Naked Empire

Chapter 43

“You still have not shown us your magic,” one of the men finally said.

Richard’s hand slipped away from the small of Kahlan’s back as he stepped toward the men.

“Kaja-Rang devised a facet to his magic, linked to the boundary he placed here, to help protect it.” Richard held up the small figure of himself for all the men to see. “This was sent to warn me that the boundary to your land had failed.”

“Why is the top part of it that strange black?” asked a man standing in the front.

“I believe that it’s an indication of how I’m running out of time, how I may be dying.”

Worried whispering swept through the group of men. Richard held up a hand, urging them to listen to him as he went on.

“This sand inside—can you all see this sand?”

Stretching their necks, they all tried to get a look, but not all were close enough, so Richard walked among them, holding up the statue so that they could all see that it looked like him, and see the sand falling inside.

“This is not really sand,” he told them. “It’s magic.”

Owen’s face twisted with skepticism. “But you said we couldn’t see magic.”

“You are all pristinely ungifted and aren’t touched by magic, so you can’t see regular magic. The boundary, however, still prevented you from going out into the world, didn’t it? Why do you suppose that was so?”

“It was a wall of death,” an older man spoke up, seeming to think that it was self-evident.

“But how could it harm people who are not affected by magic? Going into the boundary itself meant death for you the same as anyone else. Why?

“Because the boundary is a place in this world where the underworld also existed. The underworld is the world of the dead. You may be ungifted, but you are mortal; since you are linked to life, so, too, are you linked to death.”

Richard again held the statue up. “This magic, as well, is tied to the underworld. Since you are all mortal, you have a connection to the underworld, to the Keeper’s power, to death. That’s why you can see the sand that shows how my time trickles away.”

“I don’t see anything magical about sand trickling down,” a man grumbled. “Just because you say it’s magic, or that it’s your life trickling away, that doesn’t seem to prove anything.”

Richard turned the statue sideways. The sand continued to flow, but sideways.

Gasps and astonished whispering broke out among the men as they watched the sand flowing laterally.

They crowded in close like curious children to see the statue as Richard held it up, on its side, so they could see magic. Some reached out and tentatively touched the inky black surface as Richard held the figure of himself out for them to inspect. Others leaned close, peering in to see the sand flowing askew in the lower part, where the figure was still transparent.

The men spoke of what a wonder it was, but they weren’t sure about his explanation of underworld magic.

“But we all see this,” one of the men said. “This doesn’t show us that we’re really different from you or anyone else, as you say we are. This shows us only that we are all able to see this magic, the same as you. Maybe we aren’t this pristinely ungifted people you seem to think we are.”

Richard thought about it a moment, thought about what he could do to show them the true aspects of magic. Even though he was gifted, he didn’t know a great deal about controlling his own gift, except that it was in part powered by anger linked to need. He couldn’t simply demonstrate some bit of magic the way Zedd could, and besides, even if he could do something magical, they wouldn’t be able to see it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Richard saw Cara standing with her arms folded. An idea came to him.

“The bond between the Lord Rahl and his people is a bond of magic,” Richard said. “That same magic powers other things, besides the protection that the bond affords against the dream walker.”

Richard gestured for Cara to come forward. “In addition to being my friend, Cara is also a Mord-Sith. For thousands of years Mord-Sith have been fierce protectors of the Lord Rahl.” Richard lifted Cara’s arm for the men to see the red rod hanging from the fine gold chain at her wrist. “This is an Agiel, the weapon of a Mord-Sith. The Agiel is powered by a Mord-Sith’s connection to the Lord Rahl—to me.”

“But it has no blade on it,” a man said as he looked closely at the Agiel swinging on the end of the gold chain. “It has nothing of any use as a weapon.”

“Take a closer look at it,” Richard suggested as he held Cara’s elbow and guided her forward, among the men. “Look at it closely to satisfy yourself that what this man has observed, that it has no blade, that it is nothing more than this slender rod, is true.”

The men leaned in close as Cara walked among them, holding her arm up, letting the men touch and inspect her Agiel as it dangled from its chain.

When they had all had a look, inspecting the length of it, looking at the end, hefting it to see that it wasn’t heavy and couldn’t really be used as a club, Richard told Cara to touch it to the men. The Agiel spun up into her fist. Men flinched back at the grim look on her face as she came at them with the thing that Richard had told them was a weapon.

Cara touched her Agiel to Owen’s shoulder.

“She touched me with this red rod before,” he assured his men. “It does nothing.”

Cara pressed the Agiel to every man close enough for her to reach. A few cringed back, fearful of being harmed, even though it had harmed none of their fellows. Many of the men, though, felt the touch of her Agiel and were satisfied that there was no ill effect.

Richard rolled up his sleeve. “Now, I will show you that this really is a powerful weapon of magic.”

He held his arm out to Cara. “Draw blood,” he said in a calm voice that did not betray what he really thought of being touched by an Agiel.

Cara stared at him. “Lord Rahl, I don’t—”

“Do it,” Richard commanded as he held his arm out.

“Here,” Tom said, thrusting his bared arm in front of her. “Do it to me, instead.”

Cara immediately saw this as a preferable test.

“No!” Jennsen objected, but too late.

Tom cried out as Cara touched the end of her Agiel to his arm. He staggered back a step, a trickle of blood running down his arm. The men stared, unsure what they were seeing.

“It must be a trick of some kind,” one suggested.

As Jennsen comforted Tom, Richard held his arm out again.

“Show them,” he told Cara. “Show them what a Mord-Sith’s Agiel can do with magic alone.”

Cara looked into his eyes. “Lord Rahl . . .”

“Do it. Show them, so they understand.” He turned to the men. “Gather around closer so you can see that it does its terrible task with no visible means. Watch closely so that you can all see that it’s magic alone doing its grisly work.”

Richard clenched his fist as he held the inside of his arm up for her to touch. “Do it so that they can clearly see what it will do; otherwise it will be for nothing. Don’t make me do this for nothing.”

Cara pressed her lips tight with the displeasure of his command. She looked once more at the resolve in his eyes. When she did, he could see in her blue eyes the pain it gave her to hold the Agiel. He clenched his teeth and nodded that he was ready. With an iron visage, she laid the Agiel against the inside of his forearm.

It felt like lightning hit him.

The touch of the Agiel was out of all proportion to what it would appear it should feel like. The thunderous jolt of pain shot up his arm. The shock of it slammed into his shoulder. It felt like the bones in his entire arm shattered. Teeth gritted, he held his trembling arm out as Cara slowly dragged the Agiel down toward his wrist. Blood-filled blisters rose in its wake. Blood gushed down his arm.

Richard held his breath, kept his abdominal muscles tight, as he went to one knee, not because he intended to, but because he couldn’t remain standing under the weight of pain as he held his arm up for Cara as she pressed the Agiel to it. The men gasped as they watched, shocked at the blood, the obvious pain. They whispered their astonishment.

Cara withdrew the weapon. Richard released the rigid tension in his muscles, bending forward as he panted, trying to catch his breath, trying to remain upright. Blood dripped off his fingers.

Kahlan was there beside him with a small scarf Jennsen pulled from a pocket. “Are you out of your mind?” she hissed heatedly as she wrapped his bleeding arm.

“Thanks,” he said in response to her care, not wanting to address her question.

He couldn’t make his fingers stop trembling. Cara had held little back.

He was sure that she hadn’t broken any bones, but it felt as if she had. He could feel tears of pain running down his face.

When Kahlan finished, Cara put a hand under his arm and helped him to his feet. “The Mother Confessor is right,” she growled under her breath. “You are out of your mind.”

Richard didn’t argue the need of what he’d had her do, but instead turned to the men. He held his arm out. A wet crimson stain slowly grew along the length of the scarf bandage.

“There is powerful magic for you. You can’t see the magic, but you can see the results. That magic can kill, should Cara wish it.” The men cast worried glances her way, viewing her with newfound respect. “But it could not harm you men because you have no ability to interact with such magic. Only those born with the spark of the gift can feel the touch of an Agiel.”

The mood had changed. The sight of blood had sobered everyone.

Richard paced slowly before the men. “I’ve given you the truth in all that I’ve told you. I’ve kept nothing important or relevant from you, nor will I. I’ve told you who I am, who you are, and how we’ve come to this point. If there is anything you wish to know, I will give you my truthful answer.”

When Richard paused, the men looked around at one another, seeing if anyone would ask a question. No one did.

“The time has come,” Richard said, “for you men to decide your future and the future of your loved ones. Today is the day upon which that future hinges.”

Richard gestured toward Owen. “I know that Owen had a woman he loved, Marilee, who was taken away by the Order. I know that each of you has suffered great loss at the hands of the men of the Imperial Order. I don’t know all your names, yet, or the names of the loved ones taken from you, but please believe me when I tell you that I know such pain.

“While I understand how you came to the point where you thought you had no options but to poison me, it wasn’t right for you to have done so.” Many men looked away from Richard’s gaze, casting their own downward. “I’m going to give you a chance to set the proper course for yourselves and your loved ones.”

He let them consider this a moment before going on. “You men have passed many tests to make it this far, to have survived this long in such a brutal situation as you have all faced, but now you must make a choice.”

Richard rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I want to know where you’ve hidden the antidote to the poison you’ve given me.”

Worried looks spread through the crowd. Men glanced to the side, trying to judge the feelings of their fellows, trying to see what they would do.

Owen, too, tried to gauge the reaction of his friends, but being just as uncertain as he, they offered no firm indication of what they wanted to do. Finally he licked his lips and timidly asked a question.

“If we say that we will tell you where the antidote is, will you agree to first give us your word that you will help us?”

Richard resumed his measured pacing. The men nervously waited for his answer as they watched blood drip off his fingers, leaving a trail of crimson drops on the stone.

“No,” Richard said. “I will not allow you to link two separate issues. It was wrong to poison me. This is your chance to reverse that wrong. Linking it to any concession perpetuates the fallacy that it can somehow be justified. Telling me where you’ve hidden the antidote is the only proper thing for you to do, now, and must be without condition. This is the day you must decide how you will live your future. Until you give me your decision, I will tell you nothing more.”

Some of the men looked on the verge of panic, some on the verge of tears. Owen prodded them all back, away from Richard, so that they could discuss it among themselves.

“No,” Richard said, his pacing coming to a halt. The men all fell silent and turned back toward him. “I don’t want any of you coming to a decision because of what another says. I want each of you to give me your own personal decision.”

The men stared. A number spoke up all at once, wanting to know what he meant.

“I want to know, without any preconditions, what each individual chooses to do—to free me of the poison, or to use it as a threat on my life to gain my cooperation. I want to know each man’s choice.”

“But we must reach a consensus,” one man said.

“For what purpose?” Richard asked.

“In order for our decision to be correct,” he explained. “No proper decision about the right course of action in any important situation can be made without a consensus.”

“You are attempting to give moral authority to mob rule,” Richard said.

“But a consensus points to the proper moral judgment,” another man insisted, “because it is the will of the people.”

“I see,” Richard said. “So what you’re saying is that if all of you men decide to rape my sister, here, then it’s a moral act because you have a consensus to rape her, and if I oppose you, I’m immoral for standing alone and failing to have a consensus behind me. That about the way you men see it?”

The men shrank back in confused revulsion. One spoke up.

“Well . . . no, not exactly—”

“Right and wrong are not the product of consensus,” Richard said, cutting him off. “You are trying to make a virtue of mob rule. Rational moral choices are based on the value of life, not a consensus. A consensus can’t make the sun rise at midnight, nor can it change a wrong into a right, or the other way around. If something is wrong, it matters not if a thousand other men are for it; you must still oppose it. If something is just, no amount of popular outcry should stay you from your course.

“I’ll not hear any more of this empty gibberish about a consensus. You are not a flock of geese; you are men. I will know the mind of each of you.”

He gestured to the ground at their feet. “Everyone, pick up two pebbles.”

Richard watched as the bewildered men hesitantly bent and did his bidding.

“Now,” Richard said, “you will put either one or both pebbles in a closed fist. Each of you will come up to me, to the man you poisoned, and you will open your fist so that I can see your decision but the others can’t.

“One pebble will mean no, you will not tell me where the antidote is located unless I first pledge to try to free your people. Two pebbles in your one fist will mean yes, you agree to tell me, without any precondition, where to find the antidote to the poison you’ve given me.”

“But what will happen if we agree to tell you?” one of the men asked. “Will you still give us our freedom?”

Richard shrugged. “After each of you has given me your answer, you will all find out mine. If you tell me the location of the antidote, I may help you, or once I’m free of your poison, I may leave you and return to taking care of my own urgent problems. You will only find out after you’ve given me your answer.

“Now, turn away from your friends and put either one pebble in your fist for no or two pebbles to agree to reveal the location of the poison. When you’ve finished, come forward one at a time and open your hand to show me your own individual decision.”

The men milled around, casting sidelong glances at one another, but as he’d instructed, they refrained from discussing the matter. Each man finally set about privately slipping pebbles into his fist.

As the men were occupied, Cara and Kahlan moved in close around Richard. It looked like the two of them had been reaching conclusions of their own.

Cara seized his arm. “Are you crazy?” she whispered in an angry tone.

“You’ve both already asked me that today.”

“Lord Rahl, need I remind you that you once before called for a vote and it only got you into trouble? You said you would not do such a foolish thing again.”

“Cara is right,” Kahlan argued in a low voice so the men couldn’t hear.

“This time is different.”

“It’s not different,” Cara snapped. “It’s trouble.”

“It’s different,” he insisted. “I’ve told them what’s right and why; now they must decide if they will choose to do the right thing or not.”

“You’re allowing others to decide your future,” Kahlan said. “You’re placing your fate in their hands.”

Richard let out a deep breath as he gazed into Kahlan’s green eyes and then the icy blue eyes of the Mord-Sith. “I have to do this. Now, let them come up and show me their decision.”

Cara stormed off to stand back by the statue of Kaja-Rang. Kahlan gave his arm a squeeze, offering her silent support, accepting his decision even if she didn’t understand his reasons. A brief smile of appreciation was all he could manage before she turned and walked back to stand by Cara, Jennsen, and Tom.

Richard turned away, not wanting to let Kahlan see how much pain he was in. The ache from the poison was slowly creeping back up his chest. Every breath hurt. His arm still trembled with the lingering ache of being touched by an Agiel. The worst, though, was the headache. He wondered if Cara could see it in his eyes. After all, the business of Mord-Sith was pain.

He knew he couldn’t wait until after helping these men fight off the Order before getting the antidote to the poison. He had no idea how to rid their empire of the Imperial Order. He couldn’t even rid his own empire of the invaders.

Worse, though, he could feel that he was running out of time. His gift was giving him the headaches and, if not attended to, would eventually kill him, but worse, it was weakening him, allowing the poison to work faster.

With each passing day he was having more and more difficulty working past the poison.

If he could get these men to agree to do this, to tell him where they’d hidden the antidote, then he might be able to recover it in time.

If not, then his chance to live was as good as over.