Soul of the Fire

Chapter 57

Dalton gazed out of the window of his office as he listened to Stein reporting the number and location of Imperial Order soldiers now stationed as special Anderith guard troops inside Anderith. The Dominie Dirtch were as good as in Jagang’s hands. Should Lord Rahl bring his forces—if he even had any close enough—toward Anderith, he would quickly be a leader without an army to lead.

“The emperor also sent word that he wishes me to personally express, on his behalf, his appreciation for the efficient cooperation he has been receiving. From my men’s reports, the Minister looks to have done a remarkable job of taking the teeth out of the Anderith army. They will present even less of an obstacle than we thought.”

Dalton looked back over his shoulder, but saw no smirk on the man’s face. He put his boots up on Dalton’s desk and leaned back in his chair to clean his fingernails with a dagger. Stein looked contented.

Dalton reached over and picked up the useless but valuable little book the woman had brought up from the library, the book once belonging to Joseph Ander. He set it on the other side of his desk so Stein’s boots wouldn’t damage it.

From what Teresa reported to him, Dalton thought Stein should have every reason to be contented, what with the number of women living their daydreams by tattling to eager ears the raw excitement they had found in the bed of the foreign savage. The more outrageously he treated them, the more delighted they were to gossip about it.

With the number of women offering themselves willingly, Dalton found it remarkable the man would so frequently still turn his lust on the unwilling. He guessed Stein found the thrill of vanquishing by force more satisfying.

“Yes, the Anderith army looks real pretty, standing there behind the Dominie Dirtch.” Stein grinned. “But their false pride will be of little use to them when they must meet the true face of war.”

“We have kept our part of the bargain.”

“Believe me, Campbell, I know the worth of you and the Minister. Farming may be less glamorous than conquest, but without food, an army grinds to a halt. None of us wishes to take up the pastime of tending the land, but we wish to continue eating. We understand your worth in knowing how to keep the system going. You will be a valuable asset to our cause.

“And Emperor Jagang wishes me to assure you he looks forward to rewarding such good works, once he arrives.”

Dalton kept the problems to himself. “When might we expect his arrival?”

“Soon,” Stein said, dismissing further detail with a shrug. “But he is concerned about the situation with Lord Rahl. He is leery as to why you would seem to put faith in an outcome so fickle as the voice of the common people.”

“I must admit, I share his concern.” Dalton heaved a sigh. He still wished Bertrand had chosen a less risky road, but as Dalton had come to learn, Bertrand Chanboor relished the risky route, much as Stein preferred unwilling partners.

“But, as I’ve explained,” Dalton went on, “by such tactics we will be able to trap Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor. Without them to lead the enemy forces, the war will quickly fall into a rout leaving the Midlands a plum for Jagang’s picking.”

“And so the emperor is content to let you play this out.”

“But, there are risks involved.”

“Risks? Anything I can do to help?”

Dalton took his seat, scooting his chair close to his desk.

“I believe we must do more to discredit the cause of Lord Rahl, but in that, there is danger. Mother Confessors, after all, have ruled the Midlands for thousands of years. They have not held sway because they have nice smiles. They are women with formidable teeth, as it were.

“The Lord Rahl, too, is said to be a wizard. We must tread with care, lest we force them into abandoning this vote in favor of action. If that were to happen, it could ruin the plans in which we all have so much invested.”

“I told you, we have troops in place. Even if they have an army anywhere close, they can’t get it into Anderith, not past the Dominie Dirtch.” Stein chuckled without humor. “But I would be happy to have them try.”

“As would I. The point is, the Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor are here, and they are trouble enough.”

“I’ve told you before, Campbell, you shouldn’t worry about magic. The emperor has clipped the claws of magic.”

Dalton carefully folded his fingers together before himself on the desk. “You say that often enough, Stein, and as much as I wish to, I find little comfort in mere words. I, too, could promise things, but you expect results that can be seen.”

Stein waved his knife. “I’ve told you before, the emperor intends to end magic so men of vision can lead the world into a new era. You will be part of that. Magic’s time has passed. It is dying.”

“So is the Sovereign, but he’s not yet dead.”

Stein went back to cleaning his nails, paying exaggerated attention to them. He seemed undaunted by Dalton’s doubts and went on to try to dispel them.

“You will be pleased to know, then, that unlike your beloved Sovereign, the bear of magic no longer has fangs—it is toothless. It is no longer a weapon to be feared.”

Stein lifted the corner of his cape made of human scalps. “Those of magic’s talents will contribute to my collection. I take the scalps while they are still alive, you know. I enjoy their screams while I’m cutting it off them.”

Dalton was unimpressed by the man’s boasting and his attempts to shock, but wished he knew what Stein was talking about when he alluded to the end of magic. He knew from Franca’s inability to use her gift that something was going on, but he didn’t know what or, more important, the extent to which it was impaired. He didn’t know if Stein was telling the simple truth, or an ignorant version of wishful thinking layered over some Old World superstition.

Either way, the time had come to act. They could ill afford to let it go on as it was. The measure of how far they dared go in showing their opposition to joining Lord Rahl was the problem Dalton faced. It was necessary to take a stand in order to fire people into saying no to Lord Rahl, but a weak stand was as good as—no stand. On the other hand, it was far too dangerous to reach through the bars and twist the nose of the bear if it still had its teeth and claws.

Dalton wondered if he might be able to press Stein into being more forthcoming. “It sounds then as if we have a serious problem.”

Stein looked up. “How so?”

Dalton opened his hands in a gesture of befuddlement. “If magic is no longer a weapon, then the Dominie Dirtch, in which we all have invested so much faith, is of no use, and all our plans will fail. I would call that a serious problem.”

Stein took his feet from Dalton’s desk and slid the knife back into its sheath. Putting an elbow on the desk, he leaned forward.

“Not to worry. You see, the thing is, the emperor still has control of his Sisters of the Dark; their magic works for him. From what they’ve told us, something has happened, though. From what I gather, something of magic has gone awry and caused the power of those on Lord Rahl’s side to fail.

“Jagang has learned that Lord Rahl no longer has magic backing him. His magic is going to fail. The man is, or soon will be, naked to our blades.”

Dalton was now at full attention. If it was true, that would change everything. It would mean he could implement the full extent of his plans at once. It would mean he could take the necessary action and not have to worry over the repercussions or even reprisals from Lord Rahl.

Better yet, Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor would have to place even more of their hope in the vote, while at the same time Dalton, without fear of their actions, insured their loss.

If, that was, it was true about magic failing.

Dalton knew one way he might find out.

But first, the time had come for Dalton to pay a visit to the ailing Sovereign. The time had come to act. He would do it that very night, before the feast planned for the next day.

As hungry as she was, Ann was not looking forward to being fed.

She had long since been staked to the ground and the grimy tent erected around her, so she knew it was getting to be about that time. At any moment she expected a burly Imperial Order soldier to storm in with her bread and water. She didn’t know what had happened to Sister Alessandra; Ann hadn’t seen the woman in well over a week.

The soldiers disliked the duty of feeding an old woman. She suspected their comrades made sport of their domestic duty. They would come in, grab her hair in their fist, and push the bread in her mouth, packing it in with stubby filthy fingers, as if they were stuffing a goose for roasting. As Ann tried to swallow the dry mass before she choked, they would start pouring water down her throat to wash down the bread.

It was an unpleasant experience, one over which Ann had no control. As much as she enjoyed food, she was coming to fear it would be the end of her.

Once, the soldier who came to feed her had simply thrown the bread on the ground and set a wooden bowl of water beside it, as if she were a dog. He seemed proud of himself in that he had shown her disrespect and saved himself considerable trouble all at the same time.

He didn’t realize it, but Ann much preferred that method. After he had his laugh and left, she could flop on her side, squirm close, and eat the bread at her own pace, even if she didn’t have the luxury of wiping off the dirt.

The tent flap opened. A dark shape stepping in blocked out the campfires beyond. Ann wondered what it would be: stuffed goose, or dog-eating-off-the-ground. To her surprise, it was Sister Alessandra, bringing a bowl giving off the aroma of sausage soup. She even had a candle with her.

Sister Alessandra pressed the candle into the dirt to the side. The woman was not smiling. She said nothing. She didn’t meet Ann’s gaze.

In the dim candlelight, Ann could see that Alessandra’s face was bruised and scraped. She had a nasty cut on the cheekbone below her left eye, but it looked to be on the mend. The relatively minor wounds seemed to be a variety of ages, from old and near healed to freshly inflicted.

Ann didn’t have to ask how the woman came to be in such a condition. Her cheeks and both sides of her jaw were red and raw from the stubble of countless unshaven faces. “Alessandra, I’m relieved to see you . . . alive. I feared greatly for you.”

Alessandra raised one shoulder in a gesture of feigned indifference. She wasted no time in bringing a steaming spoonful of sausage soup to Ann’s mouth.

Ann swallowed before she had time to savor the taste, such was her hunger. But just the warm feel of it in her stomach was solace.

“I feared greatly for myself, too,” Ann said. “I dreaded those men were as likely to kill me as get the food stuffed in me.”

“I know the feeling,” Alessandra said under her breath.

“Alessandra, are you . . . are you all right?”

“Fine.” She seemed to have retreated to an emotionless place.

“You’re not badly injured, then?”

“I’m better off than some of the others. If we . . . if we get hurt, a bone broken, or something like that, Jagang allows us to use our magic to heal one another.”

“But healing is Additive Magic.”

Sister Alessandra brought the spoon to Ann’s mouth. “That is why I’m lucky; I’ve no broken bones, like some of the others. We’ve tried to help them, to heal them, but we were unable to, and so they must suffer.” She met Ann’s gaze. “A world without magic is a dangerous place.”

Ann wanted to remind the woman that she had told her as much, that the chimes were loose, and magic—Additive Magic anyway—wouldn’t work.

As Alessandra fed Ann another spoonful, she said, “But I guess you tried to tell me that, Prelate.”

Ann gave a shrug of her own. “When people tried to convince me the chimes were loose, I at first wouldn’t believe them, either. We have that in common. I would say that as exceptionally stubborn as you are, Sister Alessandra, there is hope you could one day be Prelate.”

Alessandra, seemingly against her will, smiled with Ann.

Ann watched the spoon, with a chunk of sausage, linger in the bowl. “Prelate, did you fully expect the Sisters of the Light would believe you that magic had failed and that they would willingly try to escape with you?”

Ann looked up into Alessandra’s eyes. “Not fully, no. Although I hoped they would trust my word, having always known me as a woman who values truth, I knew the possibility existed, so great was their fear, that—whether they believed me or not—they would refuse to leave.

“Slaves, slaves to anything or anyone, despite how much they abhor it, will often cling to that slavery out of fear the alternative would be insufferable. Look at a drunk, a slave to liquor, who thinks us cruel for trying to get him to abandon his slavery.”

“And what were you planning in the event the Sisters of the Light refused to abandon their slavery?”

“Jagang uses them, uses their magic, the same as he uses yours. When the chimes are banished magic will return and the Sisters will have their power back. Many people will die at their hands, no matter how unwilling are those hands. If they refused to cast off their slavery and leave with me, they were to be killed.”

Sister Alessandra lifted an eyebrow. “My, my, Prelate. We are not so different after all. That would have been the reasoning of a Sister of the Dark as well.”

“Just common sense. The lives of a lot of people are at risk.” Ann was famished, and eyed with longing the spoon holding the sausage as it hovered above the nearly full bowl.

“So, why were you caught, then?”

Ann signed. “Because I didn’t think they would lie to me, not about something so important. Though it would be no reason to execute them, it will make the onerous but necessary task a little easier.”

Alessandra finally fed Ann the spoonful of sausage. This time, Ann made herself chew it slowly so as to enjoy its flavor.

“You could still escape with me, Alessandra,” Ann said in a quiet tone after she had finally swallowed.

Alessandra picked something from the bowl and cast it aside. She stirred the soup again.

“I told you before, that would not be possible.”

“Why? Because Jagang told you so? Told you he is still in your mind?”

“That’s one reason.”

“Alessandra, Jagang promised you that if you took care of me, he wouldn’t send you out to the tents to whore for his men. You told me that was what he said.”

The woman paused with the spoon, her eyes brimming with tears. “We belong to His Excellency.” With her other hand, she touched the gold ring through her bottom lip—the mark of Jagang’s slaves. “He can do with us as he wishes.”

“Alessandra, he lied to you. He said he wouldn’t do that if you took care of me. He lied. You can’t trust a liar. Not with your future or your life. That was my mistake, but I wouldn’t give a liar a second chance at harming me. If he lied about that much of it, how much else is he lying about?”

“What do you mean?”

“About how you can never escape because he is still in your mind. He is not, Alessandra. Just as he can’t get into my mind, he can’t get into yours for now. Once the chimes are banished, yes, but not now.

“If you swear loyalty to Richard, then you will be protected even after the chimes are banished. You can get away, Alessandra. We could do our grisly duty with the Sisters who lied and chose to stay with another liar, and then escape.”

Sister Alessandra’s voice was as emotionless as her face. “Prelate, you forget, I am a Sister of the Dark, sworn to the Keeper.”

“In return for what, Alessandra? What has the Keeper of the underworld offered you? What has he offered that could be better than eternity in the Light?”

“Immortality.”

Ann sat watching the woman’s unflinching gaze. Outside, men, some of whom had abused this helpless five-hundred-year-old Sister of the Dark, laughed and carried on their nightly amusements. Smells, both fair and foul, drifted in and out of the tent: sizzling garlic, dung, roasting meat, burning fur, the sweet smell of a birch log in a nearby fire, stale sweat.

Ann, too, did not flinch from the gaze.

“Alessandra, the Keeper is lying to you.”

Emotion returned to the Sister’s eyes.

She stood and poured the nearly full bowl of soup on the ground outside the tent.

Sister Alessandra, one foot outside, one inside, turned back.

“You can starve for all I care, old woman. I would rather go back to the tents than listen to your blasphemy.”

In her forlorn solitary silence, in her pain of body and soul, Ann prayed to the Creator, asking that He give Sister Alessandra a chance to return to the Light. She prayed, too, for the Sisters of the Light, as lost now as were the Sisters of the Dark.

From her place sitting chained in the dark and lonely tent, it seemed the world had gone mad.

“Dear Creator, what have you wrought?” Ann wept. “Is it all lies, too?”