Temple of the Winds

Chapter 23

Sister Verna turned to the commotion and saw a scout leaping from his lathered horse before it had skidded to a stop in the near darkness. The scout panted, trying to catch his breath, at the same time as he relayed his report to the general. The general’s tense posture visibly relaxed at the report. He gestured in a jaunty fashion for his officers to stand down their concern, too.

She couldn’t hear the scout’s report, but she knew what it would be. She didn’t have to be a prophet to know what the scout would have seen. The fools. She had told him as much.

The smiling General Reibisch approached her, his heavy eyebrows arched with his good humor. When he came into the ring of firelight, his grayish-green eyes searched her out. “Prelate! There you are. Good news!”

Verna, her mind on other, more important matters, loosened the shawl around her shoulders.

“Don’t tell me, general; my Sisters and I won’t have to spend the whole night calming nervous soldiers and casting spells to tell you where panicked men have run off to hide while they await the end of the world.”

He scratched his rust-colored beard. “Ah, well, I do appreciate your help. Prelate, but no, you won’t. You’re right, as usual.”

She snorted an I-told-you-so.

The scout had been watching from atop the hill, and from there could see the moonrise before any of them down in the valley.

“My man said that the moon didn’t rise red, tonight. I know you told me it wouldn’t, and that three nights of it was all there would be, but I can’t help being relieved to know things are back to normal, Prelate.”

Back to normal. Hardly.

“I’m glad, general, that we will all get a good night’s sleep for a change. I hope, too, that your men have learned a lesson, and that in the future, when I tell them that the underworld isn’t about to swallow us all, they will have a little more faith.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Yes, Prelate. I believed you, of course, but some of these men are more superstitious than is healthy for their hearts. Magic scares them.”

She leaned a little closer to the man and lowered her voice. “It should.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, Prelate. Well, I guess we better all get some sleep.”

“Your messengers haven’t returned yet, have they?”

“No.” He traced a finger down the lower part of the white scar running from his left temple to his jaw. “I don’t expect they’ve even reached Aydindril yet.”

Verna sighed. She wished she could have heard word first. It might have made her decision easier. “I suppose not.”

“What do you think, Prelate? What’s your advice? North?”

She stared off, watching the sparks from the fire spiral up into the darkness, and feeling its heat on her face. She had more important decisions to make.

“I don’t know. Richard’s exact words to me were, ‘Head north. There’s an army of a hundred thousand D’Haran soldiers heading south looking for Kahlan. You’ll have more protection with them, and they with you. Tell General Reibisch that she is safe with me.’ ”

“It would have made things easier if he would have said for sure.”

“He didn’t say for us to go north, back to Aydindril, but it was implied. I’m sure he thought that’s what we would do. However, I take seriously your advice in matters such as this.”

He shrugged. “I’m a soldier. I think like a soldier.”

Richard had gone to Tanimura to rescue Kahlan, and had managed to destroy the Palace of the Prophets, along with its vault of prophecies, before Emperor Jagang could capture it. Richard had said that he had to return to Aydindril at once, and that he didn’t have time to explain, but only he and Kahlan had the magic required that would allow their immediate return. He said he couldn’t take the rest of them. He had told her to go north to meet up with General Reibisch and his D’Haran army.

General Reibisch was reluctant to return north. He reasoned that with a force this large already this far south, it would be strategically advantageous to blunt an invasion of the New World before it could drive into the populous areas.

“General, I have no argument with your motives, but I fear that you underestimate the threat. From the information I’ve managed to gather, the Imperial Order’s forces are large enough to crush even an army of this size without losing stride. I don’t doubt your men’s ability, but by sheer numbers alone the Order will swallow you whole.

“I understand your reasoning, but even with as many men as you have, it won’t be enough, and then we wouldn’t have them to lend their weight to a gathering of a larger force that might have a chance against the Order.”

The general smiled reassuringly. “Prelate, what you say makes sense. I’ve listened to reasoned arguments like yours my whole career. The thing is, war isn’t a reasonable pursuit. Sometimes, you simply have to take advantage of what the good spirits give you and throw yourself into the fray.”

“Sounds like a good way to be annihilated.”

“Well, I’ve been doing it a long tine, and I’m still alive. Just because you choose to meet the enemy, that doesn’t mean you have to stick your chin out and let him have a good swing at it.”

Verna squinted at the man. “What have you in mind?”

“Seems to me that we’re already here. Messengers can move a great deal faster than an army. I think we should move to a more secure location, one more defendable, and sit tight.”

“Where?”

“If we go east, into the high country of southern D’Hara, then we could be in a better position to react. I know the country there. If the Order tries to come up into the New World through D’Hara, the easy way through the Kern River valley, then we are there to stop them. We can fight on more equal terms in tighter country like that. Just because you have more men, that doesn’t mean you can use them all. A valley is only so wide.”

“What if they go more to the west as they move north, skirt the mountains and head up through the wilds?”

“Then we have this army to sweep in behind them when our other forces are sent south to meet them. The enemy would have to split their force and fight against us on two fronts. On top of that, it would limit their options by making it difficult for them to move freely.”

Verna considered his words. She had read of battles in the old books, and understood the sense of his strategy. It seemed more prudent than she had thought at first. The man was bold, but he was no fool.

“With our troops in a strategic location,” he went on, “we can send messengers to Aydindril and the People’s Palace in D’Hara. We can get reinforcements from D’Hara, and from the lands of the Midlands that join with us, and Lord Rahl can send us his instructions. If the Order invades, well, then, we’re already here to know about it. Information is a valuable commodity in war.”

“Richard may not like it that you hunker down here, instead of returning to protect Aydindril.”

“Lord Rahl is a reasonable man—”

Verna interrupted with a guffaw. “Richard, reasonable? Now you stretch my credulity, general.”

He frowned at her. “As I was saying, Lord Rahl is a reasonable man. He told me that he wants me to speak up with my advice, when I think it important. I think it’s important. He considers my advice on matters of war. The messengers are already on their way with my letter. If he doesn’t like my advice, then he can say so and order me north and I will go; but until I know for sure that he wishes it, I think we should do our job and defend the New World from the Imperial Order.

“I asked your advice, Prelate, because you command magic. I don’t know anything about magic. If you or the Sisters of the Light have something to say that would be important to us in our struggle, then I’m listening. We’re on the same side, you know.”

Verna relented. “Forgive me, general. I guess I sometimes forget that.” She offered him a smile. “The last few months have turned my life upside down.”

“Lord Rahl has turned the whole world upside down. He has reordered everything.”

She smiled to herself. “That he has.” She looked back at the general’s grayish-green eyes. “Your plan makes sense—at the very worst it would slow the Order, but I’d like to talk to Warren first. He . . . he sometimes has surprising insights. Wizards are like that.”

The general nodded. “Magic is not my part. We have Lord Rahl for that. And you, too, of course.”

Verna repressed a laugh at the idea of Richard being the one to wield magic for them. The boy could hardly get out of his own way where magic was concerned.

No, that wasn’t entirely true; Richard often did surprising things with his gift. The problem was that it usually surprised him, too. Still, he was a war wizard, the only to be born in the last three thousand years, and all their hopes hung on his leadership in this war against the Imperial Order.

Richard’s heart, and his determination, were in the right place. He would do his best. It was up to the rest of them to help him, and to keep him alive. The general shifted his weight and scratched under his chain-mail sleeve. “Prelate, the Order claims to want to end magic in this world, but we all know that they use magic in their attempt to crush us.”

“That they do.”

She knew Emperor Jagang had most of the Sisters of the Dark at his beck and call. He had young wizards to do his bidding, too. He had also captured a number of the Sisters of the Light, and dominated them through his ability as a dream walker. It was this that nettled her conscience; as Prelate, it was ultimately up to her to see to the safety of the Sisters of the Light. Some of her Sisters were anything but safe in the hands of Jagang.

“Well, Prelate, seeing as how their troops are likely to be accompanied by those with magic, I’m wondering if I can count on you and your Sisters to be the counter to them. Lord Rahl said: ‘You’ll have more protection with them, and they with you.’ That sounds to me like he intended you to use your magic to help us against the Order’s army.”

Verna would like to think the general wrong. She would like to think that Sisters of the Light, those charged with doing the Creator’s work, would be above bringing harm to anyone.

“General Reibisch, I don’t like it; however, I’m afraid that I concur. If we lose this war, we all lose, not simply our troops on the field of battle; all free people will be slaves to the Order. If Jagang wins, the Sisters of the Light will be executed. We all must fight or die.

“The Order would not want to fall into your plans so conveniently. They may try to sneak past undetected—farther to the west, possibly even to the east of you. The Sisters can be of use in detecting the movements of the enemy, should they advance into the New World and try to slip past you.

“If those with magic mask the Order’s movements from you, our Sisters will know it. We will be your eyes. If fighting comes, the enemy will use magic to try to defeat you. We will have to use our power to thwart that magic.”

The general considered the flames for a moment. He glanced off toward the men bedding down for the night.

“Thank you, Prelate. I know that decision can’t be easy for you. Since you’ve all been with us, I’ve come to know the Sisters as gentle women.”

Verna barked a laugh. “General, you have not come to know us at all. The Sisters of the Light are many things, but gentle is not one of them.” She flicked her wrist. Her dacra sprang into her hand. A dacra resembled a knife but had a sharpened rod instead of a blade.

Verna twirled the dacra. “I have had to kill men before.” Reflected flashes of firelight sparkled and danced as she spur the weapon with graceful ease, walking it over her knuckles and back. “I can assure you, general, I was anything but gentle.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “A knife in talented hands, such as yours, is trouble, but it’s hardly a match for the weapons of war.”

She smiled politely. “This is a weapon possessing deadly magic. If you see one of these coming for you, run. It only must penetrate your flesh—even if it’s your little finger—and you will be dead before you can blink.”

He straightened, and his chest grew with a deep breath. “Thanks for the warning. And thanks for your help, Prelate. I’m glad to have you on our side.”

“I regret that Jagang has some of our Sisters of the Light under his control. They can do the same as I, maybe more.” She gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder when she saw that his face had paled. “Good night, General Reibisch. Sleep well—the red moons are gone.”

Verna watched the general make a zigzag course through his officers, speaking with them, checking on his men, and issuing orders. After he had disappeared into the darkness, she turned to her tent.

Deep in thought, she idly cast her Han and lit the candles inside the small field tent the men had provided for her use. With the moon up, Annalina—the real Prelate—would be waiting.

Verna pried the little journey book from its secret pouch in her belt. Journey books had magic that allowed a message written in one to appear simultaneously in its twin. Prelate Annalina had the twin to Verna’s. She sat cross-legged on her blankets and opened the book in her lap.

There was a message waiting. Verna pulled a candle closer and bent in the dim light to better see the writing in the journey book.

Verna, we have trouble here. We finally caught up with Nathan, at least who we thought was Nathan. The man we had been pursuing turned out not to be Nathan. Nathan tricked us. He is gone, and we don’t know where he went.

Verna sighed. She had thought it had sounded too good to be true when Ann told her that they were closing in on the prophet.

Nathan left us a message. The message is more trouble than the thought of Nathan being on the loose. He said that he had important business—that one of “our Sisters” was going to do something very stupid, and that he must stop her if he could. We have no idea where he went. He also confirmed what you told me Warren said, that the red moon means Jagang has invoked a bound fork prophecy. Nathan said that Zedd and I must go to the Jocopo treasure, and that if we wasted time going after him instead, we would all die.

I believe him. Verna, we must talk. If you are there, reply. I will be waiting.

Verna pulled the stylus from the spine of the journey book. Moonrise was the time they had agreed upon to communicate through the journey books if they needed to. She bent closer and wrote in her book: I am here, Ann. What happened? Are you all right? In a moment, words began appearing in the book.

It’s a long story, and I don’t have time for it now, but Sister Roslyn was hunting Nathan, too. She was killed, along with at least eighteen innocent people. We can’t be sure of the true number consumed in the light spell.

Verna’s eyes widened at hearing that people were killed so. She wanted to ask what they were doing casting such a dangerous web, but decided not to ask as she read on.

First of all, Verna, we need to know if you have any idea what the “Jocopo treasure” is. Nathan didn’t explain.

Verna put a finger to her lips as she squeezed her eyes closed, trying to remember. She had heard the name before. She had been on her journey to the New World for twenty years, and she had heard of it there.

Ann, I think I recall hearing that the Jocopo were a people living somewhere in the wilds. If I recall correctly, they are all dead—exterminated in a war. I believe all traces of them were destroyed.

The wilds, you say. Verna, are you sure it was the wilds?

Yes.

Wait a moment while I tell Zedd this news.

The minutes dragged by as Verna watched the blank place at the end of the writing. At last, words began to appear.

Zedd has succumbed to a bout of loud cursing and arm flailing. He is swearing oaths about what he intends to do to Nathan. I am quite sure that he will find most of his intentions to be physically impossible. The Creator is humbling me for complaining to him that Nathan was incorrigible. I think I am being taught a lesson as to the true meaning of incorrigible.

Verna, the wilds are a big place. Any idea where in the wilds?

No. Sorry. I only recall hearing the Jocopo mentioned once. Somewhere in southern Kelton I once admired a pottery relic in a shop of curiosities. It was purported by the proprietor to have been made by a disappeared culture from the wilds. He called them the Jocopo. That’s all I know. I was hunting Richard at the time, not vanished cultures. I will check with Warren. He might know something from the books.

Thank you, Verna. If you find anything, send word at once. Now, do you have any idea what stupid thing it is that Nathan thinks a Sister is going to do?

No. We are all here with the D’Haran army. General Reibisch wants to stay to the south so as to thwart the Order should they invade. We await word from Richard. But there are Sisters of the Light being held captive by Jagang. Who can tell what he will make them do?

Ann, did Nathan say anything of the bound fork prophecy? Warren might be able to help if you would tell me the words of the prophecy.

There was a pause before Ann’s writing began again.

Nathan didn’t tell us the words. He said that the spirits denied him access to its meaning. He did say, though, that the victim of the double bind in the prophecy is Richard.

Verna gasped in some saliva. She coughed violently trying to get it back out of her lungs. Her eyes watering as she coughed, she held the book up and read the last message again. She finally got her lungs and throat clear.

Ann, you wrote “Richard.” Did you really mean Richard?

Yes.

Verna closed her eyes with a whispered prayer, fighting down the flutter of panic. Anything else? Verna wrote.

Not for now. Your information about the Jocopo will help. We will be able to narrow our search now, and know the questions to ask. Thank you. If you learn more, let me know. I had better go. Zedd is complaining of life-threatening hunger.

Ann, is everything all right with you and the First Wizard?

Ducky. He has his collar off.

You took off his collar? Before you find Nathan? Why would you do such a thing?

I didn’t. He did.

Verna’s eyes widened at this news. She feared to ask how he could accomplish such a thing, so she didn’t. Verna thought she could read in Ann’s message that it was a sore subject.

And yet he is going with you?

Verna, I am not quite sure who is going with whom, but for now we both understand the dire nature of Nathan’s warning. Nathan isn’t always irrational.

I know. No doubt that old man is right now smiling at a woman, trying to make her swoon and fall into his bed, Verna wrote. May the Creator hold you safely in his care, Prelate.

Ann was really the Prelate, but had named Verna Prelate when she and Nathan had faked their deaths and gone on an important mission. For now, everyone thought Ann and Nathan dead, and that Verna was the Prelate.

Thank you, Verna. One other thing. Zedd is concerned for Adie. He wishes you to take her aside and let her know that he is alive and well, but “in the hands of a crazy woman.”

Ann, do you wish me to tell the Sisters that you are alive and well?

The message took a moment to resume.

No, Verna. Not just now. It helps you, and them, that they have you as Prelate. With what Nathan has told us, and what we must do, it would be inadvisable to tell them that I live, only to have to turn around and tell them that I am dead, after all.

Verna understood. The wilds were a dangerous place. That was where Verna had had to kill people. And she hadn’t been trying to get information out of them; she had been trying to avoid contact with people there. Verna had been young and fast at the time. Ann was nearly as old as Nathan. But she was a sorceress, and she did have a wizard with her. While Zedd was not young, either, he was far from helpless. The fact that he had managed to remove his Rada’Han spoke volumes about his ability.

Ann, don’t say that. You be careful. You and Zedd must protect each other. We all need you back.

Thank you, child. Take care of the Sisters of the Light, Prelate. Who knows, I may want them back, someday.

Verna smiled at the comfort of consulting with Ann, and at her humor in dire circumstance. Verna wished she had a sense of humor like Ann. The smile faded when she remembered that Ann had told her that Richard was the victim named in the deadly prophecy.

She thought about what Nathan had warned, that one of the Sisters was going to do something stupid. She wished that Nathan had been more specific. He could mean almost anything by “stupid.” Verna wouldn’t be inclined to believe just anything Nathan said, but Ann knew him much better than did Verna.

She thought about the Sisters Jagang was holding. Some were Sisters of the Light, and a few were Verna’s dear friends and had been since they were novices. The five of them—Christabel, Amelia, Janet, Phoebe, and Verna—had grown up together at the palace.

Of those, Verna had named Phoebe one of her administrators. Only Phoebe was with them, now. Christabel, Verna’s dearest friend, had turned to the Keeper of the Underworld; she had become a Sister of the Dark, and had been captured by Jagang. The last two of Verna’s friends, Amelia and Janet, had been taken by Jagang, too. Janet had remained loyal to the Light, Verna knew, but she wasn’t sure about Amelia. If she was still loyal . . .

Verna pressed trembling fingers to her lips at the thought of her two friends, two Sisters of the Light, being slaves to the dream walker. In the end, that decided her.

Verna peeked into Warren’s tent. Unbidden, a smile came to her lips when she saw his shape on his blankets in the darkness, probably pondering some young prophet’s thoughts. She smiled at how much she loved him, and at knowing how much he loved her.

Verna and Warren, having both grown up at the Palace of the Prophets, had known each other nearly their whole lives. Her gift as a sorceress was destined to be used to help train young wizards, while his gift as a wizard destined him toward prophecy.

Their paths didn’t cross in a serious way until after Verna returned to the palace with Richard. Because of Richard and his huge impact on life at the palace, events brought Verna and Warren together, and their friendship grew. After Verna was named Prelate, during their struggle against the Sisters of the Dark, she and Warren had depended on each other for their very lives. It was during that struggle that they had become more than friends. After all those years in the palace, only now had they really found each other, and found love. At the thought of what she had to tell him, her smile faded.

“Warren,” she whispered, “are you awake?”

“Yes,” came a quiet reply.

Before he could have a chance to rise and take her into his arms and she lost her nerve, she stepped into his tent and blurted it out.

“Warren, I’ve made my decision. I’ll have no argument from you. Do you understand? This is too important.” He was silent, so she went on. “Amelia and Janet are my friends. Besides being Sisters of the Light in enemy hands, I love them. They would do the same for me, I know they would. I’m going after them, and any others I can rescue.”

“I know,” he whispered.

He knew. What did that mean? Silence dragged on in the darkness. Verna frowned. It wasn’t like Warren not to argue about such a thing. She had been ready for his argument, but not his calm acceptance.

Using her Han, the force of life and spirit through which the magic of the gift worked, Verna lit a flame in her palm and passed it to a candle. He was huddled on his blanket, his knees pulled up and his head resting in his hands.

She knelt down before him. “Warren? What’s wrong?”

His face came up. His blue eyes were rimmed with red. His face was sickly pale.

Verna clutched his arm. “Warren, you don’t look well. What’s wrong?”

“Verna,” he whispered, “I have come to realize that being a prophet is not the wonder I had imagined.”

Warren was the same age as Verna, but looked younger because he had remained at the Palace of the Prophets, under its spell that retarded aging, while she went on her twenty-odd-year journey to find Richard. Warren didn’t look so young at the moment.

Warren had only recently had his first vision as a prophet. He had told her that the prophecy came as a vision of events, accompanied by words of the prophecy. The words were what were written down, but it was the vision that was the true prophecy. That was why it took a prophet to truly understand the meaning of the words; they invoked the vision that was being passed on from another prophet.

Hardly anyone knew this; everyone tried to understand prophecy by the words. Verna now knew, from what Warren had told her, that this method was inadequate at best and dangerous at worst. Prophecy was meant to be read by other prophets.

She frowned. “Have you had a vision? Another prophecy?”

Warren ignored the question, and asked one of his own. “Verna, do we have any Rada’Han with us?”

“The collars around the young men who escaped with us are the only ones. We didn’t have time to bring any extras. Why?”

He put his head back in his hands.

Verna shook a finger at him. “Warren, if this is some trick to try to get me to stay here with you, it won’t work. Do you hear me? It won’t work. I’m going, and I’m going alone. That’s final.”

“Verna,” he whispered, “I have to go with you.”

“No. It’s too dangerous. I love you too much. I won’t risk anyone else. If I have to, I will order you, as Prelate, to stay here. I will, Warren.”

His head rose again. “Verna, I’m dying.”

Icy goose bumps tingled across her aims and thighs. “What? Warren—”

“I’m having the headaches. The headaches from the gift.”

Verna was choked silent with the realization of the deadly nature of what he had just said.

The whole reason the Sisters of the Light took boys born with the gift was to save their lives. Unless schooled, the gift could kill him. The headaches were a manifestation of the fatal nature of the gift going awry. Besides providing the Sisters with control over the young wizards, the most important function of the collar was its magic, which protected the life of the boy until he could learn to control his gift.

Because of all that had happened, Verna had taken Warren’s collar off long before it was customary.

“But, Warren, you’ve studied a long lime. You know how to control your gift. You shouldn’t need the Rada’Han for protection any longer.”

“If I was an ordinary wizard, that may be true, but my gift is for prophecy. Nathan was the only prophet at the palace in centuries. We don’t know how the magic works in a prophet. I only recently had my first prophecy. It signifies a new level of my ability. Now, I’m having the headaches.”

Verna was suddenly in a panic. Her eyes were tearing. She threw her arms around him.

“Warren, I’ll stay. I won’t go. I’ll help you. We’ll do something. Maybe we could take a collar off one of the boys and you could share it. That might work. We’ll try that first.”

His arms pulled her tight. “That won’t work, Verna.”

A sudden thought flashed into her mind, making her gasp with relief. It was so simple.

“Warren, it’s all right. It is. I just realized what we can do. Listen to me.”

“Verna, I know what—”

She shushed him. She held him by the shoulders and looked into his blue eyes. She brushed back his wavy blond hair. “Warren, listen. It’s simple. The reason the Sisters were founded was to help boys born with the gift. We were given Rada’Han to protect them while we teach them to control their gift.”

“Verna, I know all that, but—”

“Listen. We have the collars to help them because we don’t have wizards who can do what is needed. In the past, greedy wizards refused to help those born with the gift. An experienced wizard can join with your mind and pass on the protection—show you how to put the gift right. It’s simple for a wizard to do, but not a sorceress. We need only to visit a wizard.”

Verna pried the journey book from her belt and held it before his eyes. “We have a wizard—Zedd. All we have to do is talk to Ann, and have her and Zedd meet us. Zedd can help you, and then you’ll be all right.”

Warren stared into her eyes. “Verna, it won’t work.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t know. You don’t know, Warren.”

“Yes I do. I have had another prophecy.”

Verna sat back on her heels. “You have? What was it?”

Warren pressed his fingertips to his temples. She could see that he was in pain. She knew that the pain of the headaches from the gift were excruciating. In the end, if not corrected, they were fatal.

“Verna, now you listen to me for a change. I have had a prophecy. The words aren’t important. The meaning is.” He took his hands away from his head and looked her in the eye. In that moment, he looked very old to her. “You must do what you plan, and go after the Sisters. The prophecy didn’t say whether you will succeed, but I must go with you. If I do anything else, I will die. It’s a forked prophecy—an ‘either-or’ prophecy.”

She cleared her throat. “But . . . surely, there must be something . . .”

“No. If I stay, or if I try to go to Zedd, I will die. The prophecy doesn’t say that if I go with you I will live, but it does say that going with you is my only chance. End of discussion. If you make me stay, I will die. If you try to take me to Zedd, I will die. If you want me to have a chance to live, then you must take me with you. Choose, Prelate.”

Verna swallowed. As a Sister of the Light, a sorceress, she could tell by the distinctive murky cast to his eyes that he was in the pain of a headache from the gift. She also knew that Warren would not lie to her about a prophecy. He might pull some trick to go with her, but he would not lie about a prophecy. He was a prophet. Prophecy was his life. Maybe his death.

She took his hand up in hers. “Get some supplies together. Get two horses. I have to go tell Adie something, and then I must talk to my advisors, let them know what to do while we’re gone.”

Verna kissed his hand. “I won’t let you die, Warren. I love you too much. We’ll do this together. I’m not sleepy. Let’s not wait till morning. We can be on our way in an hour.”

Warren drew her to him in a thankful embrace.