Soul of the Fire

She hooked the throat band and pulled it down for him to see. Even though it was dark, there was a moon and he could see a thick lumpy line, all white and waxy-looking, ringing her neck. It looked to him to be a nasty scar.

"Some people tried to kill me, once. Because I have magic." Moonlight glistened in her moist eyes. "Serin Rajak and his followers."

Fitch never heard the name. "Followers?"

She pulled the throat band back up. "Serin Rajak hates magic. He has followers who think the same as he. They get people all worked up against those with magic. Gets them in a state of wild hate and blood lust.

'There's nothing uglier than a mob of men when they have it in their heads to hurt someone. What one alone wouldn't have the nerve to do, together they can easily decide is right and then accomplish. A mob takes on a mind of its own-a life of its own. Just like a pack of dogs chasing down some lone animal.

"Rajak caught me and put a rope around my neck. They tied my hands behind my back. They found a tree, threw the other end of the rope over a limb, and hoisted me up by that rope around my neck.”

Fitch was horrified. "Dear spirits-that must have' hurt something awful."

She didn't seem to hear him as she stared off.

"They were stacking kindling under me. Going to have a big fire. Before they could get the fire lit, I managed to get away."

Fitch's fingers went to his throat, rubbing his neck as he tried to imagine hanging on a rope around his neck.

"That man-Serin Rajak. Is he a Haken?"

She shook her head as they started out again. "You don't have to be Haken to be bad, Fitch."

They walked in silence for a time. Fitch got the feeling she was off somewhere in her memories of hanging by a rope around her throat. He wondered why she didn't choke to death. Maybe the rope wasn't tight, he decided-tied with a knot so it would hold its loop. He wondered how she got away. He knew, though, that he'd asked enough about it, and dared ask no more.

He listened to the stone chips crunching under their boots. He stole careful glances, now and again. She no longer looked happy, like she had at first. He wished he'd kept his question to himself.

Finally, he thought maybe he'd ask her about something that had made her smile before. Besides, it was why he had really wanted to walk along with her in the first place.

"Franca, what was the Wizard's Keep like?"

He was right; she did smile. "Huge. You can't even imagine it, and I couldn't tell you how big it is. It stands up on a mountain overlooking Aydindril, beyond a stone bridge crossing a chasm thousands of feet deep. Part of the Keep is cut from the mountain itself. There are notched walls rising up like cliffs. Broad ramparts, wider than this road, go to various structures. Towers rise up above the Keep, here and there. It was magnificent."

"Did you ever see a Seeker of Truth? Did you ever see the Sword of Truth, when you was there?"

She frowned over at him. "You know, as a matter of fact, I did. My mother was a sorceress. She went to Aydindril to see the First Wizard about something-what, I've no idea. We went across one of those ramparts to the First Wizard's enclave in the Keep. He has a separate place where he had wonders of every sort. I remember that bright and shiny sword."

She seemed well pleased with telling him about it, so he asked, "What was it like? The First Wizard's enclave? And the Sword of Truth?"

"Well, let me see…." She put a finger to her chin to think a moment before she began her story.

CHAPTER 37

When Dalton Campbell reached to dip his pen, he saw the legs of a woman walking through the doorway into his office. By the thick ankles he knew before his gaze lifted that it was Hildemara Chanboor. If there was a woman with less appealing legs, he had yet to meet her.

He set down the pen and rose with a smile. "Lady Chanboor, please, come in."

In the outer office, the morning sunlight revealed Rowley on duty, standing ready to summon the messengers should Dalton have call for them. He didn't at the moment, but with Hildemara Chanboor paying a visit, that eventuality seemed more likely.

As she closed the door, Dalton went around his desk and pulled out a comfortable chair in invitation. She wore a wool dress the color of straw. The color of the dress conveyed a sickly pallor to her flesh. The hem came to midcalf on her puffy, straight, pillar-like legs.

Hildemara glanced briefly at the chair, but remained standing.

"So good to see you, Lady Chanboor."

She put on a smile. "Oh, Dalton, must you always be so proper? We've known each other long enough for you to call me Hildemara." He opened his mouth to thank her, but she added, "When we're alone."

"Of course, Hildemara."