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Verna held her tongue, thinking about how the foundation of her entire order had turned to quicksand with the end of prophecy, how the Palace of the Prophets was nothing but a memory and a few broken scraps of rubble. “I am no longer so important as you might think.”
Another pang struck her heart as she thought of Warren, once her student, then her beloved husband, whose tragic death had left her devastated. Some days she thought that her identity as a widow was far more consuming than her identity as the prelate of the Sisters of the Light.
When Richard had descended into the underworld, trapped on the twilight verge of death, he had spoken with the spirit of Warren and brought back a message for her that Verna cherished more than any prophecy or proclamation. But it was her message, and she kept it wrapped in pretty bows of memories and stored close to her heart. Now she was alone, but not alone, because she had work to do. She had come back to Tanimura, and that carried certain responsibilities.
Among the soldiers milling about to receive the new arrivals, she saw colorful dresses, red and green and blue, worn by the Sisters of the Light—her companions, ten of whom had arrived ahead of her. One novice Sister looked like just a fresh-faced girl, far too young to have any responsibilities or heavy teachings from the Sisters.
“Amber!” Norcross called out as he hurried forward, laughing.
His sister’s dark blond hair hung in ringlets around her face, and long tresses fell below her shoulders. She had sparkling deep blue eyes that laughed along with her voice. “You took your sweet time riding here, Brother. I almost left you to find some other man to cherish me.”
“There are plenty of men who would be happy to marry you, Amber,” he said. “But you’re too young yet.”
“I am a Sister of the Light, and proud of it,” the girl said, then suddenly realized that Verna was watching her. She blanched and stammered, “Prelate, I’m very sorry. I did not mean to be so casual and friendly in your presence.”
Verna gave her a maternal look. “Child, the Sisters are not so grim and studious that we don’t allow happiness. Enjoy the reunion with your brother.” She lowered her voice, talking as much for her own benefit as for the young novice’s. “Dear spirits, we have enough pain. We should cherish whatever joy we can find.”
A deep male voice boomed out, “Prelate Verna! I’m glad you kept my soldiers safe on the trip down here.”
Verna turned to see General Zimmer, a young man she had first met as a much-lower-ranking officer, now only about thirty, but because so many military leaders were slaughtered in the recent war, Zimmer had unexpectedly risen in rank far above his expectations. But his heart and his mind were strong, and he accepted the increasing burdens each time one of his superior officers was killed, leaving him in charge. He had dark hair and a thick neck, but when he smiled, Zimmer looked much younger than expected.
Striding forward, he extended his arm for her to take and escorted her toward the command office in the two-story headquarters building inside the stockade wall. The structure was built from freshly hewn pine boards, sanded and fitted together, still redolent with a sweet forest scent that reminded her of spring. Workers on the roof were hammering wooden slat shingles into place. Inside the fence near the training ground, rows of canvas sleeping tents had been erected while larger permanent barracks were built. The sounds of sawing and hammering were as loud as the sounds of soldiers drilling.
Zimmer led her into his office on the upper level, where he kept the broad windows open to the sea breezes. The raw floorboards creaked as they walked across them, and Verna took the offered wooden chair in front of the general’s desk. “I called for tea as soon as I saw you ride up, Prelate,” Zimmer said. “To refresh yourself and to inspire conversation.” He scratched his cheek, where a dark stubble was already prominent even though it was barely midafternoon. He shouted for his adjutant, who hurried into the room with a steaming pot, two porcelain cups, and a small jar of honey. “After the long road, I thought you’d like the amenities.”
“I don’t need to be pampered, General,” she said, although she was glad for the tea.
“And who’s to say that I don’t?” He poured a cup for her and then for himself, and he did not skimp on the honey. “Sometimes hints of civilization remind us what we are fighting for.”
She took a sip with a smile. “To tea and honey, then—for D’Hara!”
“For D’Hara.” Though he had been recruited as a very young soldier, Zimmer already spoke with a solid military demeanor. He got down to business. “You bring reports from the People’s Palace? The men have been asking if Lord Rahl intends to visit us in Tanimura.”
“I know nothing of Lord Rahl’s plans. He has an empire to run and many urgent matters, I’m sure.”
The general mused, “He told me once that the D’Haran Empire effectively encompasses the entire world, but how are we to know how vast that is? How is he to know? Though my own journey to Tanimura was uneventful, and this garrison is secure, I’ve seen maps of the coastal cities and even sketchier reports of the Old World beyond, many cities, the Phantom Coast, and many islands beyond. As the world goes, we may have seen only one grain of sand on a very long beach.”
Verna nodded. “That could well be true, General. There will be explorers, there will be ambassadors. We can see this world and make sure that Lord Rahl’s golden age touches them all.”
Zimmer smiled as if he had hoped she would make such a comment. “In light of that, Prelate, I have received a report you may find interesting. Nathan Rahl, the wizard and prophet, came through Tanimura some months ago.”
Nathan? Verna was surprised. “He is no longer a prophet. There is no more prophecy.”
Zimmer did not seem bothered by her correction. “Even so, a man likes to keep his titles. He was with Nicci. From Tanimura, they both booked passage aboard a three-masted carrack, the Wavewalker.”
Verna was always surprised to hear about the former Sister of the Dark and how greatly she had changed. Nicci had been with Verna in the Palace of the Prophets for many years, but she had secretly served the Keeper. She had done much to destroy the order as well as Richard Rahl, but she had changed, and Nicci—who once called herself Death’s Mistress—was now one of Richard’s staunchest allies.
Verna’s lips curved in a distant smile. “I knew Lord Rahl had dispatched them together, but I am surprised Nicci stayed with Nathan. I would not have thought they’d be good traveling companions.”
“Soldiers do their duty,” Zimmer said. “Although Nathan and Nicci are not soldiers, they both have the same goal—to see that Lord Rahl’s cause succeeds.”
“How long have they been gone? Where did they go?” Verna asked.
“They sailed south, and there has been no word from the Wavewalker since. Apparently, they went to explore those empty places in our knowledge, to meet local leaders and tell them about Lord Rahl, perhaps to establish treaties or agreements. They have much work to do.”
He poured a second cup of tea for each of them. She added a dab of honey, stirred it, then drank. The tea was surprisingly good for something concocted in a rough-hewn military garrison.
Zimmer’s face darkened. “Even though Jagang has been defeated and the Imperial Order disbanded, there is still so much unexplored and ungoverned land. The Old World seems to be a fertile ground for tyrants.”
Verna wrapped her fingers around the cup, feeling its warmth, enjoying the sense of peace as she sat across from this brave military man, smelling the fresh pinewood and seeing the bright sunshine out the window.
She said, “If there are a dozen new tyrants out there, I’d still bet my money on Nicci.”
CHAPTER 17
The next day, Nicci returned to the ruling tower, where the wizards’ duma was holding session. Sovrena Thora and Wizard Commander Maxim took their ornate seats on the raised platform above the floor of blue marble tiles. Thora wore a shimmering orange and scarlet dress that clung to her shapely body and highlighted he
r startling sea-green eyes. Her long hair had been done up in a different, intricate pattern of loops and braids, held in place by jeweled clasps. She seemed to radiate power, amplified by her own confidence.
Because there was no pressing business, only a few duma members bothered to attend the meeting—Elsa, Renn, and Quentin. Entering late, the muscular Ivan came from the arena pits. The chief handler was swarthy, sweating, and in a foul mood. He stalked in, grumbling, but the other members paid him no mind; apparently, Ivan often attended in such a state.
