Confessor: Chainfire Trilogy Part 3

For Richard, this was also a practical test, a chance to use the things he had been studying day and night before the challenge that was to come, the one that would take him into the world of the dead. They didn't have the boxes, of course, but once the boxes were in play there were preliminary procedures that could be done without them. Those measures, considering how dangerous they were, were not something that Richard was looking forward to, but he had no choice. If he wanted to get Kahlan back, along with everything else he needed to accomplish, then there were things he was simply going to have to do, no matter how much he feared them.

At least his ancient benefactor, First Wizard Baraccus, had left a number of clues to help him. Now that Richard had been reconnected with his gift, he also needed to recover the book that Baraccus had left for him: Secrets of a War Wizard's Power. If there was ever a time that he needed the information that would be contained in that book, now was that time.

The book, along with the war wizard outfit, much of which also used to belong to Baraccus, was hidden in the castle down in Tamarang, not far from the wilds. Unfortunately that was also where Richard had last seen Six, just before Commander Karg had captured him and taken him to the Imperial Order encampment.

As Richard carefully drew the spell-forms, he was also impatient for the emperor to start losing sleep, start feeling tense and distracted. He had been confident and sure of himself for long enough. It was time for Jagang to start having nightmares.

Richard could just hear the harsh croaks coming through the glass above them. He glanced up and saw Jillian's raven, Lokey, perched on the framework of the glass, watching them. From high in the sky the raven had followed his lifelong friend throughout her captivity, feasting on the ample refuse throughout the camp. Lokey had seemed to consider the whole thing, as he considered most things in life, nothing more than a curious holiday.

Jillian had known that Lokey was there, but she never let on lest one of Jagang's guards shoot the bird with an arrow. Lokey was a wary bird, though, and seemed to vanish whenever anyone took notice of him. Jillian said that a few times when she came out of Jagang's tent she saw the raven fly high above and do stunts to show off for her.

Being a captive of Jagang, though, Jillian hadn't been cheered by the antics of her raven. She had been in a state of constant terror.

A few flakes of snow were beginning to collect in the corners of the leaded glass. Against the night sky the inky black bird was mostly invisible. Sometimes only its bill and its eyes reflecting the torchlight could be seen, giving it the appearance of a ghostly apparition watching them.

From time to time the raven tilted its head as if it, too, were evaluating Richard's tedious work. As it flapped its wings to animate its raucous caws, moonlight appearing from time to time between the scudding clouds reflected off its glossy black feathers.

The raven was impatiently waiting to do its part.

"Are you ready?" Richard asked, still concentrating as he drew a line in the sorcerer's sand.

Jillian nodded nervously. She had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

Sitting in the center of a place cleared for her in the sorcerer's sand, with spells drawn all around her, she was looking very solemn. She knew that this was the purpose for which her grandfather had selected her, trained her. She was the priestess of the bones, meant to cast dreams to protect her people.

Torches ringing the sand in the center of the lawn softly hissed. Their flames slowly wavered in the dead-still air. The dark band painted across Jillian's face, across her copper-colored eyes, was meant to hide her from evil spirits.

As the priestess of the bones, she was now Richard's servant. Richard, as the Lord Rahl, was now the one meant to help her cast the dreams. It was an ancient connection between their people, meant for mutual protection. What they were casting, however, was not exactly dreams.

They were casting nightmares.

Jillian's people were from Caska. She had been learning to be a teller, someone respected for their knowledge of the ancient times and her people's heritage. Her grandfather was the living teller, the one teaching her the old knowledge, the lore of their past. Someday that legacy would be passed to Jillian.

Her ancestors, a gentle people who had hoped to evade conflicts by settling in a wasteland no one else would covet, had cast dreams to keep potential trouble away. Then, as now, they had cast dreams to repel the horde from the Old World to the south. In that great war they had failed and been all but destroyed.

Richard and Nicci had listened carefully to the tellings, to everything Jillian knew about those ancestral times. Between that, the book, and his own knowledge of the relevant history, Richard had pieced together what had happened.