Confessor: Chainfire Trilogy Part 3

Richard hadn't counted on it being this late when the game started, but night suited him just fine. In fact, it was the one unexpected bit of good fortune in the face of the monumental obstacles that lay before him. He was used to the dark. As a woods guide he often walked the trails of his woods with only the moon and stars to light his way. Sometimes it was just stars. Richard was comfortable in darkness.

There was more to seeing than just using one's eyes.

While in some ways those times in the woods seemed like only days ago, in other ways it also seemed like forever ago, almost like another life. He was a long way from his Hartland woods. A long way from the peace and security he had known.

A long way from having the woman he loved back in his arms.

As Richard was finishing with Johnrock's paint, he spotted Commander Karg making his way through the ring of guards. After their complicity in the treachery of the night before, the men involved stayed well clear of the scowling officer. There were a few new faces among the guards, no doubt more trusted overseers. Commander Karg was leading an escort of troops, men dedicated to watching over the captive players to make sure that they played Ja'La and nothing more.

Mostly, though, the soldiers were there to watch over Richard. They were his special guards.

Last in line to be freed from his bonds, Richard was finally able to rub his sore neck after Commander Karg finally unlocked his iron collar. Without the heavy chain weighing him down, Richard felt light, almost as if he might float up into the air. It gave him a feeling of being weightless and inhumanly fast. He embraced the sensation, making it part of him.

The chanting of the soldiers in the distance had a primeval feel to it. It was beyond eerie. It gave Richard goose bumps.

The spectators were expecting blood.

This night, they were going to get their wish.

As he followed Commander Karg, leading his team toward the Ja'La field, Richard put the growing noise out of his mind. He found a quiet center of focus.

As they moved through passages in the encampment lined with throngs of soldiers, hands all around reached out, wanting to touch the members of the team as they passed. Some of the men on Richard's team smiled, waved, and touched the extended hands of the soldiers. Johnrock, being the biggest man and easy to spot, was the center of much of the attention. He grinned, waved, shook hands, and soaked it all in as he marched along. It seemed to Richard that what Johnrock had always wanted more than anything else was the adoration of the crowd. He loved pleasing them.

Words of both encouragement and hatred cascaded in from all sides. Richard turned his eyes ahead, ignoring the soldiers and shouting as he passed.

"Are you nervous, Ruben?" Commander Karg asked over his shoulder.

"Yes."

Karg gave him a patronizing smile. "That will go away when it starts."

"I know," Richard said as he glared out from under his brow.

The vast depression of the Ja'La field was a cauldron of noise, the spectators a froth of faces over a churning sea of black.

The crowd out beyond the dense ring of flickering torches at the edge of the field chanted-not words, but a guttural grunt meant to express not only encouragement for the players but for the spectacle itself. In time with the chanting the throng stamped a foot. The deep, primordial noise could be not only heard, but felt in the ground beneath Richard's feet, almost like rolling thunder. The effect was deafening and, in a way, intoxicating.

It was a primal call to violence.

Richard was already lost to those feelings. He let the raw, savage sounds feed those passions he had already unleashed within himself. As he made his way through the seething masses of men, he was in his own private world, lost to inner drives.

Commander Karg brought the team to a halt at one end of the field just before the torches. Richard saw archers, with arrows nocked, stationed all around the field. Near midfield, to his right, he spotted the area reserved for the emperor.

Jagang wasn't there.

Richard's insides tightened with a knot of panic. He had thought that, surely, Jagang would be at this game, that Kahlan would be near.

But the roped-off section was vacant.

Richard schooled his emotions, setting aside his dismay. Jagang would not miss this game. Sooner or later he would show up.

When the emperor's team strode onto the opposite end of the field the crowd erupted in a thunderous roar. These men were the best the Order had to offer. They were heroes to countless thousands of spectators. These were the men who could vanquish all who came before them, the players who crushed all opposition, the champions who were most deserving of victory. Many regarded the team as a tangible representation of their own power and virility.