Faith of the Fallen

Chapter 9

Huge garish tents festooned the prominent hill outside the city of Fairfield, yet despite the festive colors erected amid the gloom, despite the laughing, the shouting, the coarse singing, and the riotous excess, this was no carnival come to town, but an occupying army. The emperor’s tents, and those of his retinue, were styled in the fashion of the tents used by some of the nomadic people from Jagang’s homeland of Altur’Rang, yet they were embellished far beyond any actual tradition. The emperor, a man vastly exceeding any nomadic tribal leader’s ability to imagine, created his own cultural heritage as he saw fit.

Around the tents, covering the hills and valleys as far as Nicci could see, the soldiers had pitched their own small grimy tents. Some were oiled canvas, many more were made from animal skins. Beyond the shared basics of practicality, there was uniformity only in their lack of conformity to any one style.

Outside some of the shabby little tents, and almost as large, sat ornate upholstered chairs looted from the city. The juxtaposition almost looked as if it had been intentionally done for a comical effect, but Nicci knew the reality had no kinship to humor. When the army eventually moved on, such large, meticulously crafted items were too cumbersome to take and would be left to rot in the weather.

Horses were picketed haphazardly, with occasional paddocks holding small herds. Other enclosures held meat on the hoof. Individual wagons were scattered here and there, seemingly wherever they could find an empty spot, but in other places they had been set up side by side. Many were camp followers, others were army wagons with everything from basic supplies to blacksmith equipment. The army brought along minimal siege equipment; they had the gifted to use as weapons of that sort.

Brooding clouds scudded low over the scene. The humid air reeked of excrement from both animals and men. The green fields all around had been churned to a muddy morass. The two thousand men who had returned with Nicci had disappeared into the sprawling camp like a sprinkling of raindrops into a swamp.

An Imperial Order army encampment was a place of noise and seeming confusion, yet it was not as disorderly as it might appear. There was a hierarchy of authority, and duties and chores to attend. Scattered men worked in solitude on their gear, oiling weapons and leather or rolling their chain mail inside barrels with sand and vinegar to clean it of rust, while others cooked at fires. Furriers saw to the horses. Craftsmen saw to everything from repairing weapons to fashioning new boots to pulling teeth.

Mystics of all sorts prowled the camp, tending impoverished souls or warding troublesome demons. Duties completed, raucous gangs gathered together for entertainment, usually gambling and drinking. Sometimes the diversions involved the camp followers, sometimes the captives.

Even surrounded by such vast numbers, Nicci felt alone. Jagang’s absence from her mind left a feeling of staggering isolation—not a sense of being forsaken, but simply solitude by contrast. With the dream walker in her mind, not even the most intimate detail of life—no thought, no deed—could be held private. His presence lurked in the dark mental corners, and from there he could watch everything: every word you spoke; every thought you had; every bite you took; every time you cleared your throat; every time you coughed; every time you went to the privy. You were never alone. Never. The violation was debilitating, the trespass complete.

That was what broke most of the Sisters: the brutal totality of it, the awareness of his constant presence in your own mind, watching. Worse, almost, the dream walker’s roots sunk down through you, but you never knew when his awareness was focused on you. You might call him a vile name, and, with his attention elsewhere, it would go unnoticed. Another time, you might have a brief, private, nasty thought about him, and he would know it the same instant you thought it.

Nicci had learned to feel those roots, as had many of the other Sisters. She had also learned to recognize when they were absent, as now.

That never happened with the others; with them, those roots were permanent.

Jagang always eventually returned, though, to once again sink his roots into her, but for now, she was alone. She just didn’t know why.

The jumble of troops and campfires left no clear route for the team, so Nicci had left her carriage for the walk the rest of the way up the hill. It exposed her to the lecherous looks and lewd calls of the soldiers who crowded the slope. She supposed that before Jagang was finished with her, she might be exposed to far more from the men. Most of the Sisters were sent out to the tents from time to time to be used for the men’s pleasure. It was done either to punish them or, sometimes, merely to let them know it could be ordered on a whim—to remind them that they were slaves, nothing more than property.

Nicci, though, was reserved for the exclusive amusement of the emperor and those he specifically selected—like Kadar Kardeef. Many of the Sisters envied her status, but despite what they believed, being a personal slave to Jagang was no grace. Women were sent to the tents for a period of time, maybe a week or two, but the rest of the time they had less demanding duties. They were valued, after all, for their abilities with their gift.

There was no such time limit for Nicci. She had once spent a couple of months sequestered in Jagang’s room, so as to be there for his amusement any time of day or night. The soldiers enjoyed the women’s company, but had to mind certain restrictions in what they could do to them; Jagang and his friends imposed on themselves no such limits.

On occasion, for reason or not, Jagang would become furious at her and would heatedly order her to the tents for a month—to teach her a lesson, he would say. Nicci would obediently bow and pledge it would be as he wished.

He knew she was not bluffing; it would have been a lesser torment. Before she could be out the door to the tents, he would turn moody, command her to return to face him, and then angrily retract the orders.

Since the beginning, Nicci had, measure by measure, inch by inch, acquired a certain status and freedom afforded none of the others. She hadn’t specifically sought it; it just came about. Jagang had confided to her that he read the Sisters’ thoughts, and that they privately referred to her as the Slave Queen. She supposed Jagang told her so as to honor her in his own way, but the title “Slave Queen” had meant no more to her than “Death’s Mistress.”

For now, she floated like a bright water-lily flower in the dark swamp of men. Other Sisters always made an attempt to look as drab as the men so as to go less noticed and be less desirable. They only deceived themselves.

They lived in constant terror of what Jagang might do to them. What happened, happened. They had no choice or influence in it.

Nicci simply didn’t care. She wore her fine black dresses and left her long blond hair uncovered for all to see. For the most part, she did as she wished. She didn’t care what Jagang did to her, and he knew it. In much the way Richard was an enigma to her, she was an enigma to Jagang.

Too, Jagang was fascinated by her. Despite his cruelty toward her, there was a spark of caution mixed in. When he hurt her, she welcomed it; she merited the brutality. Pain could sometimes reach down into the dark emptiness. He would then recoil from hurting her. When he threatened to kill her, she waited patiently for it to be done; she knew she didn’t deserve to live. He would then withdraw the sentence of death.

The fact that she was sincere was her safety—and her peril. She was a fawn among wolves, safe in her coat of indifference. The fawn was in danger only if it ran. She did not view her captivity as a conflict with her interests; she had no interests. Time and again she had the opportunity to run, but didn’t. That, perhaps more than anything, captivated Jagang.

Sometimes, he seemed to pay court to her. She didn’t know his real interest in her; she never tried to discover it. He occasionally professed concern for her, and a few times, something akin to affection. Other times, when she left on some duty, he seemed glad to be rid of her.

It had occurred to her, because of his behavior, that he might think he was in love with her. As preposterous as such a thought might be, it didn’t matter one way or the other to her. She doubted he was capable of love. She seriously doubted that Jagang really knew what the word meant, much less the entire concept.

Nicci knew all too well what it meant.

A soldier near Jagang’s tent stepped in front of her. He grinned moronically; it was meant to be an invitation by means of threat. She could have dissuaded him by mentioning that Jagang waited for her, or she could even have used her power to drop him where he stood, but instead she simply stared at him. It was not the reaction he wanted. Many of the men rose to the bait only if it squirmed. When she didn’t, his expression turned sour.

He grumbled a curse at her and moved off.

Nicci continued on toward the emperor’s tent. Nomadic tents from Altur’Rang were actually quite small and practical, being made of bland, unadorned lambskin, Jagang had re-created them rather more grandly than the originals. His own was more oval than round. Three poles, rather than the customary one, held up the multipeaked roof. The tent’s exterior walls were decorated with brightly embroidered panels. Around the top edge of the sides, where the roof met the walls, hung fistsized multicolored tassels and streamers that marked the traveling palace of the emperor. Banners and pennants of bright yellow and red atop the huge tent hung limp in the stale, late-afternoon air.

Outside, a woman beat small rugs hung over one of the tent’s lines.

Nicci lifted aside the heavy doorway curtain embellished with gold shields and hammered silver medallions depicting battle scenes. Inside, slaves were at work sweeping the expanse of carpets, dusting the delicate ceramic ware set about on the elaborate furnishings, and fussing at the hundreds of colorful pillows lining the edge of the floor. Hangings richly decorated with traditional Altur’Rang designs divided the space into several rooms. A few openings overhead covered with gauzy material let in a little light. All the thick materials created a quiet place amid the noise. Lamps and candles lent sleepy light to the soft room.

Nicci did not acknowledge the eyes of the guards flanking the inside of the doorway, or those of the other slaves going about their domestic duties.

In the middle of the front room sat Jagang’s ornate chair, draped with red silks. This was where he sometimes took audiences, but the chair was empty.

She didn’t falter, as did other women summoned by His Excellency, but strode resolutely toward his bedroom in the rear section.

One of the slaves, a nearly naked boy looking to be in his late teens, was down on his hands and knees with a small whiskbroom sweeping the carpet set before the entrance to the bedroom. Without meeting Nicci’s gaze, he informed her that His Excellency was not occupying his tents. The young man, Irwin, was gifted. He had lived at the Palace of the Prophets, training to be a wizard. Now Irwin tended the fringe of carpets and emptied the chamber pots. Nicci’s mother would have approved.

Jagang could be any number of places. He might be off gambling or drinking with his men. He could be inspecting his troops or the craftsmen who attended them. He might be looking over the new captives, selecting those he wanted for himself. He might be talking with Kadar Kardeef’s second.

Nicci saw several Sisters cowering in a corner. Like her, they, too, were Jagang’s slaves. As she strode up to the three women, she saw that they were busy sewing, mending some of the tent’s gear.

“Sister Nicci!” Sister Georgia rushed to her feet as a look of relief washed across her face. “We didn’t know if you were alive or dead. We haven’t seen you for so long. We thought maybe you had vanished.”

Being that Nicci was a Sister of the Dark, sworn to the Keeper of the underworld, she found the concern from three Sisters of the Light to be somewhat insincere. Nicci supposed that they considered their captivity a common bond, and their feelings about it paramount, overcoming their more basic rifts. Too, they knew Jagang treated her differently; they were probably eager to be seen as friendly.

“I’ve been away on business for His Excellency.”

“Of course,” Sister Georgia said, dry-washing her hands as she dipped her head.

The other two, Sisters Rochelle and Aubrey, set aside the bag of bone buttons and tent thread, untangled themselves from yards of canvas, and then stood beside Sister Georgia. They both bowed their heads slightly to Nicci.

The three of them feared her inscrutable standing with Jagang.

“Sister Nicci . . . His Excellency is very angry,” Sister Rochelle said.

“Furious,” Sister Aubrey confirmed. “He . . . he railed at the walls, saying that you had gone too far this time.”

Nicci only stared.

Sister Aubrey licked her lips. “We just thought you should know. So you can be careful.”

Nicci thought this would be a poor time to suddenly begin being careful. She found the groveling of women hundreds of years her senior annoying. “Where’s Jagang?”

“He has taken a grand building, not far outside the city, as his quarters,” Sister Aubrey said.

“It used to be the Minister of Culture’s estate,” Sister Rochelle added.

Nicci frowned. “Why? He has his tents.”

“Since you’ve been gone, he’s decided that an emperor needs proper quarters,” Sister Rochelle said.

“Proper? Proper for what?”

“To show the world his importance, I suppose.”

Sister Aubrey nodded. “He’s having a palace built. In Altur’Rang. It’s his new vision.” She arced an arm through the air, apparently indicating, with the slice of her hand, the grand scale of the place. “He’s ordered a magnificent palace built.”

“He was planning on using the Palace of the Prophets,” Sister Rochelle said, “but since it was destroyed he’s decided to build another, only better—the most opulent palace ever conceived.”

Nicci frowned at the three women. “He wanted the Palace of the Prophets because it had a spell to slow aging. That was what interested him.”

All three women shrugged.

Nicci began to get an inkling of what Jagang might have in mind. “So, this place he’s at now? What is he doing? Learning to eat with something other than his fingers? Seeing how he likes living the fancy life under a roof?”

“He only told us he was staying there for now,” Sister Georgia said.

“He took most of the . . . younger women with him. He told us to stay here and see to things in case he wished to return to his tent.”

It didn’t sound like much had changed, except the setting.

Nicci sighed. Her carriage was gone. She would have to walk.

“All right. How do I find the place?”

After Sister Aubrey gave her detailed directions, Nicci thanked them and turned to go.

“Sister Alessandra has vanished,” Sister Georgia said in a voice straining mightily to sound nonchalant.

Nicci stopped in her tracks.

She rounded on Sister Georgia. The woman was middle aged, and seemed to look worse every time Nicci saw her. Her clothes were little more than tattered rags she wore with the pride of a fine uniform. Her thin hair was more white than brown. It might once have looked distinguished, but it didn’t appear to have seen a brush, much less soap, for weeks. She was probably infested with lice, too.

Some people looked forward to age as an excuse to become a frump, as if all along their greatest ambition in life had been to be drab and unattractive. Sister Georgia seemed to delight in dowdiness.

“What do you mean, Sister Alessandra has vanished?”

Nicci caught the slight twitch of satisfaction. Georgia spread her hands innocently. “We don’t know what happened. She’s just turned up missing.”

Still, Nicci did not move. “I see.”

Sister Georgia spread her hands again, feigning simplemindedness. “It was about the time the Prelate disappeared, too.”

Nicci denied them the reward of astonishment.

“What was Verna doing here?”

“Not Verna,” Sister Rochelle said. She leaned in. “Ann.”

Sister Georgia scowled her displeasure at Rochelle for spoiling the surprise—and a surprise it was. The old Prelate had died—at least, that was what Nicci had been told. Since leaving the Place of the Prophets, Nicci had heard about all the other Sisters, novices, and young men spending the night at the funeral pyre for Ann and the prophet, Nathan. Knowing Ann, there was obviously some sort of deception afoot, but even for her, such a thing would be extraordinary.

The three Sisters smiled like cats with a carp. They looked eager for a long game of truth-and-gossip.

“Give me the important details. I don’t have time for the long version. His Excellency wishes to see me.” Nicci took in the three wilting smiles.

She kept her voice level. “Unless you want to risk him returning here, angry and impatient to see me.”

Sisters Rochelle and Aubrey blanched.

Georgia abandoned the game and went back to dry-washing her hands. “The Prelate came to the camp when you were gone—and was captured.”

“Why would she come into Jagang’s midst?”

“To try to convince us to escape with her,” Sister Rochelle blurted out. A shrill titter jittery, rather than amused-burbled up. “She had some silly story about the chimes being loose and magic failing. Imagine that! Wild stories, they were. Expected us to believe—”

“So that was what happened . . .” Nicci whispered as she stared off in reflection. She realized instantly it was no wild story. Pieces began fitting together. Nicci used her gift, the others weren’t allowed to, so they might not know if magic had failed for a time.

“That’s what she claimed,” Sister Georgia said.

“So, magic had failed,” Nicci reasoned aloud, “and she thought that would prevent the dream walker from controlling your minds.”

That might explain much of what Nicci didn’t understand: why Jagang sometimes couldn’t enter her mind.

“But if the chimes are loose—”

“Were,” Sister Georgia said. “Even if it was true, for a time, they now have been banished. His Excellency has full access to us, I’m happy to say, and everything else concerning magic has returned to normal.”

Nicci could almost see the three of them wondering if Jagang was listening to their words. But if magic was returned to normal, Jagang should be in Nicci’s mind; he wasn’t. She felt the spark of a possible understanding fizzle and die. “So, the Prelate made a blunder and Jagang caught her.”

“Well . . . not exactly,” Sister Rochelle said. “Sister Georgia went and got the guards. We turned her in, as was our duty.”

Nicci burst out with a laugh. “Her own Sisters of the Light? How ironic! She risks her life, while the chimes have interrupted magic, to come and save your worthless hides, and instead of escaping with her, you turn her in. How fitting.”

“We had to!” Sister Georgia protested. “His Excellency would have wished it. Our place is to serve. We know better than to try to escape. We know our place.”

Nicci surveyed their tense faces, these women sworn to the Creator’s light, these Sisters of the Light who had worked hundreds of years in His name. “Yes, you do.”

“You’d have done the same,” Sister Aubrey snapped. “We had to, or His Excellency would have taken it out on the others. It was our duty to the welfare of the others—and that includes you, I might add. We couldn’t think only of ourselves, or Ann, but had to think of what was good for everyone.”

Nicci felt the numb indifference smothering her. “Fine, so you betrayed the Prelate.” Only a spark of curiosity remained. “But what made her think she could escape with you for good? Surely, she must have had some plan for the chimes. What was she expecting to happen when Jagang once again had access to your minds?—and hers?”

“His Excellency is always with us,” Sister Aubrey insisted. “Ann was just trying to fill our heads with her preposterous notions. We know better. The rest of it was just a trick, too. We were too smart for her.”

“Rest of it? What was the rest of her plan?”

Sister Georgia huffed her indignation. “She tried to tell us some foolishness about a bond to Richard Rahl.”

Nicci blinked. She concentrated on keeping her breathing even. “Bond? What nonsense are you talking about, now?”

Sister Georgia met Nicci’s gaze squarely. “She insisted that if we swore allegiance to Richard, it would protect us. She claimed some magic of his would keep Jagang from our mind.”

“How?”

Sister Georgia shrugged. “She claimed this bond business protected people’s minds from dream walkers. But we aren’t that gullible.”

To still her fingers, Nicci pressed her hands to her thighs. “I don’t understand. How would such a thing work?”

“She said something about it being inherited from his ancestor. She claimed that we had but to swear loyalty to him, loyalty in our hearts—or some such nonsense. To tell the truth, it was so preposterous I wasn’t really paying that much attention. She claimed that was why Jagang couldn’t enter her mind.”

Nicci was staggered. Of course . . .

She had always wondered why Jagang didn’t capture the rest of the Sisters. There were many more still free. They were protected by this bond to Richard. It had to be true. It made sense. Her own leader, sister Ulicia, and Richard’s other teachers had escaped, too. But that didn’t seem to make sense; they were Sisters of the Dark—like Nicci—they would have had to swear loyalty to Richard. Nicci couldn’t imagine such a thing.

But then, Jagang was often unable to enter Nicci’s mind.

“You said Sister Alessandra has vanished.”

Sister Georgia fussed with the collar of her scruffy dress. “She and Ann both vanished.”

“Jagang doesn’t bother to inform you of his actions. Perhaps he simply had them put to death.”

Georgia glanced at her companions. “Well . . . maybe. But Sister Alessandra was one of yours . . . a Sister of the Dark. She was caring for Ann—”

“Why weren’t you caring for her? You are her Sisters.”

Sister Georgia cleared her throat. “She threw such a fit about us that His Excellency assigned Sister Alessandra to look after her.”

Nicci could only imagine that it must have been quite a fit. But after being betrayed by her own Sisters, it was understandable. Jagang would have thought the woman valuable enough that he wanted to keep her alive.

“As we marched into the city, the wagon with Ann’s cage never showed up,” Sister Georgia went on. “One of the drivers finally came around with a bloody head and reported that the last thing he saw before the world went dark was Sister Alessandra. Now the two of them are gone.”

Nicci felt her fingernails digging into her palms. She made herself relax her fists. “So, Ann offered you all freedom, and you chose instead to continue to be slaves.”

The three women lifted their noses. “We did what is best for everyone,” Sister Georgia said. “We are Sisters of the Light. Our duty is not to ourselves, but to relieve the suffering of others—not cause it.”

“Besides,” Sister Aubrey added, “we don’t see you leaving. Seems you’ve been free of His Excellency from time to time, and you don’t go.”

Nicci frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Well, I, I mean . . .” Sister Aubrey stammered.

Nicci seized the woman by the throat. “I asked you a question. Answer it.”

Sister Aubrey’s face reddened as Nicci added the force of her gift to the grip. The tendons in her wrist stood out with the strain. The woman’s eyes showed white all around as Nicci’s power began squeezing the life from her. Unlike Nicci, Jagang possessed their minds, and they were prohibited from using their power except at his direction.

Sister Georgia gently placed a hand on Nicci’s forearm. “His Excellency questioned us about it, that’s all, Sister. Let her go. Please?”

Nicci released the woman but turned her glare on Sister Georgia.

“Questioned you? What do you mean? What did he say?”

“He simply wanted to know if we knew why he was from time to time blocked from your mind.”

“He hurt us,” Sister Rochelle said. “He hurt us with his questions, because we had no answer. We don’t understand it.”

For the first time, Nicci did.

Sister Aubrey comforted her throat. “What is it with you, Sister Nicci? Why is it His Excellency is so curious about you? Why is it you can resist him?”

Nicci turned and walked away. “Thank you for the help, Sisters.”

“If you can be free of him, why do you not leave?” Sister Georgia called out.

Nicci turned back from the doorway. “I enjoy seeing Jagang torment you Witches of the Light. I stay around so that I might watch.”

They were unmoved by her insolence—they were accustomed to it.

“Sister Nicci,” Rochelle said, smoothing back her frizz of hair. “What did you do that made His Excellency so angry?”

“What? Oh, that. Nothing of importance. I just had the men tie Commander Kardeef to a pole and roast him over a fire.”

The three of them gasped as they straightened as one. They reminded Nicci of three owls on a branch.

Sister Georgia fixed Nicci with a grim glare, a rare blaze of authority born of seniority.

“You deserve everything Jagang does to you, Sister—and what the Keeper will do to you, too.”

Nicci smiled and said, “Yes, I do,” before ducking through the tent opening.