Soul of the Fire

Her plan was too artless, but he understood her commitment. Rescuing the Sisters of the Light was essential, and not simply because they were captives being brutalized. If the chimes could be banished, Jagang would again control those sorceresses, and so their power.

"Ann, fear can be a powerful master. If some of the Sisters don't believe you that they can escape, you can't allow them to remain a menace, albeit an unwilling one, to our cause."

Ann looked over out of the corner of her eye. "I understand."

He was asking her to either rescue them or assassinate them.

"Zedd," she said in soft compassion, "I don't like mentioning it, but if what Kahlan has done…”

"I know."

In calling forth the chimes, Kahlan had invoked their aid to save Richard's life. There was a price.

In return for keeping Richard in the world of life until he recovered, she had unwittingly pledged the chimes the one thing they needed in order to also remain in the world of life.

A soul. Richard's soul.

But he would be safe at the Keep; the place where they had been called was a safe haven for the one pledged.

Zedd put half his tava bread to Nissel's lips. She smiled and chomped a big bite. She fed him a bite of her tava bread, after touching it to the end of his nose first. The foolishness of this old healer putting a dot of honey on his nose, like some mischievous little girl, made him chuckle.

Finally, Ann asked, "What ever happened to your cat, Lurk?"

Zedd frowned as he puzzled, trying to recollect. "To tell you the truth, I don't recall. So much was happening back then. The war with D'Hara-led by Richard's other grandfather, Panis Rahl, was just igniting. The lives of thousands hung under threat. I was yet to be named First Wizard. Erilyn was pregnant with our daughter.

"I guess with all that was going on, we just lost track of the cat. There are countless places in the Keep with mice; it probably found lurking about more appealing than two busy people."

Zedd swallowed at the painful memories. "After I moved to Westland, and Richard was born, I always kept a cat as a reminder of Erilyn and home."

Ann smiled in kind, sincere sympathy.

"I hope you never named one 'Lurk, so that Richard would have cause to suddenly recall the name."

"No," Zedd whispered. "I never did."

CHAPTER 15

"Fetch!" Master Drummond called out.

Fitch pressed his lips tight trying unsuccessfully, he knew, to keep his face from going red. His smiled politely as he trotted past the snickering women.

"Yes, sir?"

Master Drummond wagged a hand toward the rear of the kitchen. "Fetch in some more of the apple wood."

Fitch bowed with a "Yes, sir," and headed toward the door out to the wood. Even though the kitchen was a fog of marvelous aromas, from sizzling butter and onions and spices to the mouthwatering savor of roasting meats, he was glad for the chance to get away from the crusty cauldrons. His fingers ached from scraping and scrubbing. He was glad, too, that Master Drummond didn't ask for any oak. Fitch was relieved to have done one thing right by having brought in enough of the oak.

Trotting through the patches of warm sunlight on his way down to the heap of apple wood, he wondered again why Minister Chanboor had wanted to see Beata. She had certainly looked happy enough about it. Women seemed to go all giddy whenever they got a chance to meet the Minister.

Fitch didn't see what was so special about the man. After all, he was starting to get gray in his hair; he was old. Fitch couldn't imagine himself ever getting old enough to have gray hairs. Just thinking about it made his nose wrinkle with disgust.

When he reached the woodpile, something caught his eye. He put a hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the sunlight as he peered over to the shade of the turn round. He'd assumed it was just another delivery, but it was Brownie, still standing there with the butcher's cart.

He'd been busy in the kitchen and had thought Beata would have left long ago. There were any number of doors out, and he would have no way of knowing when she'd left. He'd just assumed she had.

It must have been an hour since she'd gone upstairs. Minister Chanboor probably wanted to give her a message for the butcher-some special request for his guests. Surely, he would have finished with her long ago.

So why was the cart still there?

Fitch bent and plucked a stick of apple wood. He shook his head in frustration; Minister Chanboor was probably telling her stories. Fitch hefted another billet from the woodpile. For some reason, women liked listening to the Minister's stories, and he liked telling them. He was always talking to women, telling them stories. Sometimes, at dinners and feasts, they gathered around him in giggling groups. Maybe they were just being polite-he was an important man, after all.