Chainfire: Chainfire Trilogy Part 1

Chapter 46

The road up to the Keep offered magnificent views of the city of Aydindril spread out below, even though clouds had slipped in over the mountains to mute the late-afternoon light and leave the still air muggy. Were it not for her concerns, Nicci might have found the views from the road up to the Keep to be one of the most beautiful vistas she had ever seen—and an appreciation of such beauty was something relatively new to her, some thing that Richard had awakened in her.

As it was, though, she brooded over his continuing fixation on finding the woman Kahlan that he was so sure he remembered. He hadn’t said anything about her, yet, probably because from their previous disagreements he had become frustrated by the futility of trying to convince her that he had to find a woman Nicci knew did not exist. Despite not mentioning her, it was clear to Nicci that he was no less determined to find Kahlan now than he had been the last time Nicci had been with him. Her hopes that he would be better by the time she finally caught up with him had faded. Her pleasure over the view dimmed.

There was something, though—a look in his eyes—that seemed to Nicci somehow different. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, or what it could mean. He’d always had a penetrating gaze, a cutting, raptor-like appraisal, but now, the way he met her gaze, it was even more acute, as if he were laying her open and searching her soul. Nicci had nothing to hide, though, especially from Richard. She had nothing but his best interest at heart. She wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. She would do anything to help him to be happy.

She supposed that was why her mood had sunk; even though he was still determined, she knew that he was growing ever more dispirited. The light of life in his eyes was something Nicci treasured. She would not want to see it go out.

Trying to keep up with him left Nicci no opportunity to ask him about what had gone on with the witch woman. From Cara’s silence, Nicci knew that, whatever had happened, it had not gone as well as Richard had expected. That was no surprise to Nicci. How could a witch woman, even if she wanted to help, be of any use in finding a woman who existed only in Richard’s mind?

Whatever Chainfire could be, Nicci had no idea, but she could sense in his voice, as well as his tense expression, how eager Richard was to discover its meaning. After having lived with him for so long, Nicci knew his feelings without him having to say a word. It was obvious he’d placed a lot of significance on the meaning behind Chainfire.

More than that, though, Nicci was worried as to what could have happened to his sword. She couldn’t imagine why he didn’t have it with him. Her concern had been heightened all the more by the way Cara had immediately cut off the question, to say nothing of the way Richard had not mentioned it. The Sword of Truth was not something Richard would have lightly forgotten all about.

Higher up on the mountain, as they rode up the switchbacks, the road emerged from a thick growth of towering spruce trees before a stone bridge spanning a chasm of immense depth. It looked to Nicci as if the mountain were split open to its core, with the closer side pulled away from the rest of the mountain. As they rode single-file across the bridge spanning the yawning abyss, she glanced over the edge and could see sheer rock walls to each side dropping down through cottony clouds drifting by below them. It was a dizzying sight that made her stomach feel queazy.

Nicci could tell by Sa’din’s gait how tired he was. His ears lazily swiveled toward the drop to each side as they crossed the bridge. Richard and Cara’s horses, though, were lathered and blowing hard. Nicci knew how well Richard treated animals, and yet he was showing these no mercy. He obviously thought there were higher values involved than the lives of animals. She knew what that value was: human life. One in particular.

The walls of the Keep, composed of intricately joined blocks of dark granite, rose up like a cliff before them. Coming off the bridge, riding between Richard in front and Cara at the rear, Nicci stared up at the Keep’s complex maze of ramparts, bastions, towers, connecting passageways, and bridges. The place looked somehow alive, as if it were watching them approach the gaping entrance of arched stone where the road tunneled under the base of the outer wall.

Without hesitation, Richard trotted his horse in under the raised, massive portcullis. Given a choice, Nicci would have been a bit more cautious in her approach to such a place. Her skin crawled with the power emanating from within. She had never before felt such a strong sense of the force of magic from within a place. It was like standing alone on a plain as a vast, massive thunderstorm was about to envelope her.

The sensation gave her some measure of the shields that guarded the Keep. From what she had to conclude by what she could sense, the shields at the Palace of the Prophets had been child’s play by comparison. Too, those were predominantly Additive and the palace had been built for an entirely different purpose. Here, Subtractive shields were employed in equal service. The lethality of their dominion was not concealed, but manifest to those whose business it was to know of such things.

Almost unnoticed, hazy clouds had closed in overhead, leaving the late-afternoon sky a flat, steel gray. The gloom that replaced the sunlight made the stone of the Keep look all the darker, all the more forbidding, almost as if the Keep itself had drawn a shroud of clouds tightly around itself as it watched the approach of a sorceress and a wizard able to command powers that yet haunted this place.

After coming out from under the arched opening in the thick outer wall, they emerged on a road that continued through the deep interior canyon of the Keep. Beyond, the road tunneled through another dark wall that provided a second barrier, should one ever be necessary. Without pause, Richard rode on into that long, dark passageway. The sounds of the horses’ hooves echoed off the damp stone under the murky, arched passage.

Beyond the tunnel, they emerged beside an expansive paddock growing thick with lush grass. The gravel road ran along the side of a wall to the right with several doors. The first doors they’d encountered just inside the portcullis would have been where visitors entered. Nicci surmised that this, beyond the second wall, was probably the working entrance to the Keep. A fence along the other side of the road enclosed the paddock. Beyond, to the left, the back side of the paddock was walled off by the Keep itself. At the far end stood the stables.

Without a word, Richard dismounted and opened the gate to the paddock, letting his horse go in but leaving it saddled. Perplexed, Cara and Nicci nonetheless followed his example before following him across the grounds toward an entrance with a dozen wide granite steps worn smooth and swaybacked over time. They led up into a recessed entryway where simple but heavy double doors into the Keep proper began to creak open.

An old man, wavy white hair in disarray, peered out like a homeowner surprised by visitors. He gulped air, apparently winded from having run through the Keep when he’d realized that someone was coming. He had no doubt been alerted by webs of magic that announced anyone taking the road up to the Keep. In ancient times there would have been people closer at hand to see to anyone newly arrived. Now there was only the old man. By the way he was breathing he must have been clear across the Keep when the alarms had warned him.

Even through the look of astonishment on his thin, wrinkled face, Nicci recognized elements of the features. She knew that he could be none other than Richard’s grandfather Zedd. He was tall, but as thin as a sapling. His hazel eyes were wide with wonder and a kind of childlike excitement, if not innocence. His plain, unadorned robes marked him as a great wizard. He wore his age well. It was a pleasing preview of how, in part, time might treat Richard.

The old man threw his arms up over his head. “Richard!” A joyous grin swept across his face. “Bags, is that really you, my boy?”

Zedd emerged from the doorway and started down the worn steps into the dreary light.

Richard ran to his grandfather and lifted him off the steps, hugging him fiercely enough to drive the wind from the already winded old man. They both laughed, a pleasing sound with obvious kinship.

“Zedd! You can’t imagine how glad I am to see you!”

“And you, my boy,” Zedd said in a voice turning teary. “It’s been too long. Far too long.”

He reached a sticklike hand past Richard and gripped Cara’s shoulder. “How are you, my dear? You appear to be near to spent. Are you all right?”

“I am Mord-Sith,” she said, looking a bit indignant. “Of course I’m all right. Why would you think I look anything but perfectly fine?”

Zedd chuckled as he pushed back from Richard. “No reason, I suppose. You both look like you could use some rest and a meal or two is all. But you do look fine and I’m mighty happy to see you again.”

Cara smiled at that. “I’ve missed you, Zedd.”

Zedd waggled a finger. “Not very Mord-Sith of you to miss an old man. Rikka will be astonished to hear such a thing.”

“Rikka?” Cara asked in surprise. “Rikka is here?”

Zedd waggled a hand back in the direction of the partly opened door. “She’s back in there, somewhere—patrolling, I imagine. She seems to have two preoccupations in life, patrolling and harassing me. I’m telling you, I have no peace of mind with the woman. Worse, she’s too clever for her own good. At least she’s a talented cook.”

Cara’s brows lifted. “Rikka can cook?”

Zedd winced, pulling a breath through his teeth. “Don’t tell her I said that or I’ll never hear the end of it. The woman . . .”

“Zedd,” Richard interrupted, “I have trouble and I need help.”

“Are you well? You aren’t ill, are you? You don’t look entirely yourself, my boy.” Zedd pressed a hand to Richard’s forehead. “Summer fevers are the worst, you know. Heat on top of heat. Bad combination.”

“Yes—no—I mean, it’s not that. I need to talk to you.”

“So talk. It has been a long time. Far too long of a time. What’s it been? Two years this past spring, if I’m not mistaken.” Zedd drew back a bit and squeezed Richard’s arms as he looked him up and down. “Richard, where’s your sword?”

“Look, we’ll talk about that later,” Richard said, irritably disengaging himself from Zedd’s grip in order to wave away the question.

“You said you wanted to talk. So talk and tell me where your sword is.” Zedd redirected his broad grin at Nicci. “And who is this lovely sorceress you’ve brought along?”

Richard blinked at Zedd’s smile and then glanced at Nicci. “Oh, sorry. Zedd, this is Nicci. Nicci, this . . .”

“Nicci!” Zedd roared as he danced back up two of the steps as if he’d spotted a viper. “The Sister of the Dark who took you away to the Old World? That Nicci? What are you doing with this vile creature? Why would you dare to bring such a woman . . .”

“Zedd,” Richard said, forcefully cutting his grandfather off. “Nicci is a friend.”

“A friend! Are you out of your mind, Richard? How in the world do you expect . . .”

“Zedd, she’s on our side now.” He gestured heatedly. “Much the same as Cara, or Rikka. Things change. Before, either of them would have . . .”

His voice trailed off as his grandfather stared at him. “You know what I mean. I trust Cara with my life, now, and she has proven worthy of my trust. I trust Nicci the same. I trust them both with my life.”

Zedd finally gripped Richard’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate joggle. “I guess I do know what you mean. Since I gave you the Sword of Truth you’ve changed a great many things for the better. Why, I would never in my life have imagined that one day I’d happily be eating meals cooked by a Mord-Sith. And delicious meals they are, too.” He caught himself and pointed at Cara. “If you tell her I said that I’ll skin you alive. The woman is already incorrigible.”

Cara only smiled.

Zedd redirected his gaze to Nicci. He didn’t have that raptorlike Rahl quality, but in its own way it was just as disarming and looked to have the potential to be just as disturbing.

“Welcome, sorceress. If Richard says you are a friend, then you are. Sorry to get so huffy.”

Nicci smiled. “Perfectly understandable. I didn’t like myself back then either. I was under the influence of dark delusions. I was called Death’s Mistress for good reason.” Nicci gazed into Richard’s gray eyes. “Your grandson brought me to see the beauty of life.”

Zedd smiled proudly. “Yes, that’s it exactly. The beauty of life.”

Richard pounced on the opening. “And life is what this is about. Zedd, listen, I need . . .”

“Yes, yes,” Zedd said, waving off Richard’s impatience. “You always need something. Haven’t been back long enough to get in the door and already you want to know something. If I recall correctly, the first word you ever spoke was ‘why.’

“Come on, then, come inside. I want to know why you don’t have the Sword of Truth with you. I know you wouldn’t let anything happen to it, but I want to hear the whole story. Don’t leave out a thing. Come along, then.”

Motioning them all to follow, Richard’s grandfather climbed the stairs toward the doorway.

“Zedd! I need . . .”

“Yes, yes, my boy. You need something. I heard you the first time. I think it looks like rain. No use getting started when we’re about to get wet. Come inside and I will hear what you have to say.” Zedd’s voice began echoing as he disappeared into the darkness. “You look like you could use a meal. Is anyone else hungry? Reunions always give me an appetite.”

Richard’s arms dropped, his hands flopping against his thighs in frustration. He sighed and then hurried up the steps after his grandfather. Nicci knew that had it been anyone else, Richard would have handled it quite differently. People who loved you, and had raised you since you were little, and had comforted you when you cried at a thunderstorm or the howl of a wolf tended to be disarming to deal with. She could see that it was no different with Richard. His love of his grandfather tied his hands with unbreakable ropes of respect.

It was a view of Richard Nicci had never seen before, and one she found quite endearing. Here was the Lord Rahl, the leader of the D’Haran Empire, the Seeker of Truth, a man who could make just about anyone tremble with a look, brought to flustered silence by a kindly if bewildering lecture. Had the matters involved not been so serious, Nicci would have been unable to keep herself from grinning at Richard’s utter helplessness before such a frail-looking old man.

The sound of water reverberated inside the dark anteroom. Zedd cast a hand casually to the side and a lamp on the wall lit. At the ignition of the flame Nicci recognized the reiteration of a spark of power that marked it as a key lamp. With a succession of whooshing sounds, starting on both sides of the entrance, hundreds of lamps around the vast room lit in pairs. Each whoosh as a pair of lamps caught flame was followed almost simultaneously by another as the lamps around the huge room each took to flame from the engendering magic initiated by the key lamp, the effect being a ring of fire seeming to dance its way around the room. Nicci knew that it would have worked the same had someone lit that particular lamp with a flame rather than magic. The light in the room swelled, and in a span of seconds the anteroom was nearly as bright as day.

A clover-leaf-shaped fountain stood centered in the tiled floor. Water spouted high into the air above the top bowl, from where it cascaded down each successive tier of ever wider, scalloped bowls, finally running from points around the bottom bowl in perfectly matched arcs into the surrounding pool contained by an outer wall of variegated white marble made wide enough to act as a bench.

All the way around the oval-shaped room, highly polished, deep red marble columns stood below arches supporting a continuous balcony. A hundred feet overhead a section of glassed roof let in some of the somber, late-day light to balance the glow of the lamps down in the heart of the room. At night, the glassed roof would probably also let in the soft cold light of the moon to give the darkened room a spectral feel, but with it being the new moon, to say nothing of the gathering clouds, there would be no moonlight this night. By the look of the sky through the glassed roof section, Nicci thought that Zedd was right; it did look like it might rain.

Belying first impressions of the Keep, the room was a beautiful, warm entrance to what seemed such a cold and austere exterior. It hinted at the life the place once held. Like the forsaken city down in the valley, Nicci was rather saddened by the emptiness.

“Welcome to the Wizard’s Keep. Perhaps we all should . . .”

“Zedd,” Richard growled, cutting his grandfather short, “I need to talk to you. Right now. It’s important.”

Beloved grandfather or not, Nicci could see that Richard was at the end of his patience. Tight, white knuckles stood out in stark contrast against his tanned skin and the prominent veins on the backs of his fists. Judging by the way he looked, he hadn’t gotten much sleep in recent days or had much to eat. She didn’t think that she had ever seen him looking this exhausted or this near his wits’ end. Cara, as well, looked well past the limits of her endurance, although she did a good job of covering it; Mord-Sith were trained to ignore physical discomfort. Despite being overjoyed at seeing his grandfather, Richard’s preoccupation with finding the woman from his imagination had cut the pleasantries of the reunion short.

The mad rush that had become life, since that day he had been shot with the arrow and had nearly died, seemed to have come down to this moment.

Zedd blinked in innocent surprise. “Well of course, Richard, of course.” He spread his arms as he spoke in a gentle voice. “You know that you can always talk to me. Whatever is on your mind, you know that . . .”

“What’s Chainfire?”

That was nearly the first thing he had asked of Nicci, too.

Zedd stood unmoving, a blank look on his face. “Chainfire,” he repeated in a flat tone.

“Yes, Chainfire.”

A serious expression weighing on his face, Zedd considered the question with care, turning toward the fountain as he thought it over. The waiting was almost painful. The fountain burbled and splashed and echoed in the otherwise silent room.

“Chainfire,” Zedd drawled to himself as he ran a sticklike finger along his smooth jawbone while staring into the tumbling, dancing water cascading down each successive tier of the fountain. Nicci stole a glance at Cara, but the Mord-Sith was unreadable. Her drawn face looked as tired and ill-fed as Richard’s, but, being Cara, she stood tall and straight, not allowing her exhaustion to get the better of her.

“That’s right. Chainfire,” Richard said impatiently through gritted teeth. “Do you know what it means?”

Zedd turned back to his grandson, lifting open his hands. He looked not only puzzled but apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Richard, but I’ve never heard the word Chainfire before.”

The fury leaving him, Richard looked like he might fall down. The disappointment was only too evident in his eyes. His shoulders slumped as he let out a breath. Cara carefully, but quietly, slipped a step closer, ready to help him if he collapsed. To Nicci, that looked like a real possibility.

“Richard,” Zedd said, his voice taking on an edge, “where is your sword?”

Richard erupted. “It’s just a piece of steel!”

“Just a piece . . .”

Richard’s face went crimson. “It’s just a stupid chunk of metal! Don’t you think that there might be more important things to worry about?”

Zedd cocked his head. “More important things? What are you talking about?”

“I want my life back!”

Zedd stared at him, but remained silent, and in doing so thereby almost commanded his grandson to say something more to fill in some of the blanks.

Richard paced from the fountain to a broad band of triple steps that led up between two of the red marble pillars. A long red and gold carpet bordered with simple, black geometric designs ran between the pillars off under a balcony and into the darkness.

Richard raked the fingers of both hands back through his hair. “What difference does it make? No one believes me. No one will help me find her.”

Nicci felt a deep sense of sorrow for him. At that moment she regretted every harsh thing she had ever said trying to convince him that he had only dreamed up Kahlan. He needed to be helped over his delusions, but, at that moment, she would have been happy to let him hold on to them if it would have brought the light of life back into his eyes.

She longed to hold him and tell him that it would be all right, but she couldn’t, for more reasons than one.

Cara, arms hanging straight at her sides, looked just as saddened to see Richard agonizing so. There seemed no end in sight. Nicci suspected that the Mord-Sith would have agreed with Nicci to let Richard have his beautiful dream of the woman he loved. But a lie would not soothe such real pain.

“Richard, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but what does it have to do with the Sword of Truth?” Zedd asked, the edge returning to his voice.

Richard closed his eyes a moment against the torment of saying aloud what he had said so many times, so many times when no one ever believed him.

“I have to find Kahlan.”

Nicci could see him draw tighter, bracing for the usual disconcerting questions as to who he was talking about and where he could ever have gotten such a notion. Nicci could see that it was almost too much for him to bear another person telling him he was imagining things, questioning his sanity. She could see him dreading it even more coming from his grandfather.

Zedd tilted his head a little. “Kahlan?”

“Yes,” Richard said with a sigh and without looking up, “Kahlan. But you wouldn’t know who I’m talking about.”

Ordinarily, Richard would have launched into a ready explanation, but now he looked too dejected to want to bother to explain yet again, to be greeted with incredulity and disbelieving questions.

“Kahlan.” Zedd’s brow drew down in cautious query. “Kahlan Amnell? Is that the Kahlan you’re talking about?”

Nicci froze.

Richard looked up, his eyes wide. “What did you say?” he whispered.

“Kahlan Amnell? That Kahlan?”

Nicci’s heart skipped a beat. Cara’s jaw had dropped.

In a blink, Richard had the front of Zedd’s robes in his fists and had lifted the old man clear of the floor. Richard’s sweat-slicked muscles glistened in the lamplight.

“You said her whole name, Kahlan Amnell. I didn’t tell you her whole name. You said it on your own.”

Zedd was looking more confused by the moment. “But, that’s because the only Kahlan I know of is Kahlan Amnell.”

“You know Kahlan—you know who I’m talking about?”

“The Mother Confessor?”

“Yes, the Mother Confessor!”

“Well, of course. Most people know her, I expect. Richard, what’s gotten into you? Let me down.”

Nicci felt dizzy. She couldn’t believe her own ears. How was such a thing possible? It wasn’t. It was so overwhelmingly, inconceivably impossible that she thought she might faint.

His hands trembling, Richard set his grandfather down. “What do you mean, everyone knows her?”

Zedd pulled on each sleeve in turn, pulling them back down his skinny arms. He rearranged his disheveled robes at his hips, all the time watching his grandson. He looked truly bewildered by Richard’s behavior.

“Richard, what’s the matter with you? How could they not know her? She’s the Mother Confessor, for crying out loud.”

Richard swallowed. “Where is she?”

Zedd shot a brief, confused glance at Cara and then Nicci before looking back at Richard.

“Why, down at the Confessors’ Palace.”

Richard let out a cry of joy and threw his arms around his grandfather.