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The blades of the yabree rang, rising in pitch, until the night screamed. The sound was painful, but Richard didn’t allow it to abate. He called it onward. Merissa turned away, covering her ears as the air reverberated with the howl of the yabree.
The domed shield below quaked, glowing as its vibrations intensified. Sparkling cracks appeared and raced along its surface. With a deafening knell, the shield shattered; pieces of it, like glowing glass, rained down toward the pool, sparking out as they fell.
The yabree went silent, and the night was once again still.
A bulk below stirred, shaking itself free of the strands of weed and muck. Wings spread, testing their strength, and then, with frenetic strokes, the queen lifted into the air. With needful beats of her wings, she lifted to the edge of the dome, her claws snatching and catching at the stone for support. Partially folding her newly tested wings, she began climbing the stone of the tower upon which Richard and Merissa stood. With sure, slow, powerful pulls, she hauled her glistening bulk up the column, her claws finding purchase in the cracks, crags, and crannies in the stone.
At last she stopped, clinging to the pillar beside Richard like a clawed salamander clinging to a slimy log. In the bright light of the moon, Richard could see that she was as red as Merissa’s dress. At first Richard thought he was seeing a red dragon, but upon closer scrutiny he could see the differences.
Her legs and arms were more heavily muscled than a dragon’s, and covered over with smaller scales more like the mriswith’s. A raised row of interlocking plates ran the length of her spine from the end of her tail to a nest of spikes at the back of her head. Atop the head, at the base of several long, supple spines, was a raised protrusion crowned with rows of scaleless flesh that occasionally fluttered as she exhaled.
The queen’s head snaked about, looking, searching. Her wings unfurled, slowly sweeping the night air. She wanted something.
“What do you seek?” Richard asked.
Twisting her head down toward him, she huffed a breath that engulfed him with an odd aroma. It somehow made him feel her need more acutely; the aroma had meaning he could understand, saying, “I wish to go to this place.”
She then turned her head out to the night beyond the pillars. She blew out, emitting a long, low, vibrating rumble that seemed to shudder through the air. Richard could see her expelling air through the fleshy ribbons atop her head. They fluttered as she trumpeted, creating the sound. With the heady aroma still filling his nostrils, he looked to the sweep of night before the tower.
The air shimmered, brightening as an image began to emerge before him. The queen trumpeted again, and the image brightened further. It was a scene Richard recognized—it was Aydindril, as if he were seeing it through an eerie, ocher fog. Richard could see the buildings of the city, the Confessors’ Palace, and, as she trumpeted again, brightening the image floating before him in the night sky, the Wizard’s Keep towering above on the mountainside.
Her head swung around to him, again huffing an aroma, but it was different from the first. It carried a different meaning: “How do I get to this place?”
Richard grinned with the wonder of being able to understand her meaning through an aroma. He grinned, too, with the knowledge that he could help her.
He extended his arm, and a glow shot out from it, illuminating the sliph. “There. She will take you.”
The queen flapped her wings as she sprang from the column and once clear of the stone spread them wide to glide down to the sliph. The queen couldn’t fly very well, Richard understood; she could use her wings to aid her somewhat but she couldn’t fly to Aydindril. She needed help to get there. Already, the sliph was embracing the queen as she folded her wings. The quicksilver took her in, and the red queen was gone.
Richard stood smiling with the pleasure of the yabree singing in his hand, humming through his bones.
“I’ll meet you at the bottom, Richard,” Merissa said. He felt her suddenly seize him by the shirt at the back of his neck, and with the power of her Han, fling him over the side of the tower.
By instinct, Richard reached out, just managing to snatch the lip of the dome’s opening as he fell past. He swung by his fingers, his feet dangling over a drop of at least a hundred feet. His yabree clattered as it hit the stone far below. Flushed with rushing panic, he felt as if he were waking in a nightmare.
The song was gone. Without the yabree, his mind suddenly felt startlingly wide awake. He shuddered with terror at realizing the insidious seduction, and what it had been doing to him.
Leaning over to see him hanging there, Merissa threw a bolt of fire down at him. He swung his feet in, and the flames just missed him. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, he knew.
Richard frantically felt under the rim of the dome for something to grab. His fingers found a fluted support rib. With desperate need to get away from Merissa, he gripped it and swung down under the dome as another bolt of fire shot past to erupt in the murky pool below, throwing strings of scum up into the air.
Hand over hand, propelled by fear, not only of Merissa, but also of the height, he started down the rib. Merissa headed for the stairs. As he descended, the rib steepened, becoming nearly vertical as it approached the edge of the dome.
Grunting with effort as he hurried, his fingers aching, Richard was overwhelmed by shame. How could he be so stupid? What was he thinking? It came to him with sickening comprehension.
The mriswith cape.
He remembered Berdine running out, holding Kolo’s journal, screaming at him to take off the cape. He remembered reading in the journal how not only they, but their enemies, too, created things of magic that brought about the changes needed to give people certain properties, such as strength and stamina, or the power to focus a line of light into a destructive point, or the ability to see great distances, even at night.
The mriswith cape must be one of those things, used to give wizards the ability to become invisible. Koto had mentioned how many of the weapons they developed had gone terribly awry. It could be, too, that the mriswith were developed by the enemy.
Dear spirits, what trouble had he caused? What had he done? He had to get the cape off his back. Berdine had been trying to warn him.
Wizard’s Third Rule: Passion rules reason. He had been so passionate to get to Kahlan that he had not used his reason and listened to Berdine’s warning. How was he going to stop the Order now? His folly had aided them.
Richard strained to hold the rib as it became nearly vertical. Ten more feet.
Merissa appeared in a doorway. He saw a bolt of lightning arc across the room. He let go, and dropped to the ground, wishing that he could fall faster. The loud crack of the lightning hurt his ears as it came perilously close to taking off his head. He had to get away from her. He had to run.
“I’ve met your bride-to-be, Richard.”
Richard froze in his tracks. “Where is she?”
“Come out of there, and we’ll talk about it. I’ll tell you all about how I’m going to enjoy hearing her scream.”
“Where is she!”
Merissa’s laughter echoed around the dome. “Right here, my student. Right here in Tanimura.”
In a fury, Richard unleashed a bolt of lightning. It lit the chamber, thundering across the room to where he had seen her last. Stone chips trailing smoke sailed through the air. He only dimly wondered how he had done such a thing. Need.
“Why! Why would you want to hurt her?”
“Oh, Richard, it’s not her I care about hurting. It is you. Her pain will give you pain; it’s that simple. She is merely a means to your blood.”
Richard eyed the passageways. “Why do you want my blood?”
As soon as he had finished asking, he ducked down and headed for a passageway.
“Because you have ruined everything. You locked my master back in the underworld. I was to have my reward. I was to have immortality. I did my part, but you ruined it.”
A twisting bolt of bl
ack lightning sliced a clean void through a wall right beside him. She was using Subtractive Magic. She was a sorceress with unimaginable power, and she could tell where he was; she could sense him. Then why was she missing?
“But worse,” she said as a slender finger tapped the gold ring through her lower lip, “because of you, I must serve that pig Jagang. You have no idea of the things he did to me. You have no idea of the things he makes me do. All because of you! All because of you, Richard Rahl! But I will make you pay. I have sworn to bathe in your blood, and I shall.”
“What about Jagang? You’re going to make him angry if you kill me.”
Fire erupted behind him, racing him to the next column.
“Quite the contrary. Now that you have done what was required of you, you are no longer of use to the dream walker. As a reward, I am being allowed to do away with you as I wish, and I have some grand wishes.”
Richard realized he was not going to be able to get away from her like this. He could be behind a wall, and she would be able to sense him with her Han.
He thought again about Berdine, and just as he reached up and clutched a fistful of the mriswith cape to rip it off his back, he paused. Merissa wouldn’t be able to see him with her Han if he was shrouded with the cape’s magic. But the cape’s magic was the force that created the mriswith.
Kahlan was a captive. Merissa said her pain would give him pain. He couldn’t allow them to hurt Kahlan. He had no choice.
He flung the cape around himself, and vanished.
48
“That is the last of them, as I promised.”
Verna stared into the eyes of a woman she had known for a hundred and fifty years. Her heart was sick. Known not well enough. There were many she had not known well enough.
“What does Jagang want with the Palace of the Prophets?”
“He has no power, beyond that of an ordinary man, except his ability as a dream walker.” Leoma’s voice trembled, but she went on. “He uses others, especially those with the gift, to accomplish what he wishes. He is going to use our knowledge to reveal the forks on the prophecies that will bring him victory, and then see to it that the correct action is taken in order to carry the world down that fork.
“He is a very patient man. It took him fifteen years to conquer the Old World, all the time perfecting his ability, probing the minds of others, and gathering the information he needed.
“He not only intends to use the prophecies in the vaults, but he intends to make the Palace of the Prophets his home. He knows about the spell; he has stationed men here as a test to make sure that it works for those without the gift, and that there is no harmful effect. He is going to live here and direct the conquest of the rest of the world, with the help of the prophecies, from this place.
“Once all lands fall to him, he will hold dominion over the world for hundreds upon hundreds of years, enjoying the spoils of his tyranny. To his mind, nothing so great has ever been dreamed, much less accomplished. It will be as near as a ruler can come to immortality.”
“What else can you tell me?”
