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Sebastian seemed to find it all as astonishing as she did. Jennsen stopped at a booth with no customers, where a small man with a lasting smile was setting out pewter mugs.
“Could you tell me, sir, if you know of a gilder named Friedrich?”
“No man by that name down here. Finer work like that is usually sold up top.”
As they were swallowed deeper into the underground entrance, Sebastian’s arm returned to enclose her waist. She found comfort in his close presence, his handsome face, and those times he smiled at her. His spikes of white hair made him different from everyone else—unique, special. His blue eyes seemed to hold so many answers to the mysteries of the larger world she had never seen. He almost made her forget her heartache at missing her mother.
A succession of massive iron doors stood open, admitting the advancing throng. It was intimidating going through such doors, knowing that if they closed she would be trapped inside. Beyond, wide marble stairs, paler than straw and swirled through with white veins, led up to grand landings edged with massive stone balustrades. In contrast to the immense iron doors into the plateau, finely crafted wooden doors closed off some of the rooms. Whitewashed corridors well lit by reflector lamps distracted from the feeling of being inside the plateau.
The stairs seemed endless, in some places branching off in different directions. Some of the landings opened into spacious passageways, the destination for many of the people. It was like a city in eternal night, lit by the wall lanterns with reflectors and pole lamps by the hundreds. Along the way were beautiful stone benches where people could rest. On some levels were more small shops selling bread, cheeses, meats, some with tables and benches set outside. Rather than feeling dark and forbidding, it seemed cozy inside, perhaps even romantic.
Some passageways, barred by huge doors and blocked by guards, appeared as if they might be barracks. In one place Jennsen glimpsed a spiral ramp with troops moving down on horseback.
From her childhood, Jennsen only dimly recalled the city under the palace. Now, with the endless new sights, it was a place of wonder.
As her legs grew weary from the effort of climbing the stairs and traversing passageways, it occurred to her then why many of the people chose to remain down on the plain to do business; it was a long way up, both in distance and in time, and quite the labor. From the conversations she overheard, many of the people who came would lengthen their stay at the palace that was a city by taking rooms.
Jennsen and Sebastian were finally rewarded for their effort when they emerged once again in the daylight. Three tiers of balconies fronted with roped columns supporting arched openings looked down on the marble hall. Overhead, glassed windows let in the light, creating a bright corridor unlike anything she had ever seen. If Jennsen was moved by the marvel of it, Sebastian seemed thunderstruck.
“How could any people build a place such as this?” he whispered. “Why would they even want to?”
Jennsen didn’t have an answer to either question. Yet, in spite of how much she loathed those who ruled her land, the palace still filled her with awe. This was a place built by people with vision and imagination beyond anything she could conceive of.
“With all the need in the world,” he murmured to himself, “the House of Rahl builds this marble monument to themselves.”
She thought that there seemed to be many thousands other than the Lord Rahl himself who benefited from the People’s Palace, those who derived their living from what the palace brought together, people of all kinds, even down to Irma the sausage lady, but Jennsen didn’t want to just then break her spell of astonishment to try to explain it.
The corridor, stretching off in both directions, was lined with rows of shops set back under the balconies. Some were open, with a single craftsman, but many were glass-fronted and quite ornate, with doors, signs hung out, and a number of people working inside. The variety was overwhelming. Shopkeepers cut hair, pulled teeth, painted portraits, made clothes, and sold every sort of thing as could be imagined, from common produce and herbs to priceless perfumes and jewels. The aromas from the wide variety of foods were distracting. The sights were dizzying.
As she was taking in those sights while looking for the gilder’s place, Jennsen spotted two women in brown leather uniforms. Each wore her long blond hair in a single braid. She clutched Sebastian’s arm and hauled him into a side passageway. Without a word, she rushed him along, trying not to go so fast as to make people suspicious, but at the same time get them out of sight as quickly as possible. As soon as she reached the first of the huge pillars lining the side hall, she ducked behind it, pulling Sebastian along with her. When people glanced their way, they both sat down on the stone bench against the wall, trying to look as normal as possible. A statue of a naked man across the way stared down at them as he leaned on a spear.
Cautiously, casually, they both peeked out just enough to see. Jennsen watched the two leather-clad women stroll past the intersection; their gazes, cool, penetrating, intelligent, took in the people to both sides. These were the eyes of women that in an instant and without regret could decide between life and death. When one woman looked toward the side hall, Jennsen sank back behind the pillar, pressing herself up against the wall. She was relieved to finally see the backs of the two as they continued down the main corridor.
“What was that all about?” Sebastian asked as she let out a relieved sigh.
“Mord-Sith.”
“What?”
“Those two women. They were Mord-Sith.”
Sebastian carefully peered out for another look, but the two were gone. “I don’t know much about them, except that they’re guards of some kind.”
She realized, then, that being from another land he might not know much about those women. “Yes, in a way. Mord-Sith are very special guards. They are the Lord Rahl’s personal guards, I guess. They protect him, and more. They torture information out of gifted people.”
He gauged the demeanor in her eyes. “You mean those with simple magic.”
“Any magic. Even a sorceress. Even a wizard.”
He looked skeptical. “A wizard commands powerful magic. He could simply use his power to crush those women.”
Jennsen’s mother had told her about Mord-Sith, how dangerous they were, and that she must avoid them at all cost. Her mother never tried to hide the nature of deadly threats.
“No. Mord-Sith have a power that enables them to appropriate another’s magic—even a wizard or a sorceress. They capture not only the person, but their magic, as well. There can be no escape from a Mord-Sith unless she releases the person.”
Sebastian seemed only more confused. “What do you mean they appropriate another’s magic? That makes no sense. What could they do with such magic if it were another’s power? That would be like pulling out someone’s teeth and trying to eat with them.”
Jennsen swept her hand back over her head, under her hood, replacing the red ringlets that had fallen out. “I don’t know, Sebastian. I’ve heard that they use the person’s own magic against them, to hurt them—to give them pain.”
“Then why should we be afraid of them?”
“They may torture information out of the gifted enemies of Lord Rahl, but they can hurt anyone. Did you see the weapon they carry?”
“No. I saw no weapon on them. They only carried a small, red leather rod.”
“That is their weapon. It’s called an Agiel. They keep it on a chain around their wrist so it is always at hand. It’s a weapon of magic.”
He considered what she said, but clearly didn’t yet understand it. “What do they do with it, with their Agiel?”
His manner had turned from incredulity to a more calm, analytical questioning for information. He was once again doing the job Jagang the Just had sent him to do.
“I’m no expert on the subject, but from what I’ve heard, the mere touch of an Agiel can do anything from causing inconceivable pain, to breaking bones, to instant death. The Mord-Sith decides ho
w much pain, if the bones are to break, and whether or not you are to die by the touch.”
He watched out toward the intersection as he considered what she’d said. “Why are you so afraid of them? And if you have only heard these things, why do you fear them so?”
Now she was the one who was incredulous. “Sebastian, Lord Rahl has been hunting me my whole life. These women are his personal killers. Don’t you think they would love to bring me to the feet of their master?”
“I suppose.”
“At least they were wearing their brown leather. They wear red leather when they sense a threat, or when they torture someone. In red leather the blood doesn’t show so much.”
He slid both hands over his eyes and then back over his white spikes of hair. “This is a nightmare land you live in, Jennsen Daggett.”
Jennsen Rahl, she almost corrected out of self-pity. Jennsen from her mother, Rahl from her father.
“Do you think I don’t know it?”
“And what if this sorceress doesn’t want to help you?”
She picked at a thread on her knee. “I don’t know.”
“He will come after you. Lord Rahl will never let you be. You will never be free.”
…unless you kill him were the words she could hear left off.
“Althea must help me…I’m so sick of being afraid,” Jennsen said, near tears, “so sick of running.”
He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I understand.”
No two words could have been more meaningful at that moment. She could only nod her appreciation.
