Authors: Terry Goodkind
Debt of Bones (2 page)
In a much smaller room beyond, the sorceress gestured for them to be seated at a line of carved oak benches along one wall. Abby was bone-weary and relieved to sit at last.
Light from windows above the benches lit three tapestries hanging on the high far wall. The three together covered nearly the entire wall and made up one scene of a grand procession through a city. Abby had never seen anything like it, but with the way her dreads careered through her thoughts, she could summon little pleasure in seeing even such a majestic tableau.
In the center of the cream-colored marble floor, inset in brass lines, was a circle with a square inside it, its corners touching the circle. Inside the square sat another circle just large enough to touch the insides of the square. The center circle held an eight-pointed star. Lines radiated out from the points of the star, piercing all the way through both circles, every other line bisecting a corner of the square.
The design, called a Grace, was often drawn by those with the gift. The outer circle represented the beginnings of the infinity of the spirit world out beyond. The square represented the boundary separating the spirit world—the underworld, the world of the dead—from the inner circle, which represented the limits of the world of life. In the center of it all was the star, representing the Light—the Creator.
It was a depiction of the continuum of the gift: from the Creator, through life, and at death crossing the boundary to eternity with the spirits in the Keeper’s realm of the underworld. But it represented a hope, too—a hope to remain in the Creator’s Light from birth, through life, and beyond, in the underworld.
It was said that only the spirits of those who did great wickedness in life would be denied the Creator’s Light in the underworld. Abby knew she would be condemned to an eternity with the Keeper of darkness in the underworld. She had no choice.
The sorceress folded her hands. “An aide will come to get you each in turn. A wizard will see each of you. The war burns hot; please keep your petition brief.” She gazed down the line of people. “It is out of a sincere obligation to those we serve that the wizards see supplicants, but please try to understand that individual desires are often detrimental to the greater good. By pausing to help one, then many are denied help. Thus, denial of a request is not a denial of your need, but acceptance of greater need. In times of peace it is rare for wizards to grant the narrow wants of supplicants. At a time like this, a time of a great war, it is almost unheard of. Please understand that it has not to do with what we would wish, but is a matter of necessity.”
She watched the line of supplicants, but saw none willing to abandon their purpose. Abby certainly would not.
“Very well then. We have two wizards able to take supplicants at this time. We will bring you each to one of them.”
The sorceress turned to leave. Abby rose to her feet.
“Please, mistress, a word if I may?”
The sorceress settled an unsettling gaze on Abby. “Speak.”
Abby stepped forward. “I must see the First Wizard himself. Wizard Zorander.”
One eyebrow arched. “The First Wizard is a very busy man.”
Abby reached into her sack and pulled out the neck band from her mother’s robes. She stepped into the center of the Grace and kissed the red and yellow beads on the neck band.
“I am Abigail, born of Helsa. On the Grace and my mother’s soul, I must see Wizard Zorander. Please. It is no trivial journey I have made. Lives are at stake.”
The sorceress watched the beaded band being returned to the sack. “Abigail, born of Helsa.” Her gaze rose to meet Abby’s. “I will take your words to the First Wizard.”
“Mistress.” Abby turned to see the old woman on her feet. “I would be well pleased to see the First Wizard, too.”
The three men rose up. The oldest, the one apparently in charge of the three, gave the sorceress a look so barren of timidity that it bordered on contempt. His long gray hair fell forward over his velvet robes as he glanced down the line of seated people, seeming to dare them to stand. When none did, he returned his attention to the sorceress.
“I will see Wizard Zorander.”
The sorceress appraised those on their feet and then looked down the line of supplicants on the bench. “The First Wizard has earned a name: the wind of death. He is feared no less by many of us than by our enemies. Anyone else who would bait fate?”
None of those on the bench had the courage to gaze into her fierce stare. To the last they all silently shook their heads. “Please wait,” she said to those seated. “Someone will shortly be out to take you to a wizard.” She looked once more to the five people standing. “Are you all very, very sure of this?”
Abby nodded. The old woman nodded. The noble glared.
“Very well then. Come with me.”
The noble and his two men stepped in front of Abby. The old woman seemed content to take a station at the end of the line. They were led deeper into the Keep, through narrow halls and wide corridors, some dark and austere and some of astounding grandeur. Everywhere there were soldiers of the Home Guard, their breastplates or chain mail covered with red tunics banded around their edges in black. All were heavily armed with swords or battle-axes, all had knives, and many additionally carried pikes tipped with winged and barbed steel.
At the top of a broad white marble stairway the stone railings spiraled at the ends to open wide onto a room of warm oak paneling. Several of the raised panels held lamps with polished silver reflectors. Atop a three-legged table sat a double-bowl cut-glass lamp with twin chimneys, their flames adding to the mellow light from the reflector lamps. A thick carpet of ornate blue patterns covered nearly the entire wood floor.
To each side of a double door stood one of the meticulously dressed Home Guard. Both men were equally huge. They looked to be men more than able to handle any trouble that might come up the stairs.
The sorceress nodded toward a dozen thickly tufted leather chairs set in four groups. Abby waited until the others had seated themselves in two of the groupings and then sat by herself in another. She placed the sack in her lap and rested her hands over its contents.
The sorceress stiffened her back. “I will tell the First Wizard that he has supplicants who wish to see him.”
A guard opened one of the double doors for her. As she was swallowed into the great room beyond, Abby was able to snatch a quick glimpse. She could see that it was well lighted by glassed skylights. There were other doors in the gray stone of the walls. Before the door closed, Abby was also able to see a number of people, men and women both, all rushing hither and yon.
Abby sat turned away from the old woman and the three men as with one hand she idly stroked the sack in her lap. She had little fear that the men would talk to her, but she didn’t want to talk to the woman; it was a distraction. She passed the time going over in her mind what she planned to say to Wizard Zorander.
At least she tried to go over it in her mind. Mostly, all she could think about was what the sorceress had said, that the First Wizard was called the wind of death, not only by the D’Harans, but also by his own people of the Midlands. Abby knew it was no tale to scare off supplicants from a busy man. Abby herself had heard people whisper of their great wizard, “The wind of death.” Those whispered words were uttered in dread.
The lands of D’Hara had sound reason to fear this man as their enemy; he had destroyed countless of their troops, from what Abby had heard. Of course, if they hadn’t invaded the Midlands, bent on conquest, they would not have felt the hot wind of death.
Had they not invaded, Abby wouldn’t be sitting there in the Wizard’s Keep—she would be at home, and everyone she loved would be safe.
Abby marked again the odd tingling sensation from the bracelet. She ran her fingers over it, testing its unusual warmth. This close to a person of such power it didn’t surprise her that the bracelet was warming. Her mother had told her to wear it always, and that someday it would be of value. Abby didn’t know how, and her mother had died without ever explaining.
Sorceresses were known for the way they kept secrets, even from their own daughters. Perhaps if Abby had been born gifted …
She sneaked a peek over her shoulder at the others. The old woman was leaning back in her chair, staring at the doors. The noble’s attendants sat with their hands folded as they casually eyed the room.
The noble was doing the oddest thing. He had a lock of sandycolored hair wound around a finger. He stroked his thumb over the lock of hair as he glared at the doors.
Abby wanted the wizard to hurry up and see her, but time stubbornly dragged by. In a way, she wished he would refuse. No, she told herself, that was unacceptable. No matter her fear, no matter her revulsion, she must do this. Abruptly, the door opened. The sorceress strode out toward Abby.
The noble surged to his feet. “I will see him first.” His voice was cold threat. “That is not a request.”
“It is our right to see him first,” Abby said without forethought. When the sorceress folded her hands, Abby decided she had best go on. “I’ve waited since dawn. This woman was the only one waiting before me. These men came at the last of the day.”
Abby started when the old woman’s gnarled fingers gripped her forearm. “Why don’t we let these men go first, dearie? It matters not who arrived first, but who has the most important business.”
Abby wanted to scream that her business was important, but she realized that the old woman might be saving her from serious trouble in accomplishing her business. Reluctantly, she gave the sorceress a nod. As the sorceress led the three men through the door, Abby could feel the old woman’s eyes on her back. Abby hugged the sack against the burning anxiety in her abdomen and told herself that it wouldn’t be long, and then she would see him.
As they waited, the old woman remained silent, and Abby was glad for that. Occasionally, she glanced at the door, imploring the good spirits to help her. But she realized it was futile; the good spirits wouldn’t be disposed to help her in this.
A roar came from the room beyond the doors. It was like the sound of an arrow zipping through the air, or a long switch whipping, but much louder, intensifying rapidly. It ended with a shrill crack accompanied by a flash of light coming under the doors and around their edges. The doors shuddered on their hinges.
Sudden silence rang in Abby’s ears. She found herself gripping the arms of the chair.
Both doors opened. The noble’s two attendants marched out, followed by the sorceress. The three stopped in the waiting room. Abby sucked a breath.
One of the two men was cradling the noble’s head in the crook of an arm. The wan features of the face were frozen in a mute scream. Thick strings of blood dripped onto the carpet.
“Show them out,” the sorceress hissed through gritted teeth to one of the two guards at the door.
The guard dipped his pike toward the stairs, ordering them ahead, and then followed the two men down. Crimson drops splattered onto the white marble of the steps as they descended. Abby sat in stiff, wide-eyed shock.
The sorceress wheeled back to Abby and the old woman.
The woman rose to her feet. “I believe that I would rather not bother the First Wizard today. I will return another day, if need be.”
She hunched lower toward Abby. “I am called Mariska.” Her brow drew down. “May the good spirits grant that you succeed.”
She shuffled to the stairs, rested a hand on the marble railing, and started down. The sorceress snapped her fingers and gestured. The remaining guard rushed to accompany the woman, as the sorceress turned back to Abby.
“The First Wizard will see you now.”
A
bby gulped air, trying to get her breath as she lurched to her feet.
bby gulped air, trying to get her breath as she lurched to her feet.
“What happened? Why did the First Wizard do that?”
“The man was sent on behalf of another to ask a question of the First Wizard. The First Wizard gave his answer.”
Abby clutched her sack to herself for dear life as she gaped at the blood on the floor. “Might that be the answer to my question, if I ask it?”
“I don’t know the question you would ask.” For the first time, the sorceress’s expression softened just a bit. “Would you like me to see you out? You could see another wizard or, perhaps, after you’ve given more thought to your petition, return another day, if you still wish it.”
Abby fought back tears of desperation. There was no choice. She shook her head. “I must see him.”
The sorceress let out a deep breath. “Very well.” She put a hand under Abby’s arm as if to keep her on her feet. “The First Wizard will see you now.”
Abby hugged the contents of her sack as she was led into the chamber where waited the First Wizard. Torches in iron sconces were not yet burning. The late-afternoon light from the glassed roof windows was still strong enough to illuminate the room. It smelled of pitch, lamp oil, roasted meat, wet stone, and stale sweat.
Inside, confusion and commotion reigned. There were people everywhere, and they all seemed to be talking at once. Stout tables set about the room in no discernible pattern were covered with books, scrolls, maps, chalk, unlit oil lamps, burning candles, partially eaten meals, sealing wax, pens, and a clutter of every sort of odd object, from balls of knotted string to half-spilled sacks of sand. People stood about the tables, engaged in conversations or arguments, as others tapped passages in books, pored over scrolls, or moved little painted weights about on maps. Others rolled slices of roasted meat plucked from platters and nibbled as they watched or offered opinions between swallows.
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