Faith of the Fallen

"So, please, Richard, do not think to frighten me with your petty threats. More savage men than you have made credible promises as to my doom. I long ago accepted my fate and ceased to care."

Her arms felt heavy at her sides. She felt empty of feeling. Thoughts of Jagang, of the Keeper, reminded her that her fife was meaningless. Only what she had seen in Richard's eyes gave her a hint that there might be something more, something she had yet to discover or understand.

"What is it you want?" Richard demanded.

Nicci returned her mind to the here and now. "I told you. Your part in fife now is as my husband. That is the way it is going to be-if you wish Kahlan to live. I've told you the truth about all of it. If you come with me and do the simple things I ask, such as assuming the role of my husband, then Kahlan will live a long life. I can't say it will be entirely happy, of course, for I know she loves you."

"How long do you think you can hold me, Nicci?" In frustration, Richard ran his fingers back through his wet hair. "It isn't going to work, whatever it is you want. How long until you tire of this absurd sham?"

Her eyes narrowed, studying his profound innocence, if not ignorance.

"My dear boy, I was born into this wretched world one hundred and eighty-one years past. You know that. Do you suppose I have not learned a great deal of patience, in all that time`? Though our bodies may look about the same age, and in many ways I am no older than you, I have lived near to seven of your lifetimes. Do you honestly believe that you would have patience to exceed mine? Do you think me some young foolish girl for you to outwit or outwait?"

His demeanor cooled. "Nicci, 1 "And don't think to make friends with me, or win me over. I am not.

Denna, or Verna, or Warren, or even Pasha, for that matter. I'm not interested in friends."

He turned a little and ran a hand over the stallion's shoulder when the horse snorted and stamped a hoof at the smell of the woodsmoke curling out from the upper limbs of the shelter tree.

"I want to know what vile thing you did to that poor woman to make her tell you about Denna."

"The Mord-Sith told me in return for a favor."

Frowning his incredulity, he turned to her once more. "What favor could you possibly do for a MordSith?"

"I cut her throat."

Richard closed his eyes as his head sank with grief for this unknown woman who had died because of him. He clenched her weapon in his fist to his heart.

His voice lost its fire. "1 don't suppose you know her name?"

It was this, his empathy for others, even others he didn't know, that not only made him the man he was, but shackled him. His concern for others would also be the thing that eventually brought him to understand the virtue in what she was doing. He, too, would then willingly work for the righteous cause of the Order.

"I do." Nicci said. "Hania."

"Hania." He looked heartsick. "I didn't even know her."

"Richard." With a finger under his chin, Nicci gently brought his face up. "I want you to know that I did not torture her. I found her being tortured. I was not happy about what I saw. I killed the man who did it.

Hania was beyond any help. I offered her release from her pain, a quick end, if she would tell me about you. I never asked her to betray you in any way that the Order would want. I asked only about your past, about your first captivity. I wanted to understand what you said that first day at the Palace of the Prophets, that's all."

Richard didn't look relieved, as she had intended.

"You withheld that quick release, as you call it, until she had given you what you wanted. That makes you a party to her torture."

In the gloom, Nicci looked away in pain and anguish at the memory of that bloody deed. It had long since lost its ability to make her feel anything more than a ghost of emotions.

There were so many needing release from their suffering-so many old and sick, so many wailing children, so many destitute and hopeless and poor.

This woman had merely been another of life's victims needing release. It was for the best.

Nicci had renounced the Creator in order to do His work, and sworn her soul to the Keeper of the underworld. She had to; only one as evil as she would fail to feel any fitting feelings, any proper compassion, for all the suffering and desperate need. It was grim irony-faithfully serving the needy in such a way.

"Perhaps you see it that way, Richard," Nicci said in a hoarse voice as she stared into the numb nightmare of memories. "I did not. Neither did Hania. Before I cut her throat for her, she thanked me for what I was about to do."

Richard's eyes offered no mercy. "And why did you make her tell you about me-about Denna?"

Nicci snagged her cloak tighter on her shoulders. "Isn't it obvious?"

"You couldn't possibly make the same mistake Denna made. You aren't the woman she was, Nicci."