Stone of Tears

Her smile faltered under the heat of his glower. She smiled again and continued. “Well, first of all, Richard, we don’t allow boys to carry weapons here at the Palace of the Prophets.” She held her hands out, palms up. “I’ll take your sword.”

The trickle of rage from the magic had turned to a torrent. “You are welcome to my sword, when I am no longer breathing.”

Pasha’s gaze flicked to Sister Verna. The Sister gave a slow, slight shake of her head in stern warning. Pasha’s gaze returned to Richard and her frown transformed to a smile.

“Well, we’ll talk about it later.” Her brow bunched together. “But you need to learn some manners, young man.”

Richard’s voice came in a tone that took some of the color from Pasha’s face. “Which one of these women is the Prelate?”

Pasha gave a bubble of a laugh. “The Prelate is not here. She is much too busy to…”

“Take me to her.”

“You do not see the Prelate when you wish. She sees you when she has reason to see you. I can hardly believe Sister Verna has not taught you that we do not allow our boys…”

Richard put the back of his hand against her shoulder and swept her aside as he took another stride into the room, redirecting his glare to the hundreds of eyes watching him.

“I have something to say.”

The vast room fell to a hush. From two different places in his mind, the same thought had come forward at the same time. He recognized each origin. One was The Adventures of Bonnie Day, the book his father had given him, and the other was the sword’s magic, the knowledge of the sword, the spirits he had danced with.

The memory and message were the same: When you are outnumbered, and the situation is hopeless, you have no option—you must attack.

He knew what the collar was for. His situation was hopeless. He had no options. He let the quiet ring in the chamber until it was uncomfortable.

His fingers tapped his Rada’Han. “As long as you keep this collar on me, you are my captors, and I am your prisoner.” Murmurs hummed in the air. Richard let them trail off before he went on. “since I have committed no aggression against you, that makes us enemies. We are at war.

“Sister Verna has made a pledge to me that I will be taught to control the gift, and when I have learned what is required, I will be set free. For now, as long as you keep that pledge, we have a truce. But there are conditions.”

Richard lifted the red leather rod at his neck, the Agiel, in his hand. Beyond the rage of the magic, the Agiel was only a dim tingle of pain. “I have been collared before. The person who put that collar on me brought me pain, to punish me, to teach me, to subdue me.

“That is the sole purpose of a collar. You collar a beast. You collar your enemies.

“I made her much the same offer I am making you. I begged her to release me. She would not. I was forced to kill her.

“Not one of you could ever hope to be good enough to lick her boots. She did as she did because she was tortured and broken, made mad enough to use a collar to hurt people. She did it against her nature.

“You,” he looked to all the eyes, “you do it because you think it is your right. You enslave in the name of your Creator. I don’t know your Creator. The only one beyond this world I know who would do as you do is the Keeper.” The crowd gasped. “As far as I’m concerned, you may as well be the Keeper’s disciples.

“If you do as she, and use this collar to bring me pain, the truce will be ended. You may think you hold the leash to this collar, but I promise you, if the truce ends, you will find that what you hold is a bolt of lightning.”

Dead-still silence rang in the room. Richard rolled up his left sleeve. He drew the Sword of Truth. The distinctive sound of steel filled the silence.

“The Baka Ban Mana are my people. They have agreed to live in peace with all people from now on. Anyone who harms one of them will answer to me. If you do not accept this, do not let the Baka Ban Mana live in peace, our truce will be ended.”

He pointed back with the sword. “sister Verna captured me. I have fought her every step of this journey. She has done everything short of killing me and draping my body over a horse to get me here. Though she, too, is my captor and enemy, I owe her certain debts. If anyone lays a finger to her because of me, I will kill that person, and the truce will be ended.”

From the corner of his eye, Richard could see Sister Verna’s eyes close. Her hand covered her white face.

The crowd gasped as Richard drew his sword across the inside of his arm. He turned it, wiping both sides in the blood, until it dripped from the tip.

His knuckles white around the hilt, he thrust the blade into the air.

“I give you a blood oath! Harm the Baka Ban Mana, harm Sister Verna, or harm me, and the truce will be ended, and I promise you we will have war! If we have war, I will lay waste to the Palace of the Prophets!”

From the far balcony, where Richard couldn’t see its source, a mocking voice drifted out over the crowd. All by yourself?”