Faith of the Fallen

Hania had kept her part of the bargain. Nicci rarely resorted to using a weapon; she usually used her gift. But of course, in this case, that could have been a mistake. When she had held the knife over her throat, Hania had whispered her thanks for what Nicci was about to do. It was the first time anyone had ever thanked Nicci before she had killed them. Few people ever thanked Nicci for the help she provided. She was able, they were not; it was her duty to serve their needs.

When she had finished cleaning her hand on the mute guard, she flashed an empty smile at his dark glaring visage and then went on through the doors into a stately reception hall. A row of tall windows lining one wall of the room was trimmed with wheat-colored drapes. Near their tasseled edges, the curtains sparkled in the lamplight as if they might be embellished with gold thread. Latesummer rain spattered against tightly shut glass panes that revealed only darkness outside, but reflected the activity inside. The pale wool carpets, graced with flowers painstakingly sculpted in relief by means of different-length yarn, were tracked with mud.

Scouts came and went, along with messengers and soldiers giving their reports to some of the officers. Other officers barked orders. Soldiers carrying rolled maps followed a few of the higher-ranking men as they meandered around the stuffy room.

One of the maps lay unrolled across a narrow table. The table's silver candelabrum had been set aside on the floor behind the table. As Nicci passed the table, she glanced down and saw that it was missing many of the elements so carefully marked on the map drawn by the D'Haran messenger. On the map laid out over the narrow table, there was nothing but dark splotches from spilled ale in the area to the northwest; in the map etched in Nicci's mind, there were the mountains, rivers, high passes, and streams there, and a dot, marking the place where Richard was, along with his Mother Confessor bride, and the Mord-Sith.

Officers talked among themselves, some standing about, some half sitting on iron-legged, marbletopped tables, some lounging in padded leather chairs as they took delicacies from silver trays borne on the trembling hands of sweating servants. Others swilled ale from tall pewter mugs, and yet others drank wine from dainty glasses, all acting as if they were intimate with such splendor, and all of them looking as out of place as toads at tea.

An older woman, Sister Lidmila, apparently trying to be unobtrusive by cowering in the shadows beside the drapes, snapped upright when she saw Nicci marching across the room. Sister Lidmila stepped out of the shadows, briefly pausing to smooth her dingy skirts, an act that could not possibly produce any noticeable improvement; Sister Lidmila once had told Nicci that things learned in youth never left you, and were often much easier to recall than yesterday's dinner. Rumor had it that the old Sister, skilled in arcane spells known to only the most powerful sorceresses, had many interesting things from her youth to recall.

Sister Lidmila's leathery skin was stretched so tight over the bones of her skull that she reminded Nicci of nothing so much as an exhumed corpse.

As cadaverous looking as the aged Sister was, she advanced across the room in quick, sharp movements.

When she was only ten feet away, Sister Lidmila waved an arm, as if not sure Nicci would see her. "Sister Nicci. Sister Nicci, there you are." She seized Nicci's wrist. "Come along, dear. Come along. His Excellency is waiting for you. This way. Come along."

Nicci clasped the Sister's tugging hand. "Lead the way, Sister Lidmila.

I'm right behind you."

The older woman smiled over her shoulder. It wasn't a pleasant or joyous smile, but one of relief. Jagang punished anyone who displeased him, regardless of their culpability.

"What took you so long, Sister Nicci? His Excellency is in quite a state, he is, because of you. Where have you been?"

"I had. . business I had to attend to."

The woman had to take two or three steps for every one of Nicci's.

"Business indeed! Were it up to me, I'd have you down in the kitchen scrubbing pots for being off on a lark when you are wanted."

Sister Lidmila was frail and forgetful, and she sometimes failed to realize she was no longer at the Palace of the Prophets. Jagang used her to fetch people, or to wait for them and show them the way-usually to his tents. Should she forget the way, he could always correct her route, if need be. It amused him to use a venerable Sister of the Light — a sorceress reputedly possessing knowledge of the most esoteric incantations-as nothing more than an errand girl. Away from the palace and it's spell that slowed aging, Sister Lidmila was in a sudden headlong rush toward the grave. All the Sisters were.