The Pillars of Creation tsot-7 Page 5

  “Then . . . Daggett is not a real name, either?”

  “No.”

  “Well, what is your real name, then?”

  “That, too, is part of the story for another night.” Her mother’s tone said that she didn’t mean to discuss it. “What matters is that the soldier today had that name. That can only mean the worst.”

  “But you said it’s a name you no longer use. You use a different name, here: Daggett. No one here knows you by that name, Lindie.”

  Her mother leaned toward Sebastian. Jennsen knew her mother was giving him a look that he would find uncomfortable. Her mother had a way of making people nervous when she fixed them with that intent, penetrating gaze of hers.

  “It may no longer be our name, a name we used only far to the north, but he had that name written down, and he was here, mere miles from where we are now. That means he has somehow connected that name with us—with two women somewhere up in this remote place. Somehow, he connected it, or, more precisely, the man who hunts us connected it, and sent him after us. Now, they search for us here.”

  Sebastian broke her gaze and took a thoughtful breath. “I see what you mean.” He went back to eating the piece of fish skewered on the point of his knife.

  “That dead soldier would have others with him,” her mother said. “By burying him, you bought us time. They won’t know what happened to him. We have that much luck. We are still a few steps ahead of them. We must use our advantage to get away before they tighten the noose. We will have to leave in the morning.”

  “Are you sure?” He gestured around with his knife. “You have a life here. Your lives are remote, hidden—I would never have found you had I not seen Jennsen with that dead soldier. How could they find you? You have a house, a good place.”

  “ ‘Life’ is the word that matters in all that you said. I know the man who hunts us. He has thousands of years of bloody heritage as guidance in hunting us. He will not rest. If we stay, sooner or later he will find us here. We must escape while we can.”

  She pulled from her belt the exquisite knife Jennsen had brought her from the dead D’Haran soldier. Still in its sheath, she spun it in her fingers, presenting it, hilt first, to Sebastian.

  “This letter ‘R’ on the hilt stands for the House of Rahl. Our hunter. He would only have presented a weapon this fine to a very special soldier. I don’t want a weapon which has been presented by that evil man.”

  Sebastian glanced down at the knife tendered, but didn’t take it. He gave them both a look that unexpectedly chilled Jennsen to the bone. It was a look that burned with ruthless determination.

  “Where I come from, we believe in using what is closest to an enemy, or what comes from him, as a weapon against him.”

  Jennsen had never heard such a sentiment. Her mother didn’t move. The knife still lay in her hand. “I don’t.”

  “Do you choose to use what he has inadvertently given you, and turn it against him? Or do you choose instead to be a victim?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why don’t you kill him?”

  Jennsen’s jaw dropped. Her mother seemed less astonished. “We can’t,” she insisted. “He’s a powerful man. He is protected by countless people, from simple soldiers to soldiers of great skill at killing—like the one you buried today—to people with the gift who can call upon magic. We are but two simple women.”

  Sebastian was not moved by her plea. “He won’t stop until he kills you.” He lifted the piece of paper, watching her eyes take it in. “This proves it. He will never stop. Why don’t you kill him before he kills you—kills your daughter? Or will you choose to be corpses he has yet to collect?”

  Her mother’s voice heated. “And how do you propose we kill the Lord Rahl?”

  Sebastian stabbed another piece of fish. “For starters, you should keep the knife. It’s a weapon superior to the one you carry. Use what is his to fight him. Your sentimental objection to taking it only serves him, not you—or Jennsen.”

  Her mother sat still as stone. Jennsen had never heard anyone talk like this. His words had a way of making her see things differently than she ever had before.

  “I must admit that what you say makes sense,” her mother said. Her voice came softly and laced with pain, or perhaps regret. “You have opened my eyes. A little, anyway. I don’t agree with you that we should try to kill him, for I know him all too well. Such an attempt would be simple suicide at best, or accomplish his goal, at worst. But I will keep the knife and use it to defend myself and my daughter. Thank you, Sebastian, for speaking sense when I didn’t want to hear it.”

  “I’m glad you’re keeping the knife, at least.” Sebastian pulled the bite of fish off his own knife. “I hope it can help you.” With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow. “If you don’t want to try to kill him in order to save yourself, then what do you propose to do? Keep running?”

  “You say the barriers are down. I propose to leave D’Hara. We will try to make it to another land, where Darken Rahl cannot hunt us.”

  Sebastian looked up as he stabbed another piece of fish. “Darken Rahl? Darken Rahl is dead.”

  Jennsen, having run from the man since she was little, having awakened countless times from nightmares of his blue eyes watching her from every shadow or of him leaping out to snatch her when her feet wouldn’t move fast enough, having lived every day wondering if this was the day he would finally catch her, having imagined a thousand times and then another thousand what terrible brutal torturous things he would do to her, having prayed to the good spirits every day for deliverance from her merciless hunter and his implacable minions, was thunderstruck. She realized only then that she had always thought of the man as next to immortal. As immortal as evil itself.

  “Darken Rahl . . . dead? . . . It can’t be,” Jennsen said as tears of deliverance welled up and ran down her cheeks. She was filled with a wild, heart-pounding sense of expectant hope . . . and at the same time an inexplicable shadow of dark dread.

  Sebastian nodded. “It’s true. About two years ago, from what I heard.”

  Jennsen gave voice to the hope. “Then, he is no longer the threat we thought.” She paused. “But, if Darken Rahl is dead—”

  “Darken Rahl’s son is Lord Rahl, now,” Sebastian said.

  “His son?” Jennsen felt her hope being eclipsed by that dark dread.

  “The Lord Rahl hunts us,” her mother said, her voice, calm and enduring, betraying no evidence of even a moment of exalted hope. “The Lord Rahl is the Lord Rahl. It is now, as it has always been. As it will always be.”

  As immortal as evil itself.

  “Richard Rahl,” Sebastian put in. “He’s the Lord Rahl, now.”

  Richard Rahl. So, now Jennsen knew her hunter’s new name.

  A terrifying thought washed over her. She had never before heard the voice say anything more than “Surrender,” and her name, and occasionally those strange foreign words she didn’t understand. Now it demanded she surrender her flesh, her very will. If it was the voice of the one who hunted her, as her mother said, then this new Lord Rahl must be even more terrifyingly powerful than his wicked father. Fleeting salvation had left behind grim despair.

  “This man, Richard Rahl,” her mother said, searching for understanding amid all the startling news, “he ascended to rule as the Lord Rahl of D’Hara when his father died, then?”

  Sebastian leaned forward, a cloaked rage unexpectedly surfacing in his blue eyes. “Richard Rahl became the Lord Rahl of D’Hara when he murdered his father and seized rule. And if you are next going to suggest that perhaps the son is less of a threat than his father, then let me set you straight.

  “Richard Rahl is the one who brought down the barriers.”

  At that, Jennsen threw up her hands in confusion. “But, that would only give those who wish to be free their opening to escape D’Hara, to escape him.”

  “No. He brought those ancient protective barriers down so he could ex
tend his tyrannical rule to the lands that were beyond the reach of even his father.” Sebastian thumped his chest once with a tight fist. “My land he wants! Lord Rahl is a madman. D’Hara is not enough for him to rule. He lusts to dominate the entire world.”

  Jennsen’s mother stared off into the flames, looking dispirited. “I always thought—hoped, I guess—that if Darken Rahl were dead, then maybe we might have a chance. The piece of paper Jennsen found today with her name on it now tells me that the son is even more dangerous than his father, and that I was only deluding myself. Even Darken Rahl never got this close to us.”

  Jennsen felt numb after having been rocked by a turbulent swing of emotions, only to be left more terrified and hopeless than before. But seeing such despair on her mother’s face wounded her heart.

  “I will keep the knife.” Her mother’s decision said how much she feared the new Lord Rahl, and how frightful was their plight.

  “Good.”

  Dim light coming from the house reflected off the swollen pools of water standing beyond the cave entrance, but the droning rain churned the light into thousands of sparkles, like the tears of the good spirits themselves. In a day or two, the collection of ponds would be ice. Traveling would be easier in that cold than in cold rain.

  “Sebastian,” Jennsen asked, “do you think, well, do you think we could escape D’Hara? Maybe go to your homeland . . . escape the reach of this monster?”

  Sebastian shrugged. “Maybe. But, until this madman is killed, will there be anywhere beyond his ravenous reach?”

  Her mother tucked the exquisite knife behind her belt and then folded her fingers together around one bent knee. “Thank you, Sebastian. You’ve helped us. Being in hiding has, regrettably, kept us in the dark. You’ve at least brought us a bit of light.”

  “Sorry it wasn’t better news.”

  “The truth is the truth. It helps us know what to do.” Her mother smiled at her. “Jennsen always was one who sought to know the truth of things. I’ve never kept it from her. Truth is the only means of survival; it’s as simple as that.”

  “If you don’t want to try to kill him in order to eliminate the threat, maybe you can think of some way to make the new Lord Rahl lose interest in you—in Jennsen.”

  Jennsen’s mother shook her head. “There are more things involved than we can tell you tonight—things you are in the dark about. Because of them, he will never rest, never stop. You don’t understand the lengths to which the Lord Rahl—any Lord Rahl—will go in order to kill Jennsen.”

  “If that’s so, then perhaps you’re right. Maybe the two of you should run.”

  “And would you help us—help her—to get away from D’Hara?”

  He looked from one of them to the other. “If I can, I guess I could try. But I’m telling you, there is no place to hide. If you ever want to be free, you’ll have to kill him.”

  “I’m no assassin,” Jennsen said, not so much out of protest as out of acceptance of her own frailty in the face of such brutal strength. “I want to live, but I just don’t have the nature to be an assassin. I will defend myself, but I don’t think I could effectively set out to kill someone. The sad fact is, I just wouldn’t be any good at it. He’s a killer by birth. I’m not.”

  Sebastian met her gaze with an icy look. His white hair cast red by the firelight framed cold blue eyes. “You’d be surprised what a person can do, if they have the proper motivation.”

  Her mother lifted a hand to halt such talk. She was a practical woman, not given to wasting valuable time on wild schemes. “Right now, the important thing is for us to get away. Lord Rahl’s minions are too close. That’s the simple truth of it. From the description, and this knife, the dead man you found today was probably part of a quad.”

  Sebastian looked up with a frown. “A what?”

  “A team of four assassins. On occasion, several quads will work together—if the target has proven particularly elusive or is of inestimable worth. Jennsen is both.”

  Sebastian rested an arm over his knee. “For someone on the run and in hiding all these years, you seem to know a lot about these quads. Are you sure you’re right?”

  Firelight danced in her mother’s eyes. Her voice turned more distant. “When I was young, I used to live at the People’s Palace. I used to see those men, the quads. Darken Rahl used them to hunt people. They are ruthless beyond anything you could imagine.”

  Sebastian looked uneasy. “Well, I guess you would know better than I. In the morning, then, we leave.” He yawned as he stretched. “Your herbs are already working, and this fever has exhausted me. After a good night’s sleep I’ll help you both get away from here, away from D’Hara, and on your way to the Old World, if that’s your wish.”

  “It is.” Her mother stood. “You two eat the rest of the fish.” As she moved past, her loving fingers trailed along the back of Jennsen’s head. “I’m going to go collect some of our things, get together what we can carry.”

  “I’ll be right in,” Jennsen said. “Soon as I bank the fire.”

  Chapter 6

  The rain was getting worse. Runoff ran in a rippled sheet over the ledge at the brow of the cave. Jennsen scratched Betty behind her ears to try to stop her bleating. The always nervous goat was suddenly inconsolable. Perhaps she sensed that they were going to be leaving. Maybe she was just unhappy that Jennsen’s mother had gone into the house. Betty loved that woman, and would often follow her around the yard like a puppy. Betty would be only too happy to sleep in the house with them both, if they would let her.

  Sebastian, having had his fill of fish, rolled himself in his cloak. His eyelids drooped as he tried to watch her bank the fire. He lifted his head and frowned over at the pacing goat.

  “Betty will settle down when I go in the house,” Jennsen told him.

  Sebastian, already half asleep, mumbled something about Betty that Jennsen couldn’t even begin to hear over the noise of the rain. She knew it wasn’t important enough to ask him to repeat it. He needed sleep. She yawned. Despite her anxiety over everything that had happened that day, and her worry about what the next would bring, the din of the downpour was making her sleepy, too.

  As much as she ached to ask him about what was beyond D’Hara, she bid him a good night’s sleep, even though she doubted that he heard her over the rain. She would have time enough to ask him all her questions.

  Her mother would be waiting for help with selecting what to take and packing it. They didn’t have much, but they would have to leave some of what they had.

  At least the clumsy dead D’Haran soldier had provided them with money just when they would need it most. It was enough money to buy horses and supplies that would help them get out of D’Hara. The new Lord Rahl, the bastard son of a bastard son in an unbroken long line of bastard sons, had inadvertently provided them with the means to escape his grasp.

  Life was so precious. She just wanted her and her mother to be able to live their own lives. Somewhere, over the distant dark horizon, lay their new lives.

  Jennsen threw her cloak around her shoulders. She pulled the hood up to protect herself from the rain, but as hard as it was coming down she expected she was likely to get wet on the run to the house. She hoped the morning would dawn clear for their first day of travel so they could put distance between them and their pursuers. She was pleased to see that Sebastian looked dead to the world. He needed a good sleep. She was thankful that amid all the torment and injustice, at least he had come into their lives.

  Jennsen picked up the bowl with the few remaining pieces of fish, tucked it under her cloak, held her breath, and, lowering her head against the onslaught, dove into the roaring rain. The cold shock of the downpour made her gasp as she splashed through the dark puddles on her dash to the house.

  She made the house, her wet lashes turning the dim light of the oil lamps and firelight coming through the window to a blinking blur. Without looking up, she threw the door open as she ran in.

  “It�
��s cold as the Keeper’s heart!” she called out to her mother as she raced in.

  Jennsen’s breath left her lungs in a grunt as she crashed into a solid wall that had never been there before.

  Rebounding from the collision, she looked up to see a broad back turning, to see a huge hand snatching for her.

  The hand caught only her cloak. The heavy wool cloak stripped away from her as she fell back. The bowl thudded to the floor, spinning like a crazy top. The door bounced back from hitting the wall, banging closed behind her, trapping her, just before her back slammed into it.

  Gasping, Jennsen reacted.

  It was wild instinct, not deliberate thought.

  Jennsen.

  Terror, not technique.

  Surrender.

  Desperation, not design.

  The man’s blocky face was clearly lit by the fire from the hearth. He plunged toward her. A monster with stringy wet hair. Straining sinew and muscle twisted in rage. The knife in her fist whipped around, powered by stark terror.

  Her cry was a growl of panicked effort. Her knife slammed into the side of his head. The blade snapped at midlength as it hit his cheekbone. His head twisted from the impact. Blood splashed across his face.

  Swinging madly, his meaty hand walloped her face. Her shoulder hit the wall. A shock of pain lanced her arm. She stumbled on something. Thrown off balance, she tumbled past her footing.

  Her face smacked the floor beside another of the huge men. He was like the dead soldier she had buried. Her mind grasped at snatches of what she was seeing, trying to make sense of it. Where did they come from? How were they in her house?

  Her leg was draped over the man’s still legs. She pushed herself up. He was slumped against the wall. His dead eyes stared at her. The handle with the ornate “R,” sideways below his ear, reflected sparkles of firelight. The point of the knife jutted from the other side of his bull neck. He wore a wet red shirt.

  Surrender.

  With cold fright, she saw a man coming for her.