treason."
The people cheered, again. Kahlan stood with her back stiff, wearing her Confessor's face. Ranson read off charges she could scarcely believe could be read with a straight face. Witnesses came forward and testified to atrocities that Kahlan thought anyone with common sense would laugh at. No one laughed.
People she had never met before confided their intimate knowledge of what Confessors did in secret. A lump rose in Kahlan's throat as she heard what people thought of her. People repeated irrational fears and rumors of every sort of outrage committed by Confessors, and the Mother Confessor in particular.
