Faith of the Fallen

Richard seemed up to the task, though; she had watched him light a fire the night before, starting it in birch bark, shavings, and twigs. Nicci had never been one for such outdoor activities. She left him to it and set about the small chore of repairing her horse's cinch strap. The rain had let up for the time being, leaving behind the tingle of a fine mist against her cheeks.

As she worked at knotting the loose cords of the heavy twine strap back onto its buckle, she heard little crackling sounds coming from under the tree. The sputtering and popping told her that Richard had gotten the fire going. She heard the clang of a pot on rock, so she reasoned that we was leaving water to boil when the fire got hot enough.

Sitting on the slab of granite, Nicci quietly worked a tangle out of the cinch strap as he came back out to care for the horses. Free of the nosebags, the horses drank from a pool of water in a depression in the smooth tan ledge. Though Richard wore dark clothes appropriate for the woods, they could not diminish his bearing. His gray-eyed gaze swept over her, taking in what she was doing. He left her to her knot work as he went about his chore of currying the horses. His big hands worked smoothly, with a sure touch. She was certain the horses would appreciate having all the caked mud cleaned from their legs. She would, were she they.

"You said we needed to talk," Richard finally said to her as he stroked the curry comb over the mare's rump, whisking away a last spatter of mud. "I presume a talk consists of you dictating the terms of my imprisonment. I imagine you have rules for your captives."

By his icy inflection, it sounded as if he had decided to provoke her a little, to test her reaction. Nicci set the cinch strap aside. She met his challenging tone with one of genuine sympathy, instead.

"Just because something has happened to you before, Richard, don't assume that means it will again. Fate does not give birth to the same child over and over. Each is different. This is not like the two times before."

Her response, as well as the compassion in her eyes, appeared to have caught him off guard. He stared at her a moment before crouching to replace the curry comb in a pocket in the saddlebag and take out a pick.

"Two times before?" There was no way he could miss her meaning. His blank expression didn't betray what he might be thinking as he lifted the stallion's right forefoot to pick its hoof clean. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Just as he probed the hoof with his pick, she knew he was probing her as well, wanting to know just how much she knew of those two times, and what she thought was different, this time. He would surely want to know how she intended to avoid the mistakes of his past captors. Any warrior would.

He was not yet ready to accept how fundamentally different this was.

Richard worked his way around the big black horse, cleaning its hooves, until he ended at the left forefoot, close to her. As he finished and let the stallion's leg down, Nicci stood. When he turned around, she was close enough to feel his warm breath on her cheek. He fixed her with his glare, a look that was no longer as unsettling to her as it had been at first.

She found herself, instead of shrinking back, staring into that penetrating gaze of his, marveling that she had him. She finally had him. It could have been no more wondrous to her had she somehow managed to bottle the moon and stars.

"You are a prisoner," Nicci said. "Your anger and resentment are entirely understandable. 1 would never have expected you to be pleased about this, Richard. But it is not the same as those times before." She gently gripped his throat. He was surprised, but sensed he was in no immediate danger.

"Before," she said in quiet solace, "you had a collar around your neck. Both times."

"You were at the Palace of the Prophets, where I was taken." She felt him swallow. "But the other. ."

She released his throat. "I do not use a collar, as did the Sisters of the Light, to control you, to give you pain in order to make you obey, or to put you through their ridiculous tests. My purpose is nothing like that."

She pulled her cloak forward over her shoulders as she smiled distantly. "Remember when you first came to the Palace of the Prophets?

Remember the speech you gave?"

Richard's words were brittle with caution. "Not. . exactly."

She was still staring off into the memories. "I do. It was the first time I saw you. I remember every word."

Richard said nothing, but in his eyes she could see the shadows of his mind working.

"You were in a rage-not unlike now. You held out a red leather rod hanging around your neck. Remember, Richard?"

"I guess I did." His suspicious glare broke. "A lot has happened since then. I guess I'd put it out of my mind."

"You said that you had been collared before. You said that the person who had once put that collar around your neck had brought you pain to punish you, to teach you."