The Pillars of Creation tsot-7 Page 17

  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 how 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.

  His tone turned more impassioned. “Jennsen, we have gifted women like Althea. They’re from a sect, the Sisters of the Light, that used to live at the Palace of the Prophets in the Old World. Richard Rahl, when he invaded the Old World, destroyed their palace. It was said to be a beautiful and special place, but he destroyed it. Now the Sisters are with Emperor Jagang, helping him. Maybe our sorceresses would be able to help you, too.”

  She looked up into his caring eyes. “Really? Maybe those with the emperor would know a way to hide me from my murderous half brother’s wizardry? . . . But he’s always only a half step behind, waiting for me to stumble so he can pounce. Sebastian, I don’t think I could make it that far. Althea helped hide me from Lord Rahl once. I must convince her to help me again. If she won’t, I fear I’ll have no chance before I’m caught.”

  He leaned out again, checking, then gave her a confident smile. “We’ll find Althea. Her magic will hide you and then you can get away.”

  Feeling better, she returned the smile.

  Judging that the Mord-Sith were gone and it was safe, they returned to the hall to search for Friedrich. They each inquired at several places before Jennsen found someone who knew of the gilder. With fresh hope, she and Sebastian moved deeper into the palace, following the directions they were given, to a juncture of grand passageways.

  There, in the center of the intersection of two central corridors, she was surprised to see a quiet plaza with a square pool of dark water. Tiles, rather than the usual marble, surrounded the pool. Four columns at the outer edge of the tiles supported the soaring opening to the sky, covered, since it was winter, by leaded glass panels. The beveled glass gave the light cast down across the tiles a shimmering, liquid quality.

  In the pool, off center in a way that seemed right without Jennsen understanding exactly why it felt right, stood a dark pitted rock with a bell atop it. It was a remarkably quiet sanctuary in the center of such a busy place.

  Seeing the square with the bell sparked her memory of similar places. When the bell tolled, she recalled, the people came to such squares to bow down and chant a devotion to the Lord Rahl. She suspected that such homage was one price paid for the honor of being allowed in his palace.

  People sat on the low wall around the edge, talking in hushed tones, watching orange fish gliding through the dark water. Even Sebastian stared for a few minutes before moving on.

  Everywhere, there were alert soldiers. Some seemed to be stationed at key spots. Squads of guards moved through the halls, watching everyone, stopping some people to speak with them. What the soldiers asked, Jennsen didn’t know, but it worried her greatly.

  “What do we say if they question us?” she asked.

  “It’s best not to say anything unless you have to.”

  “But if you have to, then what?”

  “Tell them that we live on a farm to the south. Farmers are isolated and don’t know much about anything but life on their farm, so it wouldn’t sound suspicious if we say we don’t know about anything else. We came to see the palace and perhaps buy a few small things—herbs and such.”

  Jennsen had met farmers, and didn’t think they were as ignorant of things as Sebastian seemed to think. “Farmers grow or collect their own herbs,” she said. “I don’t think they would need to come to the palace to buy them.”

  “Well, then . . . we came to buy some nice cloth so you could make clothes for the baby.”

  “Baby? What baby?”

  “Your baby. You are my wife and only recently found yourself pregnant. You are with child.”

  Jennsen felt her face flush to red. She couldn’t say she was pregnant—that would only lead to more questions.

  “All right. We’re farmers, here to buy a few small things—herbs and such. Rare herbs we don’t grow ourselves.”

  His only answer was a sideways glance and a smile. His arm returned to her waist, as if to banish her embarrassment.

  Beyond another intersection of wide passageways, following the directions they’d been given, they turned down another hall to the right. It, too, was lined with vendors. Jennsen immediately spotted the booth with a gilded star hanging before it. She didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but the gilded star had eight points, like the star in a Grace. She had drawn the Grace often enough to know.

  With Sebastian at her side, she rushed over to the booth. Her heart sank when they found the place occupied only by an empty chair, but it was still morning, and she reasoned that maybe he hadn’t come in yet. The closest businesses weren’t yet open, either.

  She stopped several stalls down at a place selling leather mugs. “Do you know if the gilder is here today?” she asked the man working behind the bench.

  “Sorry, don’t know,” he said without looking up from his work at cutting decorations with a fine gouge. “I just started here.”

  She hurried down to the next occupied booth, a place that sold hangings with colorful scenes sewn on them. She turned to say something to Sebastian, but saw him inquiring at another booth not far away.

  The woman behind the short counter was sewing a blue brook through mountains stitched on a stretched square of coarsely woven cloth. Some of the scenes were made up into pillows displayed on a rack to the back.

  “Mistress, would you know if the gilder is here, today?”

  The woman smiled up at her. “Sorry, but far as I know, he won’t be in today.”

  “Oh, I see.” Thwarted by the disappointing news, Jennsen hesitated, not knowing what to do next. “Would you know when he will return, at least?”

  The woman pushed her needle through, making a blue stitch of water. “No, can’t say as I do. Last time I saw him, over a week ago, he said he may not be back for a while.”

  “Why is that? Do you know?”

  “Can’t say as I do.” She pulled the long thread of the water out taut. “Sometimes he stays away for a spell, working at his gilding, doing up enough to make it worth his time to travel to the palace.”

  “Would you happen to know where he lives?”

  The woman glanced up from under a crinkled brow. “Why do you wish to know?”

  Jennsen’s mind raced. She said the only thing she could think of—what she had learned from Irma, the sausage lady watching Betty for her. “I wish to go for a telling.”

  “Ah,” The woman said, her suspicion fading as she pulled another stitch through. “It’s Althea, then, that you really want to see.”

  Jennsen nodded. “My mother took me to Althea when I was young. Since my mother . . . passed away, I’d like to visit Althea again. I thought it might be a comfort if I went for a telling.”

  “Sorry about your mother, dear. I know what you mean. When I lost my mother, it was a hard time for me, too.”

  “Could you tell me how to find Althea’s place?”

  She set her sewing down and came to the low wall at the front of her booth. “It’s a goodly ways to Althea’s place—to the west, through a desolate land.”

  “The Azrith Plains.”

  “That’s right. Going west, the land turns rugged, with mountains. Around the other side of the largest snowcapped mountain due west of here, if you turn north, staying just the other side of the cliffs you will find, following the low land down lower yet, you will come into a nasty place. A swampy place. Althea and Friedrich live there.”

  “In a swamp? But not in the winter.”

  The woman leaned close and lowered her voice. “Yes, even in the winter, people say. Althea’s swamp. A vile place it is, too. Some say it isn’t a natural place, if you know what I mean.”

  “Her . . . magic, you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Some say.
”

  Jennsen nodded in thanks and repeated the directions. “Other side of the largest snowcapped peak west of here, stay below the cliffs and go north. Down in a swampy place.”

  “A nasty, dangerous, swampy place.” The woman used a long fingernail to scratch her scalp. “But you don’t want to be going there unless you’re invited.”

  Jennsen glanced around briefly, to signal to Sebastian, but she didn’t see him right off. “How does one get invited?”

  “Most people ask Friedrich. I see them come here to talk to him and leave without even looking at his work. I guess he asks Althea if she will see them, and the next time he returns with his gilding, he invites them. Sometimes, people give him a letter to take to his wife.

  “Some people travel out there and wait. I hear that sometimes he comes out of the swamp to meet those people and pass along Althea’s invitation. Some people return from the edge of the swamp without ever being invited in, their long wait for nothing. None dare venture in uninvited, though. Least, none that did ever came back to tell about it, if you know what I mean.”

  “Are you saying I’ll have to go there and just wait? Wait until she or her husband comes to invite us in?”

  “Guess so. But it won’t be Althea who comes out. She never comes out of her swamp, as I hear it. You could come back here each day until Friedrich finally returns to sell his gilding. He’s never been away for more than a month. I’d say he’ll be back to the palace within a few weeks, at most.”

  Weeks. Jennsen couldn’t stay in one place, waiting weeks, while Lord Rahl’s men hunted her, closing in day by day. From as close as Sebastian said they were, she didn’t think she even had days, much less weeks, before they would have her.

  “Thank you, then, for all your help. I guess I’ll come back another day to see if Friedrich has returned and ask him if I might go for a telling.”

  The woman smiled as she sat back down and picked up her sewing. “That might be best.” She looked up. “Sorry to hear about your mother, dear. It’s hard, I know.”

  She nodded, her eyes watery, fearing to test her voice just then. The vivid scene flashed through her mind. The men, the blood everywhere, the terror of them coming for her, seeing her mother slumped on the floor, stabbed, her arm severed. With effort, Jennsen pushed the memory away, lest it consume her in grief and anger.