Soul of the Fire (82 page)

Ann was forced to take the spoonful of soup when it unexpectedly swooped toward her mouth. She chewed slowly as she studied the woman’s face.

“
You could come back to the Light, Alessandra.”

“
What!” The instantaneous flash of anger in the woman’s eyes melted to amusement. “Prelate, you have gone loony.”

“
Have I?”

Sister Alessandra pressed another spoonful to Ann’s lips. “Yes. I am sword to my master of the underworld. I serve the Keeper. Eat, now.”

Before Ann could swallow, another spoonful came at her. She ate a half dozen more before she could get a word out.

“
Alessandra, the Creator would forgive you. The Creator is all-loving and all-forgiving. He would take you back. You could come back to the light. Wouldn’t you like to return to the Creator’s loving embrace.”

Unexpectedly, Sister Alessandra backhanded her. Ann toppled to her side. The woman hovered, glowering.

“
The Keeper is my master! You will not speak blasphemy! His Excellency is my master in this world. In the next, I am sworn to the Keeper. I will not listen to you profane my oath to my master. Do you hear?”

Ann feared that what healing her jaw had done had now been undone. It hurt something awful. Her eyes watered. Sister Alessandra finally seized Ann’s filthy dress at the shoulder and hauled her up straight.

“
I will not have you saying such things. Do you hear?”

Ann kept silent, fearing to elicit another angry outburst. Apparently, the subject was as sore as Ann’s jaw.

Sister Alessandra picked up the bowl of soup. “There isn’t much left, but you should finish it.”

Alessandra stared down at the bowl, as if watching the spoon stirring around in it. She cleared her throat. “Sorry I hit you.”

Ann nodded. “I forgive you, Alessandra.” The woman’s eyes, no longer filled with anger, turned up. “I do, Alessandra,” Ann whispered sincerely, wondering at the terrible emotions struggling within her former disciple.

The eyes turned down again. “There is nothing to forgive. I am what I am, and nothing will change it. You’ve no idea of the things I’ve done to become a Sister of the Dark.” She looked up with a distant expression. “You’ve no idea of the power I was granted in return. You can’t imagine, Prelate.”

Ann almost asked her what good it did her, but held her tongue and finished the soup in silence. She winced in pain with every swallow. The spoon clanked when Alessandra dropped it in the empty bowl.

“
It was very good, Alessandra. The best meal I’ve had in … however long I’ve been here. Weeks, I guess.”

Sister Alessandra nodded and rose. “If I’m not busy, I will bring you some tomorrow, then.”

“
Alessandra.” The woman turned back. Ann met her gaze. “Could you sit with me for a bit?”

“
Why?”

Ann chuckled bitterly. “I’m stuffed in a box every day. I’m staked to the ground every night. It would be nice to have someone I know sit with me for a bit, that’s all.”

“
I’m a Sister of the Dark.”

Ann shrugged. “I’m a Sister of the Light. You still brought me soup.”

“
I was ordered to.”

“
Ah. More honesty than I received from the Sisters of the Light, I’m sorry to say.” Ann squirmed off a loop of chain and then flopped down on her side, turning away from Sister Alessandra. “Sorry you had to be interrupted to take care of me. Jagang probably wants you to go back to whoring for his men.”

Silence reined inside the tent. Outside, soldiers laughed, drank, and gambled. Smells of meat roasting drifted in. At least Ann’s stomach wasn’t grumbling with hunger. The soup had been good.

Ann heard the sound of a woman’s scream in the distance. The scream turned to chiming laughter. One of the camp followers, no doubt. Sometimes, the screams were sincere terror. Sometimes the sound of them made Ann sweat, thinking about what was happening to those poor women.

At last, Sister Alessandra sank back down. “I could sit with you a bit.”

Ann rolled over. “I would like that, Alessandra. I really would.”

Sister Alessandra helped her sit up, and then the two of them sat in awkward silence while they listened to the camp sounds.

“
Jagang’s tent,” Ann said at last. “I heard it was something. Quite the fancy sight.”

“
Yes, it is. It’s like a palace he sets up each night. I can’t say I favor going there, though.”

“
No, after my encounter with the man, I imagine not. Do you know where we’re going?”

The other shook her head. “Here, there, it makes no difference. We are slaves serving His Excellency.”

It had the ring of hopelessness to it, and made Ann think to gently turn that feeling to hope. “You know, Alessandra, he can’t get into my mind.”

Sister Alessandra looked up with a frown, and Ann told her how the bond to the Lord Rahl protected anyone sworn to him. Ann was careful to frame it in terms of what it meant to her, and to the others sworn to Richard, on a personal level, rather than to make it sound like an offer. The woman listened without objection.

“
Now,” Ann said in conclusion, “the magic of Richard’s bond as the Lord Rahl doesn’t work, but then, Jagang’s magic doesn’t work either, so I’m still safe from the dream walker.” She chuckled. “Unless he walks in the tent, that is.”

Sister Alessandra laughed with her.

Ann rearranged her manacled hands in her lap, hauling the chains closer so she could have enough slack to cross her legs.

“
When the chimes eventually go back to your master in the underworld, then Richard’s bond will work again, and I will once again be protected from Jagang’s magic, when it returns, too. In all this, that is the one comfort I have—knowing I’m safe from Jagang’s power entering my mind.”

Sister Alessandra sat mute.

“
Of course,” Ann added, “it must be a relief for you to be without Jagang in your mind for the time being, at least.”

“
You don’t know when he’s there. You feel no different. Except … if he wants you to know.”

She smoothed the lap of her dress when Ann didn’t say anything. “But I think you don’t know what you’re talking about, Prelate. The dream walker is in my mind, right now, watching us.”

She looked up, waiting for Ann to argue. Instead, Ann said, “You just think on it, Alessandra. You just think on it.”

Sister Alessandra gathered up the bowl. “I’d best be going back.”

“
Thank you for coming, Alessandra. Thank you for the soup. And thank you for sitting with me. It was nice to be with you, again.”

Sister Alessandra nodded and ducked out of the tent.

Although it was hardly noticeable, the grassy ground stretching to the horizon before Beata’s Dominie Dirtch was slightly higher than the ground to each side of the enormous stone weapon, and so provided firmer footing, especially for horses. After the recent rains the gentle swale to the right was muddy. To the left it wasn’t any better. Because of the unique lay of the land, especially after rain, people tended to approach Beata’s post, her Dominie Dirtch, more often than others.

There weren’t many, but those in the area traveling into Anderith from the grasslands of the wilds were inclined to come to her station first. Beata enjoyed being able to be in charge for a change, to pass judgment on people and say if they could enter. If she thought they looked like people who should not be let in, she sent them on to a border station, where they could apply for entry with the station guards.

It felt good to be the one in control of important matters, instead of being helpless. Now, she decided things.

It was exciting, too, when travelers came through—something different, a chance to talk to people from afar, or to see their strange dress. There were rarely more than two or three people traveling together. But they looked up to her; she was in charge.

This bright sunny morning, though, Beata’s heart hammered against her ribs. This time, those who approached were different. This time, there were considerably more than a few. This time, it looked like a true threat.

“
Carine,” Beata ordered, “stand ready at the striker.”

The Haken woman squinted over at her. “You sure, Sergeant?” Carine had terrible eyesight; she rarely saw anything beyond thirty paces, and these people were off at the horizon.

It was something Beata had never done before, ordering out the striker. At least, not when people approached. They practiced taking it out, of course, but she’d never ordered it out. If she wasn’t there, the ones on duty were supposed to take it out if they judged a threat approached, but with Beata there, it was up to her to order it readied. She was in charge. They depended on her.

Since the terrible accident, they’d added an extra bar across the rack where the striker stood, even though they knew it wasn’t the striker that had rung the weapon. No one told them to do it; Beata just felt better with another restraint on the striker. It made them feel like they were doing something about the accident, even if they weren’t, really.

No one knew why all the Dominie Dirtch had rung.

Beata wiped her sweaty palms on her hips. “I’m sure. Do it.”

Other times, when people approached, it was easy enough to tell they were harmless. Traders with a cart, some of the nomadic people of the wilds wanting to trade with the soldiers stationed at the border—Beata never let them through—merchants taking an unusual route for one reason or another, even some special Ander guard troops returning from far patrols.

Those Ander guard troops weren’t regular army soldiers. They were special. They were men only, and they looked to Beata like they were used to dealing with trouble of one sort or another. They paid no heed to regular Anderith soldiers, like Beata.

She’d ordered them to stop, once, as they approached. Beata knew who they were, because Captain Tolbert had instructed her and her squad about the special Ander guard troops, and told them to let the men pass at will if they came by. She’d only wanted to ask them, being fellow soldiers and all, if they needed anything.

They didn’t stop when she ordered it. The man leading simply smirked as he rode past with his column of big men.

These people who approached, though, were not guard troops. Beata didn’t know what to make of them, except they had the look of a serious threat. She could make out hundreds of mounted soldiers in dark uniforms spreading out as they halted.

Even from a distance, it was a formidable sight.

Beata glanced to her side, and saw Carine drawing back the striker. Annette seized the shaft to help strike the Dominie Dirtch.

Beata sprang toward them and caught the shaft of the striker before they could swing it.

“
No order was given! What’s the matter with you? Stand down.”

“
But Sergeant,” Annette complained, “they’re soldiers—a lot of soldiers—and they aren’t ours. I can tell that much.”

Beata shoved the woman back. “They’re giving the signal. Can’t you see?”

“
But, Sergeant Beata,” Annette whined, “they aren’t our people. They’ve no business—”

“
You don’t even know their business yet!” Beata was frightened and angry that Carine and Annette had almost rung the weapon on their own. “Are you crazy? You don’t even know who they are. You could be killing innocent people.

“
You’re both going to stand an extra duty tonight and for the next week for not following orders. Do you understand?”

Annette hung her head. Carine saluted, not knowing how she was supposed to react to such discipline. Beata would have been angry at any of her squad trying to wrongly ring the Dominie Dirtch, but deep down inside, she was glad it was the two Haken women, and not one of the Anders.

On the horizon, a person on horseback waved a white flag on the end of a pole, or lance. Beata didn’t know the distance the Dominie Dirtch could kill. Maybe if Carine and Annette had rung it, it wouldn’t have harmed the people out there, but after what happened to Turner, she hoped never to see the weapon rung while people were in front of it—unless they clearly were attacking.

Beata watched as the strange troops waited where they were while only a few people approached. Those were the rules, the way Beata and her squad were taught. People had to wave a flag of some sort, and if there were many, only a few were supposed to approach to state their business and ask permission to pass.