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She tossed the blanket on the pallet. “But at all costs, he must be protected. He leads D’Hara and is pulling the lands together under that banner to resist the scourge of the Imperial Order. In Aydindril, besides being safe, he can continue the task of forging unity. He has already proven his leadership ability. The prophecies warn that only he has a chance to successfully lead us in this struggle. Without him, we are lost for sure.”
Nissel shuffled in carrying a tray of tava bread spread with honey and mint. She smiled at Zedd as she let Ann unload the three steaming cups of tea she was also holding. Nissel set the tray of tava on the floor before the pallets and sat down where Zedd had been lying. Ann handed her one of the cups and sat on the folded blanket at the head of the other pallet.
Nissel patted the bedding beside her. “Come, sit, and have tava and tea before you must leave on your journey.”
Zedd, considering weighty matters, offered her a weak smile as he sat beside her. She sensed his somber mood and silently lifted the platter to offer him tava. Zedd, seeing she understood his worry if not its cause, slipped a thankful arm around her shoulders. With his other hand, he took a sticky piece of tava.
Zedd licked honey from the crusty edge. “I wish we knew something about that book Richard mentioned, Mountain’s Twin. I wish I knew if he knew anything about it.”
“He didn’t seem to. All Verna told me at the time was that Mountain’s Twin was destroyed.”
Ann had already known that much when Richard asked. She had offered to inquire through her journey book, even though its magic had already faded, so they might conceal from Richard the spreading extent of the trouble.
“I wish I’d had a look at it before it was destroyed.”
Ann ate a few bites of her tava bread before she asked, “Zedd, what if we can’t stop them? Our magic is already beginning to dwindle. It won’t be long until it fails completely. How are we going to stop the chimes without magic?”
Zedd licked honey from his lips. “I’m still hoping answers can be found at the place they were entombed, somewhere in the land of Toscla. Or whatever they call it now. Perhaps I can find books there, books of the history or culture of the land. They might give me the clue I need.”
Zedd was growing weaker by the day. His departing power sapped vitality as it bled away. His journey would be slow and difficult. Ann had the same trouble.
Nissel cuddled close to him, happy to simply be with someone who liked her as a woman, and didn’t want healing from her. Her healing would not help him. He genuinely did like her. He felt sympathy for her, too, for a woman most people didn’t understand. It was hard to be unlike those around you.
“Do you have any theories at all of how to banish the chimes from this world?” Ann asked between bites.
Zedd tore his tava bread in half. “Only what we discussed; if Richard stays at the Keep, then without him the chimes very well may be pulled back to the underworld even without our help. I know it’s a slim hope, but I will just have to find a way to fight them back into the underworld if need be. How about you? Any ideas?”
“None.”
“And do you still have your mind set on trying to rescue your Sisters of the Light from Jagang?”
She swished away a gnat. “Jagang’s magic will fail just the same as all other magic. The dream walker will lose his grip on my Sisters. In danger there is opportunity. I must use the opportunity while it is available.”
“Jagang still has a huge army. For one who often criticizes my plans, you prove no more ingenious at the task of scheming.”
“The reward is well worth the risk.” Ann lowered the hand with her tava. “I shouldn’t admit it… but, since we are to part ways, I will say it. You are a clever man, Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander. I will miss your vexing company. Your trickster ways have saved our hides more than once. I admire your perseverance—and see where Richard gets his.”
“Really? Well, I still don’t like your plan. Flattery will not change that.”
Ann simply smiled to herself.
Her plan was too artless, but he understood her commitment. Rescuing the Sisters of the Light was essential, and not simply because they were captives being brutalized. If the chimes could be banished, Jagang would again control those sorceress, and so their power.
“Ann, fear can be a powerful master. If some of the Sisters don’t believe you that they can escape, you can’t allow them to remain a menace, albeit an unwilling one, to our cause.”
Ann looked over out of the corner of her eye. “I understand.”
He was asking her to either rescue them or assassinate them.
“Zedd,” she said in soft compassion, “I don’t like mentioning it, but if what Kahlan has done…”
“I know.”
In calling forth the chimes, Kahlan had invoked their aid to save Richard’s life. There was a price.
In return for keeping Richard in the world of life until he recovered, she had unwittingly pledged the chimes the one thing they needed in order to also remain in the world of life.
A soul. Richard’s soul.
But he would be safe at the Keep; the place where they had been called was a safe haven for the one pledged.
Zedd put half his tava bread to Nissel’s lips. She smiled and chomped a big bite. She fed him a bite of her tava bread, after touching it to the end of his nose first. The foolishness of this old healer putting a dot of honey on his nose, like some mischievous little girl, made him chuckle.
Finally, Ann asked, “What ever happened to your cat, Lurk?”
Zedd frowned as he puzzled, trying to recollect. “To tell you the truth, I don’t recall. So much was happening back then. The war with D’Hara—led by Richard’s other grandfather, Panis Rahl—was just igniting. The lives of thousands hung under threat. I was yet to be named First Wizard. Erilyn was pregnant with our daughter.
“I guess with all that was going on, we just lost track of the cat. There are countless places in the Keep with mice; it probably found lurking about more appealing than two busy people.”
Zedd swallowed at the painful memories. “After I moved to Westland, and Richard was born, I always kept a cat as a reminder of Erilyn and home.”
Ann smiled in kind, sincere sympathy.
“I hope you never named one ‘Lurk,’ so that Richard would have cause to suddenly recall the name.”
“No,” Zedd whispered. “I never did.”
15
“Fetch!” Master Drummond called out.
Fitch pressed his lips tight trying unsuccessfully, he knew, to keep his face from going red. His smiled politely as he trotted past the snickering women.
“Yes, sir?”
Master Drummond wagged a hand toward the rear of the kitchen. “Fetch in some more of the apple wood.”
Fitch bowed with a “Yes, sir,” and headed toward the door out to the wood. Even though the kitchen was a fog of marvelous aromas, from sizzling butter and onions and spices to the mouthwatering savor of roasting meats, he was glad for the chance to get away from the crusty cauldrons. His fingers ached from scraping and scrubbing. He was glad, too, that Master Drummon
d didn’t ask for any oak. Fitch was relieved to have done one thing right by having brought in enough of the oak.
Trotting through the patches of warm sunlight on his way down to the heap of apple wood, he wondered again why Minister Chanboor had wanted to see Beata. She had certainly looked happy enough about it. Women seemed to go all giddy whenever they got a chance to meet the Minister.
Fitch didn’t see what was so special about the man. After all, he was starting to get gray in his hair; he was old. Fitch couldn’t imagine himself ever getting old enough to have gray hairs. Just thinking about it made his nose wrinkle with disgust.
When he reached the woodpile, something caught his eye. He put a hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the sunlight as he peered over to the shade of the turn round. He’d assumed it was just another delivery, but it was Brownie, still standing there with the butcher’s cart.
He’d been busy in the kitchen and had thought Beata would have left long ago. There were any number of doors out, and he would have no way of knowing when she’d left. He’d just assumed she had.
It must have been an hour since she’d gone upstairs. Minister Chanboor probably wanted to give her a message for the butcher—some special request for his guests. Surely, he would have finished with her long ago.
So why was the cart still there?
Fitch bent and plucked a stick of apple wood. He shook his head in frustration; Minister Chanboor was probably telling her stories. Fitch hefted another billet from the woodpile. For some reason, women liked listening to the Minister’s stories, and he liked telling them. He was always talking to women, telling them stories. Sometimes, at dinners and feasts, they gathered around him in giggling groups. Maybe they were just being polite—he was an important man, after all.
No girls worried about being polite to him, and they never much liked listening to his stories, either. Fitch gathered up the armload of apple wood and headed for the kitchen. He thought his stories about getting drunk were pretty funny, but girls weren’t much interested in listening to them.
