Soul of the Fire

"Jagang's tent," Ann said at last. "I heard it was something. Quite the fancy sight."

"Yes, it is. It's like a palace he sets up each night. I can't say I favor going there, though."

"No, after my encounter with the man, I imagine not. Do you know where we're going?"

The other shook her head. "Here, there, it makes no difference. We are slaves serving His Excellency."

It had the ring of hopelessness to it, and made Ann think to gently turn that feeling to hope. "You know, Alessandra, he can't get into my mind."

Sister Alessandra looked up with a frown, and Ann told her how the bond to the Lord Rahl protected anyone sworn to him. Ann was careful to frame it in terms of what it meant to her, and to the others sworn to Richard, on a personal level, rather than to make it sound like an offer. The woman listened without objection.

"Now," Ann said in conclusion, "the magic of Richard's bond as the Lord Rahl doesn't work, but then, Jagang's magic doesn't work either, so I'm still safe from the dream walker." She chuckled. "Unless he walks in the tent, that is."

Sister Alessandra laughed with her.

Ann rearranged her manacled hands in her lap, hauling the chains closer so she could have enough slack to cross her legs.

"When the chimes eventually go back to your master in the underworld, then Richard's bond will work again, and I will once again be protected from Jagang's magic, when it returns, too. In all this, that is the one comfort I have knowing I'm safe from Jagang's power entering my mind."

Sister Alessandra sat mute.

"Of course," Ann added, "it must be a relief for you to be without Jagang in your mind for the time being, at least."

"You don't know when he's there. You feel no different. Except… if he wants you to know."

She smoothed the lap of her dress when Ann didn't say anything. "But I think you don't know what you're talking about, Prelate. The dream walker is in my mind, right now, watching us."

She looked up, waiting for Ann to argue. Instead, Ann said, "You just think on it, Alessandra. You just think on it."

Sister Alessandra gathered up the bowl. "I'd best be going back."

"Thank you for coming, Alessandra. Thank you for the soup. And thank you for sitting with me. It was nice to be with you, again."

Sister Alessandra nodded and ducked out of the tent.

CHAPTER 50

Although it was hardly noticeable, the grassy ground stretching to the horizon before Beata's Dominie Dirtch was slightly higher than the ground to each side of the enormous stone weapon, and so provided firmer footing, especially for horses. After the recent rains the gentle swale to the right was muddy. To the left it wasn't any better. Because of the unique lay of the land, especially after rain, people tended to approach Beata's post, her Dominie Dirtch, more often than others.

There weren't many, but those in the area traveling into Anderith from the grasslands of the wilds were inclined to come to her station first. Beata enjoyed being able to be in charge for a change, to pass judgment on people and say if they could enter. If she thought they looked like people who should not be let in, she sent them, on to a border station, where they could apply for entry with the station guards.

It felt good to be the one in control of important matters, instead of being helpless. Now, she decided things.

It was exciting, too, when travelers came through-something different, a chance to talk to people from afar, or to see their strange dress. There were rarely more than two or three people traveling together. But they looked up to her; she was in charge.

This bright sunny morning, though, Beata's heart hammered against her ribs. This time, those who approached were different. This time, there were considerably more than a few. This time, it looked like a true threat.

"Carine," Beata ordered, "stand ready at the striker."

The Haken woman squinted over at her. "You sure, Sergeant?" Carine had terrible eyesight; she rarely saw anything beyond thirty paces, and these people were off at the horizon.

It was something Beata had never done before, ordering out the striker. At least, not when people approached. They practiced taking it out, of course, but she'd never ordered it out. If she wasn't there, the ones on duty were supposed to take it out if they judged a threat approached, but with Beata there, it was up to her to order it readied. She was in charge. They depended on her.

Since the terrible accident, they'd added an extra bar across the rack where the striker stood, even though they knew it wasn't the striker that had rung the weapon. No one told them to do it; Beata just felt better with another restraint on the striker. It made them feel like they were doing something about the accident, even if they weren't, really.

No one knew why all the Dominie Dirtch had rung.

Beata wiped her sweaty palms on her hips. "I'm sure. Do it."