Soul of the Fire

It wasn't just his size, his broad shoulders, his penetrating gray eyes, or his black and gold outfit with the broad belt holding gold-worked leather pouches and strange symbols. It was his presence.

He didn't look proper and fancy like the Ander officials, like Dalton Campbell or the Minister of Culture, but rather, he looked noble, purposeful, and at the same time… dangerous.

Deadly.

He was kind enough looking, and handsome, but she just knew that if he ever turned those gray eyes on her in anger, she might be struck dead just by their intensity.

If ever there was a man who looked as if he could be the husband of the Mother Confessor, this was the man.

The pregnant woman came up the stairs, her eyes taking everything in. There was something about this dark-haired woman as well that seemed noble. She and the other man, both with dark hair, almost looked Ander. She had on the oddest dress Beata had ever seen; there were little different-colored strips of cloth tied on all up the arms and over the shoulders.

Beata held out a hand. "This, Lord Rahl, is the Dominie Dirtch." Beata wanted to say the woman's name, too, but it had flown out of her head, and she couldn't remember it.

Lord Rahl's eyes roamed over the huge bell-shaped stone weapon.

"It was created thousands of years ago by the Hakens," Beata said, "as a weapon of murder against the Anders, but it now serves instead as a means for peace."

Clasping his hands loosely behind his back, Lord Rahl surveyed the uncountable tons of stone that made up the Dominie Dutch. His gaze glided over every nuance of it in a way she had never seen anyone else look at it. Beata almost expected him to speak to it, and the Dominie Dirtch to answer.

"And how would that be, sergeant?" he asked without looking at her.

"Sir?"

When he turned to her at last, his gray eyes arrested her breath.

"Well, the Hakens invaded Anderith, right?"

Under the scrutiny of those eyes, she had to struggle to make her voice work. "Yes, sir." It came out as little more than a squeak.

He lifted a thumb, pointing back at the stone bell. "And do you suppose the invaders rode in with these Dominie Dirtch slung over their backs, then, Sergeant?"

Beata's knees started trembling. She wished he wouldn't ask her questions. She wished he would just leave them be and go on to Fairfield and talk to the important people who knew how to answer questions.

"Sir?"

Lord Rahl turned and gestured to the stone rising up before him. "It's obvious these weapons were not brought in, Sergeant. They're too big. There are too many of them. They had to be constructed here, where they stand, with the aid of magic, no doubt."

"But the Haken murderers, when they invaded-"

"They're pointed out there, Sergeant, toward any invaders, not in, toward the people of Anderith. It's clear they were built as weapons of defense."

Beata swallowed. "But we were taught-"

"You were taught a lie." He looked decidedly unhappy about what he was seeing. "This is plainly a defensive weapon." He peered off to the Dominie Dirtch to each side, surveying them with a critical eye. "They work together. They were placed here as a line of defense, they weren't the tools of invasion."

The way he said it, with almost a tone of regret, didn't seem at all to Beata like he meant any offense. He seemed to have spoken what came into his mind as he realized it himself.

"But the Hakens…" Beata said in hardly more than a whisper.

Lord Rahl stood politely, waiting for her to offer an argument. Her mind was spinning with confused thoughts.

"I'm not an educated person, Lord Rahl. I'm only a Haken, evil by nature. Forgive me for not being taught good enough to be able to better answer your questions."

He heaved a sigh. "It doesn't require an education, Sergeant Beata, to see what's right before your eyes. Use your head."

Beata stood mute, unable to reconcile the conversation. This was an important man. She'd heard things about the Lord Rahl, about what a powerful man he was, about how he was a magician with the power to make day into night, up into down. He wasn't a man who ruled just one land, like the Minister of Culture and the Sovereign, but a man who ruled the mysterious empire of D'Hara, and now was capturing all of the Midlands.

But he was a man, too, who was married to the Mother Confessor. Beata had seen the look in the Mother Confessor's eyes when she looked at the Lord Rahl. Beata knew from that look that the woman loved and respected this man. It was as plain as day that she did.

"You should listen to what he says," the pregnant woman said. "He is also the Seeker of Truth."

Beata's jaw dropped. She spoke before her fear could muzzle her. "You mean that's the Sword of Truth you carry, sir?"

It looked an ordinary weapon to her, little different from hers. It was just a black leather scabbard, nothing special, and a leather-wrapped handle.

He looked down and lifted the weapon clear of the scabbard and then let it drop back. His face lost its spirit.