The Pillars of Creation

Chapter 25

Swaying atop the seat of the wagon, Jennsen watched the immense plateau gradually drawing closer. The morning sun lit the soaring stone walls of the People’s Palace, warming them in a pastel glow. Although the wind had died down, the morning air remained bone-chilling cold. After the reeking rot of the swamp, she welcomed the flat, dry, stony scent of the open plain.

With her fingertips, Jennsen rubbed her forehead, trying to soothe her dull throbbing headache. Tom had driven all night and she had slept in the back of the bouncing wagon, but not well nor nearly long enough. At least she had slept some, and they had made it back.

“Too bad Lord Rahl isn’t there.”

Shocked out of her private thoughts, Jennsen opened her eyes. “What?”

“Lord Rahl.” Tom gestured off to the right, to the south. “It’s too bad he isn’t here to help you.”

He had pointed south, the direction of the Old World. On occasion, Jennsen’s mother had spoken of the bond connecting the D’Haran people with the Lord Rahl. Through its ancient and arcane magic, D’Harans were somehow able to sense where the Lord Rahl was. While the strength of the bond varied among D’Haran people, they all shared it to some degree.

What the Lord Rahl accrued from the bond, Jennsen didn’t know. She thought of it as yet more chains of domination around his people. In her mother’s case, though, it helped them avoid Darken Rahl’s clutches.

From her mother’s descriptions, Jennsen was aware of the bond, but for some reason never felt anything of it. Perhaps it was so weak in her, as it was with some D’Haran people, that she simply couldn’t feel it. Her mother said it had nothing to do with one’s level of devotion to the Lord Rahl, that it was purely a link of magic, and, as such, it would be governed by criteria other than her feelings about the man.

Jennsen remembered times when her mother would stand in the doorway of their home, or at a window, or pause out in the forest, and stare off toward the horizon. Jennsen knew at those times that her mother was sensing Darken Rahl through the bond, where he was, and how close. It was a shame that it told her only where the Lord Rahl himself was, and not the brutes he sent after them.

Tom, being D’Haran, took that bond to the Lord Rahl for granted, and had just given Jennsen a valuable bit of information: Lord Rahl was not at his palace. That news buoyed her hopes. It was one less obstacle, one less thing to worry about.

Lord Rahl was off to the south, probably in the Old World making war on the people there, as Sebastian had told her.

“Yes,” she finally said, “too bad.”

The marketplace below the plateau was already busy. Wisps of dust drifted above the crowds gathered there and over the road south. She wondered if Irma the sausage lady was there. Jennsen missed Betty. She wanted so much to see the goat’s little tail wagging furiously, to hear her bleating with elation at being reunited with her lifelong friend.

Tom pointed his team toward the market, to where he had been set up selling his load of wine. Maybe Irma would go to the same place. Jennsen would have to leave Betty again in order to go up through the entrance and into the plateau. It would be a long climb up all those stairs, and then she had to find where Sebastian was being held.

As the wagon rumbled across the hardpan of the Azrith Plains, Jennsen stared at the empty road that wound its way up the side of the plateau.

“Take the road,” she said.

“What?”

“Take the road up to the palace.”

“Are you sure, Jennsen? I don’t think that’s wise. It’s only for official business.”

“Take the road.”

In answer, he urged the horses to the left, away from their course toward the market, and toward the base of the road, instead. From the corner of her eye she saw him snatch glances at his inscrutable passenger.

Soldiers stationed at the base of the plateau, where the road began its ascent, watched them approach. As the wagon rolled closer, Jennsen drew out her knife.

“Don’t stop,” she said to Tom.

He stared over at her. “What? I have to. They have bows, you know.”

Jennsen continued to stare ahead. “Just keep going.”

When they reached the soldiers, Jennsen held the knife out, holding it by the blade so that the handle stuck up above her fist. She kept her arm out straight and stiff, pointed down at the cluster of men, so that they might see what she was announcing. She didn’t look at them, but watched the road ahead, showing them the knife as if she couldn’t be bothered to talk to them.

Every pair of eyes watched that knife handle with the ornate letter “R” upon it as it flashed past their eyes. None moved to stop the wagon, or to nock an arrow. Tom let out a low whistle. The wagon shook and rattled as it rolled onward.

The road switched back and forth as it made its way steadily up the plateau. In some places there was ample room, but occasionally the road narrowed, forcing the wagon to ride close to the dizzying drop. Each tight bend offered them a new vista, a new view of the expanse of the Azrith Plains spread out far below. Off in the distance the plains were rimmed by dusky blue mountains.

When they arrived at the bridge, they finally did have to stop; the bridge was pulled up. Her faith in herself, and her plan, faltered as she realized that this, and not her bold bluff, was probably the reason the soldiers below had let her pass so easily. They knew she couldn’t get over the chasm unless the guards lowered the bridge. They knew she couldn’t simply barge into the palace, and at the same time they didn’t have to challenge a woman who had what very well might be an official pass, of sorts, from the Lord Rahl himself. Worse yet, she now saw how the soldiers had also isolated, in a place without escape or hope of rescue by reinforcements, people they deemed potential intruders. Any hostile foray would be stopped cold, here, and in all likelihood, captured or killed on the spot.

It was no wonder Tom had advised against using the road up.

Stimulated by the effort of the climb, the big horses tossed their heads at the interruption. One man stepped in front and took control of the horses’ bits to keep them still. Soldiers approached the side of the wagon. Jennsen sat on the cliff side, and although she saw men guarding the rear quarter on her side, most of the men approached on Tom’s side.

“Good day, Sergeant,” Tom called out.

The man scrutinized the inside of the wagon and, after finding it empty, looked up at the two in the seat. “Good day.”

Jennsen knew that this was no time for her to become timid. If she failed here, everything would be lost. Not only would Sebastian have no hope, but she would likely join him in a dungeon. She could not afford to lose her nerve. When the soldiers were close enough, she reached past Tom to hold the knife down toward the sergeant of the guards, showing him the handle as if she were flashing a royal pass.

“Drop the bridge,” she said before he had a chance to ask them anything.

The sergeant took in the knife handle before meeting her glare. “What’s your business?”

Sebastian had told her how to bluff. He had explained how she had done it her whole life, that she was a natural at it. Now she had to do it with deliberate intent if she was to save him, and get out alive, herself. Despite how fast her heart pounded, she showed the man a stem but empty expression.

“Lord Rahl’s business. Lower the bridge.”

She thought that he was taken back a bit by her tone, or possibly he was worried by her unexpected words. She could see his level of caution rise, tensing his features. Nevertheless, he stood his ground.

“I need a little more than that, ma’am.”

Jennsen twirled the knife, weaving it over and under and between her fingers, the polished metal flashing in the sunlight as it spun, until it came to an abrupt halt with the handle upright in her fist once more, the ornate letter “R” showing to the soldier. In a deliberate manner, she pushed the hood of her cloak back, exposing her fall of red hair to the morning sunlight and the men’s stares. She could see in their eyes that her implication had been clearly understood.

“I know you have a job to do,” Jennsen said with terrible calm, “but so do I. I’m on official business for Lord Rahl. I’m sure you can appreciate how displeased Lord Rahl would be with me were I to discuss his business with everyone who asked about it, therefore, I have no intention of doing so, but I can tell you that I wouldn’t be here were it not a matter of life or death. You are wasting my precious time, Sergeant. Now, lower the bridge.”

“And what might be your name, ma’am?”

Jennsen leaned farther past Tom in order to more directly scowl at the Sergeant.

“Unless you lower that bridge, Sergeant, and right now, you will forever after remember me as Trouble, sent by Lord Rahl himself.”

The sergeant, backed by a few dozen men with pikes, along with crossbows, swords, and axes, didn’t flinch. He looked at Tom.

“What’s your part in this?”

Tom shrugged. “Just driving the wagon. Were I you, Sergeant, this is one lady I’d not want to be delaying.”

“Is that so?”

“It is,” Tom said with conviction.

The sergeant gazed long and hard into Tom’s eyes. Finally, he considered Jennsen again, then turned and rolled his hand, motioning a man to lower the bridge.

Jennsen gestured with her knife toward the palace up the road. “How may I find the place where we hold prisoners?”

As the gears started clattering and the bridge began to descend, he turned back to Jennsen.

“Inquire with the guards at the top. They can direct you, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Jennsen said with finality, sitting back up straight and putting her eyes ahead, waiting for the bridge to lower. Once it had thudded into place, the sergeant signaled them ahead. Tom nodded his thanks and flicked the reins.

Jennsen had to play the part through the whole way, if this were to have a chance of working. She found that her performance was aided by her very real anger. She was disturbed, though, that Tom had played some part in the success of the bluff. She wouldn’t have his help for all of it. She decided that it would be wise to keep her anger out and in plain view of the other guards.

“You want to see the prisoners?” Tom asked.

She realized that she never had said why she had to return to the palace. “Yes. They’ve taken a man prisoner by mistake. I’ve come to see that he’s released.”

Tom checked the horses with the reins, keeping them wide to negotiate the wagon around a switchback. “Ask for Captain Lerner,” he said at last.

Jennsen glanced over at him, surprised that he had offered a name rather than an objection. “A friend of yours?”

The reins moved ever so slightly, with practiced precision, guiding the horses around the bend. “I don’t know if I’d call him a friend. I’ve dealt with him a time or two.”

“Wine?”

Tom smiled. “No. Other things.”

He apparently didn’t intend to say what other things. Jennsen watched the sweep of the Azrith Plains and distant mountains as they rode up the side of the plateau. Somewhere beyond those plains, those mountains, lay freedom.

At the top, the road leveled out before a great gate through the massive outer wall of the palace. The guards stationed before the gate there waved them through, then blew whistles in a short series of notes to others, unseen, beyond the walls. Jennsen realized that they had not arrived unannounced.

She nearly gasped as they cleared the short tunnel through the massive outer wall. Inside, expansive grounds spread out before them. Lawns and hedges bordered the road that curved toward a hill of steps well over a half mile away. The grounds inside the walls were teeming with soldiers in smart uniforms of leather and chain mail covered with wool tunics. Many, with pikes held upright at precisely the same angle, lined the route. These men were not loafing about. They weren’t the kind to be surprised by what came up the road.

Tom took it all in casually. Jennsen tried to keep her eyes pointed ahead. She tried to look indifferent amid such splendor.

Before the hill of steps awaited a reception party of guards over a hundred strong. Tom pulled the wagon into the pocket they’d formed blocking the road. Jennsen saw, standing on the steps overlooking the soldiers, three men in robes. Two wore silver-colored robes. Between them, one step higher, stood an older man wearing white, both hands held in the opposite sleeves trimmed in golden-colored braiding that shimmered in the sunlight.

Tom set the brake on the wagon as a soldier took control of the horses to keep them from moving. Before Tom could begin climbing down, Jennsen put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“This is as far as you go.”

“But you—”

“You’ve done enough. You helped with the part I needed. I can handle it from here on out on my own.”

His measured, blue-eyed gaze swept over the guards standing around the wagon. He seemed reluctant to accede. “I don’t think it could hurt if I went along.”

“I’d rather you go back to your brothers.”

He glanced to her hand on his arm before looking up into her eyes. “If that’s your wish.” His voice lowered to little more than a whisper. “Will I see you again?”

It sounded more like a request than a question. Jennsen could not bring herself to deny such a simple thing, not after all he had done for her.

“We’ll need to go down to the market to buy some horses. I’ll stop by your place, first, right after I’m done inside with getting my friend released.”

“Promise?”

Under her breath, she said, “I have to pay you for your services—remember?”

His lopsided grin reappeared. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Jennsen. I . . .” He noticed the soldiers, remembering then where he was, and cleared his throat. “I’m thankful you let me do my small part, ma’am. I will hold you to your word on the rest of it.”

He had risked enough by bringing her this far—a risk he hadn’t known he was taking, Jennsen fervently hoped that in her brief smile he would see how genuinely grateful she was for his help, since she didn’t think she could afford to keep her promise to see him before they left.

With his powerful hand gripping her arm to halt her for a final word, he spoke in a low but solemn voice. “Steel against steel, that he may be the magic against magic.”

Jennsen had absolutely no idea what he meant. Staring into his intense gaze, she answered with a single, firm nod.

Not wanting to let the soldiers suspect that she might really be mildmannered, Jennsen turned away and climbed down from the wagon to stand before the man who looked to be in charge. She allowed him only a perfunctory look at the knife before replacing it in the sheath at her belt.

“I need to see the man in charge of any prisoners you’re holding. Captain Lerner, if memory serves me.”

His brow drew together. “You want to see the captain of the prison guards?”

Jennsen didn’t know his rank. She didn’t know much of anything about military matters, except that for most of her life soldiers like these had been trying to kill her. He could be a general, or, for all she knew, a corporal. As she considered the man, his dress, his age, his bearing, she reasoned that he definitely looked more than a corporal. She feared to make a mistake with his rank, though, and decided it would be healthier to ignore it.

Jennsen dismissed his question with a curt flick of her hand. “I haven’t got all day. I’ll need an escort, of course. You and some of your men will do, I suppose.”

As she started up the steps, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Tom wink at her. It lifted her heart. The soldiers had parted to let his wagon leave, so he flicked the reins and urged his big horses away. Jennsen hated to see his comforting presence go. She turned her mind from her fears.

“You,” she said, gesturing to the man in the white robes, “take me to where you hold prisoners.”

The man, the top of his head showing through his thinning gray hair, lifted a finger, sending most of the milling guards back to their posts. The officer of mysterious rank and a dozen of his soldiers remained behind her.

“May I see the knife?” the man in the white robes asked in a gentle voice.

Jennsen suspected that this man, able to dismiss guards of rank, must be someone important. Important people in Lord Rahl’s palace might have the gift. It occurred to her that if he did have the gift, he would see her as a hole in the world. It also occurred to her that this was a very poor time to blurt out a confession, and an even worse time to try to bolt for the gate. She had to hope that he was a palace official and that he wasn’t gifted.

Many of the soldiers were still watching. Jennsen casually pulled her knife from the sheath at her belt. Without a word, but showing a face that clearly said she was running out of patience, she held the knife up before the man’s eyes so he could see the ornate “R” on the handle.

He looked down his nose at the weapon before returning his attention to her. “And this is real?”

“No,” Jennsen snapped, “I smelted it while sitting around the campfire last night. Are you going to take me to where you hold prisoners, or not?”

Showing no reaction, the man graciously held out a hand. “If you would follow me this way, madam.”