Temple of the Winds

CHAPTER 22

Clarissa thought she might faint. How could a person be the property of anyone? With shame, she realized that she had let herself be little more to the Abbot. He had been kind to her, after a fashion, but in return, he had viewed her as his property.

She knew these beasts were not going to be kind. She knew what they were going to do with her, and it was going to be something considerably worse than the Abbot's drunken, impotent affections. The look of steel in the man's eyes told her that they were men who would have no difficulty following through with what they wanted.

At least it was silver. She didn't know why that mattered to her, but it did. "You have books here," Captain Mallack said. "Are there prophecies among them?"

The Abbot should have kept his mouth closed, but she didn't want to die to protect the books. Besides, these men would tear the place apart and find them anyway; the books weren't hidden. The city had been thought safe from invasion, after all. "Yes."

"The emperor wants all books brought to him. You will show us where they are."

Clarissa swallowed. "Of course."

"How's it going, boys?" came an amicable voice from behind the men. "Everything in order? You look to have matters well in hand."

The three men turned. A vigorous older man filled the doorway. A full head of straight white hair hung to his broad shoulders. He was wearing high boots, brown trousers, and a ruffled white shirt under an open dark green vest. The hem of his heavy, dark brown cape hovered just above the floor. A sword was sheathed in an elegant scabbard at his hip. It was the prophet.

"Who are you?" Captain Mallack growled. The prophet casually flipped his cape back over a shoulder. "A man in need of a slave." He shouldered one of the men out of his way as he strode up to Clarissa. He grasped her jaw in a big hand and turned her head this way and that. "This one will do. How much do you want for her?"

The bald-headed Captain Mallack snatched a fistful of white shirt. "The slaves belong to the Order. They are all the property of the emperor."

The prophet scowled down at the hand on his shirt. He slapped it away. "Mind the shirt, friend; your hands are dirty."

"They're going to be bloody in a moment! Who are you? What's your trade?" One of the other men put a knife to the prophet's ribs. 'Answer Captain Mallack's question, or die. What's your trade?"

The prophet dismissed the question with a flip of a hand. "Not one you would be interested in. Now, how much for the slave? I can pay handsomely. You boys might as well make something for yourselves out of it. I never begrudge a man his profit."

"We have all the plunder we want. It's here for the taking." The captain glanced to the man who had put the ring through her lip. "Kill him."

The prophet casually swept a staying hand before them. "I mean you no harm, boys." He leaned down a little closer to their faces. "Won't you reconsider?"

Captain Mallack opened his mouth, but then he paused. No words came out. Clarissa heard distressed, liquid rumbling from the guts of the three men. Their eyes widened.

"What's wrong?" the prophet asked. "Is everything all right? Now, how about my offer, boys? How much do you want for her?"

The three men's faces twisted with discomfort. Clarissa smelled an unpleasant odor.

"Well," Captain Mallack said in a strained voice, "I think. ." He grimaced. "We, ah, we have to go."

The prophet bowed. "Why, thank you, boys. Off with you, then. Give my regards to my friend. Emperor Jagang, won't you?"

"But what about him?" one of the men asked the captain as they edged away. "Someone else will be along shortly and kill him," the captain said, as all three of them shuffled bow-legged through the door.

The prophet turned to her, his smile evaporating as he regarded her with a hawklike gaze.

"Well, have you reconsidered my offer?"

Clarissa stood quivering. She wasn't sure who she feared more, the invaders or the prophet. They would hurt her. She didn't know what the prophet would do to her. He might tell her how she was to die. He had told her how a whole city was going to die, and it was coming to pass. She feared that if he said something, he could make it happen. Prophets commanded magic. "Who are you?" she whispered.

He bowed dramatically. "Nathan Rahl. I have already told you that I am a prophet. Forgive me for overlooking the introductions, but we don't exactly have a great deal of time."

His penetrating blue eyes frightened her, but she made herself ask, "Why do you want a slave?" "Well, not for the same as they." "I don't want-"

He snatched her arm and forced her to the window. "Look out there. Look!" For the first time, she lost control of the tears, and they poured out in forlorn sobs. "Dear Creator…"