Faith of the Fallen (33 page)

“Those are kind words to one in such grief, Sister. You offered wise advise.”

Alessandra glanced up. “She was not comforted, Prelate. She looked at me with those blue eyes of hers—you remember her blue eyes.”

Ann nodded. “I remember.”

“Well, she looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, like she wanted to hate me, but even that emotion was beyond her, and she said in that lifeless voice of hers that she couldn’t remember him as he was when he was alive, because she had never known him when he was alive. Isn’t that the strangest thing you’ve ever heard?”

Ann sighed. “It sounds like Nicci. She always was one to say the strangest things at the strangest times. I should have offered her more guidance in her life. I should have taken more interest in her…but there were so many matters needing my attention.”

“No, Prelate, that was my job. I failed in it. Somehow, I failed Nicci.”

Ann pulled her cloak tighter against a bitter gust of wind. She took the bowl of soup when Alessandra handed it to her.

“Worse, Prelate, I brought her to the shadow of the Keeper.”

Ann looked over the rim of the bowl as she took a sip. She carefully set the steaming bowl in her lap.

“What’s done is done, Alessandra.”

While Alessandra sipped at her soup, Ann’s mind wandered to Kahlan’s words. They were words spoken in anger, and as such, were to be forgiven. Or were they to be considered in an honest light?

Ann feared to say Kahlan’s words were wrong; she feared they were true. For centuries Ann had worked with Nathan and the prophecies, trying to avoid the disasters she saw, and the ones he pointed out to her. What if Nathan had been pointing out things that were only dead words, as Kahlan said? What if he only pointed them out so as to bring about his own escape?

After all, what Ann had set in motion with Richard had also resulted in the prophet’s escape. What if she had been duped into being the one to bring about all those terrible results?

Could that be true? Grief threatened to overwhelm her.

She was beginning to greatly fear that she had been so absorbed in what she thought she knew that she had acted on false assumptions.

Kahlan could be right. The Prelate of the Sisters of the Light might be personally responsible for more suffering than any monster born into the world had ever brought about.

“Alessandra,” Ann said in a soft voice after she finished her bowl of soup, “we must go and try to find Nathan. It’s dangerous for the prophet to be out there, in the world that is defenseless against him.”

“Where would we look?”

Ann shook her head in dismay at the enormity of the task. “A man like Nathan does not go unnoticed in the world. I must believe that if we set our minds to it, we could find him.”

Alessandra watched Ann’s face. “Well, as you say, it is dangerous for the prophet to be loose in the world.”

“It is indeed. We must find him.”

“It took Verna twenty years to find Richard.”

“So it did. But part of that was by my design. I hid facts from Verna. Then again, Nathan is no doubt hiding facts from us. Nonetheless, we have a responsibility. Verna is with the Sisters, and with the army; they will do what they can in that capacity. We must go after Nathan. That part of it is up to us.”

Alessandra set her bowl aside. “Prelate, I understand why you believe the prophet must be found, but, just as you feel you must find him, I feel I must find Nicci. I’m responsible for bringing her to the Keeper of the underworld. I may be the only one who can bring her back to the Light. I have a unique understanding of that journey of the heart. I fear what will happen to Richard if I don’t try to stop Nicci.

“Worse,” Alessandra added, “I fear what will happen to the world if Richard dies. Kahlan is wrong. I believe in what you’ve worked for all these years. Kahlan is making a complex thing sound simple because her heart is broken, but without what you did, she would never even have met Richard.”

Ann considered Alessandra’s words. The seduction of acquittal was undeniable.

“But, Alessandra, we don’t have the slightest idea where they went. Nicci is as smart as they come. If, as she says, she is acting on her own behalf, she will be clever about not being found. How would you even go about such a search?

“Nathan is a prophet loose in the world. You remember the trouble he’s caused in the past. He could, by himself, bring about such calamity as the world has never seen. Nathan boasts when he’s around people; he will surely leave such traces where he goes. With Nathan, I believe we at least have a chance of success. But hunting for Nicci…”

Alessandra met Ann’s gaze with grim resolution. “Prelate, if Richard dies, what chance have the rest of us?”

Ann looked away. What if Alessandra was right? What if Kahlan was right? She had to catch Nathan; it was the only way to find out.

“Alessandra…”

“You don’t completely trust me, do you, Prelate?”

Ann met the other woman’s eyes, this time with authority. “No, Alessandra, I admit that I don’t. How can I? You deceived me. You lied to me. You turned your back on the Creator and gave yourself to the Keeper of the underworld.”

“But I’ve come back to the Light, Prelate.”

“Have you? Would not one acting for the Keeper lie for him, as you yourself only moments ago suggested?”

Alessandra’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s why I must try to find Nicci, Prelate. I must prove that your faith in me was not misplaced. I need to do this to prove myself to you.”

“Or, you need to help Nicci, and the Keeper?”

“I know I’m not worthy of trust. I know that. You said we must find Nathan—but we must also help Richard.”

“Two tasks of the utmost importance,” Ann said, “and no journey book to call for help.”

Alessandra wiped at her eyes. “Please, Prelate, let me help. I’m responsible for Nicci going to the Keeper. Let me try to make amends. Let me try to bring her back. I know what the return journey is like. I can help her. Please, let me try to save her eternal soul?”

Ann’s gaze sank to the ground. Who was she to question the value of another? What had her life been for? Had she herself been the Keeper’s best ally?

Ann cleared her throat. “Sister Alessandra, you are to listen to me and you are to listen well. I am the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light and it is your duty to do as I command.” Ann shook a finger at the woman. “I’ll have no arguments, do you hear? I must go find the prophet before he does something beyond foolish.

“Richard is of utmost importance to our cause—you know that. I’m getting old and would only slow the search for him and his captor. I want you to go after him. No arguments, now. You are to find Richard Rahl, and put the fear of the Creator back into our wayward Sister Nicci.”

Alessandra threw her arms around Ann, sobbing her thanks. Ann patted the Sister’s back, feeling miserable about losing a companion, and afraid that she might have lost her faith in everything for which she stood.

Alessandra pushed away. “Prelate, will you be able to travel alone? Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Bah. I may be old, but I’m not useless. Who do you think came into the center of Jagang’s army and rescued you, child?”

Alessandra smiled through her tears. “You did, Prelate, all by yourself. No one but you could have done such a thing. I hope I can do half as well for Nicci, when I find her.”

“You will, Sister. You will. May the Creator cradle you in His palm as you go on your journey.”

Ann knew that they were both going off on difficult journeys that could take years.

“Hard times lie ahead,” Alessandra said. “But the Creator has two hands, does He not? One for me, and one for you, Prelate.”

Ann couldn’t help but smile at such a mental picture.

“Come in,” Zedd grouched to the persistent throat-clearing outside his tent.

He poured water from the ewer into the dented metal pot that served as his washbasin sitting atop a log round. When he splashed some of the water up onto his face, he gasped aloud. He was astonished that water that cold would still pour.

“Good morning, Zedd.”

Still gasping, Zedd swiped the frigid water from his eyes. He squinted at Warren. “Good morning, my boy.”

Warren blushed. Zedd reminded himself he probably shouldn’t call someone twice his own age “boy.” It was Warren’s own fault; if the boy would just stop looking so young! Zedd sighed as he bent to forage for a towel among the litter of maps, dirty plates, rusty dividers, empty mugs, blankets, chicken bones, rope, an egg he’d lost in the middle of a lesson weeks back, and other paraphernalia that seemed to collect over time in the corner of his small field tent.

Warren was twisting his purple robes into a small wad at his hip. “I just came from Verna’s tent.”

Zedd halted his search and looked back over his shoulder.

“Any word?”

Warren shook his head of curly blond hair. “Sorry, Zedd.”

“Well,” Zedd scoffed, “that doesn’t mean anything. That old woman has more lives than a cat I once had that was hit by lightning and fell down a well, both in the same day. Did I ever tell you about that cat, my boy?”

“Well, yes, you did, actually.” Warren smiled. “But if you like, I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

Zedd dismissed the story with a feeble wave as he turned more serious. “I’m sure Ann is fine. Verna knows Ann better than I do, but I do know that that old woman is downright hard to harm.”

“Verna said something like that.” Warren smiled to himself. “Ann always could scowl a thunderstorm back over the horizon.”

Zedd grunted his agreement as he went back to digging through his pile. “Tougher than bad meat, she is.” He tossed two outdated maps over his shoulder.

Warren leaned down a little. “What is it you’re looking for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My towel. I know I had—”

“Right there,” Warren said.

Zedd looked up. “What?”

“Your towel.” Warren pointed again. “Right there on the back of the chair.”

“Oh.” Zedd snatched up the wandering towel and dried his dry face. He scowled at Warren. “You have the eyes of a burglar.” He tossed the towel in the pile with everything else, where it belonged.

Warren’s grin returned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Zedd cocked his head. “Do you hear that?”

Warren’s grin melted away as he joined Zedd in listening to the sounds outside. Horses clogged along the hard ground, men talked as they passed the tent, others called orders, fires crackled, wagons squeaked, and gear clanged and rattled.

“Hear what?”

Zedd’s face twisted in vague unease. “I don’t know. Like, maybe a whistle.”

Warren lifted a thumb over his shoulder. “The men whistle now and again, to get the attention of their horses and such. Sometimes it’s necessary.”

They all did their best to keep the whistling and other noise down. Whistles, especially, carried in such open terrain. It was hard to miss something the size of the D’Harans’ encampment, of course, so they moved camp from time to time to keep the enemy from getting too confident about their location. Sound could give away more than they would like.

Zedd shook his head. “Must have been that. Someone’s long whistle.”

“But still, Zedd,” Warren went on, “it’s long past time when Ann would have sent Verna a message.”

“There were times when I was with Ann that she couldn’t send messages.” Zedd waved an arm expansively. “Bags, there was a time when I wouldn’t let her use that confounded journey book. The thing gave me the shivers. I don’t know why she couldn’t just send letters, like normal people.” His face, he knew, was betraying his concern. “Confounded journey books. Lazy way of doing things. I got to be First Wizard and I never needed a journey book.”

“She could have lost it. That’s what Verna suggested, anyway.”

Zedd held up a finger. “That’s right. She very well could have. It’s small—it could have fallen from her belt and she didn’t notice until she and Alessandra made camp. She’d never find the book in a circumstance like that.” He shook the finger. “Makes my point, too. You shouldn’t depend on little trick things of magic, like that. It just makes you lazy.”

“That’s what Verna thought, too. About it falling from her belt, I mean.” Warren chuckled. “Or a cat could even have eaten it.”

From beneath a furrowed brow, Zedd peered at Warren. “A cat? What cat?”

“Any cat.” Warren cleared his throat. “I just meant…oh, never mind. I never was any good at jokes.”

Zedd’s knotted brow lifted. “Oh, I see. A cat could have eaten it. Yes, yes, I see.” He didn’t, but Zedd forced a chuckle for the boy’s sake. “Very good, Warren.”

“Anyway, she probably lost it. It’s probably something as simple as that.”

“If that’s the case,” Zedd reasoned, “she will likely end up coming here to let us know that she’s all right, or at least she will send a letter, or messenger, or something. Ever more likely, though, she probably had nothing to tell us and simply saw no need to bother with sending a message in her journey book.”

Warren made a skeptical face. “But we haven’t had a message from her for nearly a month.”

Zedd waved a hand dismissively. “Well, she was way north, up almost to where Richard and Kahlan are, last we heard. If she did lose the book and started right out to come here from there, she won’t show up for yet another week or two. If she went on to see Richard first, then it will be longer, I imagine. Ann doesn’t travel all that fast, you know.”

“I know,” Warren said. “She is getting up there in years. But that’s just another reason why I’m so worried.”

What really worried Zedd was the way the journey book went silent just as Ann was about to reach Richard and Kahlan. Zedd had been eagerly anticipating hearing that Richard and Kahlan were safe, that Kahlan was all healed. Maybe even that Richard was ready to return. Ann knew how eager they were for word and would certainly have had something to report. Zedd didn’t like the coincidence that the journey book went silent right at that time. He didn’t like it one bit.

The whole thing made him want to scratch as if he’d been bitten by a white mosquito.

“Now look here, Warren, a month isn’t so long not to hear from her. In the past, it’s sometimes been weeks and weeks between her messages. It’s too early to start getting ourselves all worked up with worry. Besides, we have our own concerns which require our attention.”

Zedd didn’t know what they could do even if Ann were in trouble somewhere. They had no idea how to find her.

Warren flashed an apologetic smile. “You’re right, Zedd.”

Zedd moved a map and found a half loaf of bread left from the night before. He took a big bite, giving himself an excuse to chew instead of talk. When he talked, he feared he only let out the true level of his worry not just about Ann, but also about Richard and Kahlan.

Warren was an able wizard, and smarter than just about anyone Zedd had ever met. Zedd often had trouble finding something to talk about that Warren hadn’t already heard of, or was intimately familiar with. There was something refreshing about sharing knowledge with someone who nodded knowingly at esoteric points of magic that no one else would fathom, someone who could fill in little gaps in the odd spell, or delighted at having his own little gaps filled in by what Zedd knew. Warren retained more about prophecy than Zedd thought anyone had a right to know in the first place.

Warren was a fascinating mix of obstinate old man and callow youth. He was at once set in his ways, and at the same time openly, infinitely, innocently, curious.

The one thing that made Warren fall silent, though, was when they discussed Richard’s “vision.” Warren’s face would go blank and he would sit without comment while others argued over what Richard had said in his letters and if there was any validity to it. Whenever Zedd had Warren alone and asked him what he thought, Warren would say only “I follow Richard; he is my friend, and he is the Lord Rahl.” Warren would not debate or discuss Richard’s instructions to the army—or, more specifically, Richard’s refusal to give instructions. Richard had given his orders, as far as Warren was concerned, and they were to be swallowed, not chewed.

Zedd noticed than Warren was twisting his robes again.

Zedd waved his bread. “You look like a wizard with his pants full of itching spells. Do you have something you need to let out, Warren?”

Warren grinned sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”

Zedd patted the boy on the back. “No, Warren, I’m just that good.”

Warren laughed at Zedd’s joke. Zedd gestured with his bread toward the folding canvas chair. Warren looked behind himself at the chair, but shook his head. Zedd figured it must be important, if Warren felt he needed to stand to say it.

“Zedd, with winter upon us, do you believe the Imperial Order will attack, or wait until spring?”

“Well, now, that’s always a worry. The not knowing leaves your stomach all in knots. But you’ve all worked hard. You’ve all trained and practiced. You’ll do just fine, Warren. The Sisters, too.”

Warren didn’t seem to be interested in hearing what Zedd was saying. He was scratching his temple, waiting his turn to speak.

“Yes, well, thank you, Zedd. We have been working hard.

“Umm, General Leiden thinks winter is our best friend right now. He, his Keltish officers, and some of the D’Harans believe that Jagang would be foolhardy to start a campaign with winter just setting in. Kelton isn’t all that far north of here, so General Leiden is familiar with the difficulty of winter warfare in the terrain we would fall back to. He’s convinced the Order is waiting for spring.”

“General Leiden in a good man, and may be second-in-command, after General Reibisch,” Zedd said in an even voice as he watched Warren’s blue eyes, “but, I don’t agree with him.”

Warren looked crestfallen. “Oh.”

The general had brought his Keltish division down south a couple of months before to reinforce the D’Haran army, at General Reibisch’s request. Regarding Kahlan as their queen, since Richard had named her so, the Keltish forces still had an independent streak, even if they were now part of the “D’Haran Empire,” as everyone had taken to calling it.

Zedd didn’t do anything to discourage such talk; it was better for everyone in the New World to be one mighty force than a collection of tribes. As far as Zedd was concerned, Richard had clearly had the right instincts in that. A war of this scale would have been ungovernable were the New World not one. Having everyone think of themselves as part of the D’Haran Empire first and foremost could only help make it so.

Zedd cleared his throat. “But that’s just a guess, Warren. I could be wrong. General Leiden is an experienced man, and no fool. I could be wrong.”

“But so could Leiden be wrong. I guess that puts you with General Reibisch. He’s been pacing his tent every night for the last two months.”

Zedd shrugged. “Is there something important to you, Warren, that hinges on what the Imperial Order does? Are you waiting for them to make up your mind for you about something?”

Warren held up his hands as if to ward the very notion. “No—no, of course not. It’s just that…it’s just that it would be a bad time to be thinking about such things, is all…. But if they were going to lie low for the winter…” Warren fussed with his sleeve. “That’s all I meant…. If you thought they were going to wait until spring, or something…” His voice trailed off.

“And if they were, then—?”

Warren stared at the ground while he twisted his robes at his stomach into a purple knot. “If you think they might decide to move this winter, then it wouldn’t be right for me—for us—to be thinking about such things.”

Zedd scratched his chin and changed his approach. “Let’s say I believe the Order is going to sit tight for the winter. Then what might you do, in that case?”

Warren threw his hands up. “Zedd will you marry Verna and me?”

Zedd’s brow went up as he drew back his head. “Bags, my boy, that’s a mouthful to swallow first thing in the morning.”

Warren took two big strides closer. “Will you Zedd? I mean, only if you really think the Order is going to sit down there in Anderith for the winter. If they are, then, well, then it would be, I mean, we might as well—”

“Do you love Verna, Warren?”

“Of course I do!”

“And does Verna love you?”

“Well, of course she does.”

Zedd shrugged. “Then I’ll marry the both of you.”

“You will? Oh, Zedd, that would be wonderful.” Warren turned, reaching one hand toward the tent’s opening, lifting his other back toward Zedd. “Wait. Wait there a moment.”

“Well, I was about to flap my arms and fly to the moon, but if you want me to wait—”

Warren was already out the tent. Zedd heard muffled voices coming from outside. Warren came back in—right on Verna’s heels.

Verna beamed from ear to ear, which Zedd found unsettling in its own way, being so unusual.

“Thank you for offering to marry us, Zedd. Thank you! Warren and I wanted you to do the ceremony. I told him you would do it, but Warren wanted to ask you and give you a chance to say no. I can’t think of anything more meaningful than being wedded by the First Wizard.”

Zedd thought she was a lovely woman. A little fussy about rules and such, at times, but well intentioned. She worked hard. She didn’t shy from some of the things Zedd had asked of her. And, she obviously held Warren in warm regard, as well as respecting him.

“When?” Verna asked. “When do you think would be an appropriate time?”

Zedd screwed up his face. “Do you two think you can wait until I’ve had a proper breakfast?”

They both grinned.

“We were thinking more along the lines of an evening wedding,” Verna said. “Maybe we could have a party, with music and dancing.”

Warren gestured nonchalantly. “We were thinking something to make a pleasant break in all the training.”

“A break? How much time do you two think you will be needing away from your duties—”