Faith of the Fallen

"I don't either, but I hope to. My name is Nicci. I want you to know that. I'm Nicci, and I'm going to deliver you from this, Hania. Tell me about it. Please? I need to know. Do you know the woman who captured him?

Her name?"

The woman considered for a moment before she spoke, as if testing in her own mind whether or not the information was in any way secret, or could in any way harm him.

"Derma," Hania whispered at last.

"Derma. Richard killed her in order to escape-he already told me that much. Did you know Denna before she died?"

"Yes."

"I'm not asking anything of secret military importance, am I?"

Hania hesitated. She finally shook her head.

"So, you knew Denna. And did you know Richard at the time? When he was there, and she had him? Did you know he was her captive?"

"We all knew."

"Why is that?"

"Lord Rahl-the Lord Rahl at the time-"

"Richard's father."

"Yes. He wanted Denna to be the one to train Richard, to prepare him to answer without hesitation whatever questions Darken Rahl asked him. She was the best at what we do."

"Good. Now, tell me everything about it. Everything you know."

Hania drew a shaky breath. It took a moment before she spoke again. "I won't betray him. I am experienced at what is being done to me. You cannot trick me. I will not betray Lord Rahl just to spare myself this. I have not endured this much to betray him now."

"I promise not to ask anything about the present-about the war-anything that would betray him to Jagang."

"If I tell you only about when Denna had him, and not about now, about the war or where he is or anything else, do you give me your word that you will end it for me-that you will kill me?"

"I give you my word, Hania. I wouldn't ask you to betray your Lord Rahl-I know him and have too much respect for him to ask that of you. All I wish is to understand him for personal reasons. I was his teacher, last winter, instructing him in the use of his gift. I want to understand him better. I need to understand him. I believe I can help him, if I do."

"And then you will help me?" There was a shimmer of hope along with the tears. "You will kill me, then?"

This woman could aspire to nothing more, now. It was all that was left to her in this life: a quick death to finally end the pain.

"Just as soon as you're finished telling me all about it, I will end your suffering, Hania."

"Do you swear it by your hope to an eternity in the underworld in the warmth of the Creator's light?"

Nicci felt a sharp shiver of pain wail up from her very soul. She had started out near to one hundred and seventy years before wanting nothing but to help, and yet she could not escape the fate of her evil nature. She was Death's Mistress.

She was a fallen woman.

She ran the side of a finger down Hania's soft cheek. The two women shared a long and intimate look. "I promise," Nicci whispered. "Quick and efficient. It will be the end of your pain."

Tears overflowing her eyes, Hania gave a little nod.

CHAPTER 13

The estate was a grand place, she supposed. Nicci had seen grandeur such as this before. She had also seen much greater majesty, to be sure. She had lived among such splendor for nearly one and three-quarters centuries, among the imposing columns and arches of immaculate rooms, the intricately carved stone vines and buttery smooth wood paneling, the feather beds and silk coverlets, the exquisite carpets and rich draperies, the silver and gold ornamentation, and the bright sparkle of windows made of colored glass composed into epic scenes. The Sisters there offered Nicci brighteyed smiles and clever conversation.

The extravagance meant no more to her than the rubble of the streets, the cold wet blankets laid on rough ground, the beds made in the slime among greasy runnels in the muck of narrow alleys with nothing but the bitter sky overhead. The huddled people there never offered a smile, but gaped up at her with hollow eyes, like so many pigeons cooing for alms.

Some of her life was spent among splendor, some among garbage. Some people were fated to spend their lives in one place, some in the other, she in both.

Nicci reached for the silver handle on one of the ornate double doors flanked by two husky soldiers who had probably been raised in a sty with the hogs, and saw that her hand was covered in blood. She turned and casually wiped the hand on the filthy, bloodstained fleece vest worn by one of the men. The biceps of his folded arms were nearly as thick as her waist.

Although he scowled as she cleaned her hand on him, he made no move to stop her. After all, it wasn't as if she were defiling him.