it is your right. You enslave in the name of your Creator.
I don't know your Creator. The only  one beyond this  world who I know would
do as you do is the Keeper." The crowd gasped. "As far as I'm concerned, you
may as well be the Keeper's disciples."
     Little did he know that some of them were.
     "If you do as she, and use this collar to bring me pain, the truce will
be  ended.  You may think you  hold the  leash to this collar, but I promise
you,  if the  truce ends, you will find  that  what you hold  is  a  bolt of
lightning."
     The room was as silent as a tomb.
     He was alone, defiant, in the midst of hundreds of sorceresses who knew
how to harness every nuance of the power  with which they were born; he knew
next to nothing  of his ability,  and was collared by a Rada'Han besides. In
this, he may have been  a stag, but  a stag challenging  a  congregation  of
lions. Hungry lions.
     Richard rolled  up his  left  sleeve. He  drew  his  sword-a  sword!-in
defiance of the prodigious power arrayed before him. The distinctive ring of
steel filled the silence as the blade was brought free.
     Nicci stood spellbound as he listed his conditions.
     He finally pointed  back  with the sword. "Sister Verna  captured me. I
have fought her every step of this journey. She has done everything short of
killing me and draping my body over a horse to get me here. Though she, too,
is my captor and  enemy, I owe her certain debts. If anyone lays a finger to
her because of me, I will kill that person, and the truce will be ended."
     Nicci couldn't fathom such a strange sense  of honor, but  somehow  she
knew it fit what she saw in his eyes.
     The  crowd  gasped as Richard  drew his sword across the inside  of his
arm. He turned it, wiping both sides in the blood, until it dripped from the
tip. Nicci could  plainly see, even if the others could not much as  she saw
in his  eyes a quality  others  did not see-that the sword united  with, and
completed, magic within him.
     His knuckles white around the  hilt, he  thrust the glistening  crimson
blade into the air.
     "I give you a blood  oath!" he cried out. "Harm the Baka Ban Mana, harm
Sister

     Verna, or harm me,  and  the truce will be ended,  and I promise you we
will  have  t,  war! If we have war, I will lay waste  to the Palace  of the
Prophets!"
     From  the  upper balcony,  where  Richard couldn't  see him, Jedidiah's
mocking voice drifted out over the crowd. "All by yourself?"
     "Doubt me at your peril. I am a prisoner; I have nothing to live for. I
am the t flesh of prophecy. I am the bringer of death."
     No answer came in the stupefied  silence.  Probably  every woman in the
room knew  of the prophecy of the bringer of  death, though none was certain
of  its intended meaning.  The text  of  that  prophecy, along with all  the
others, was kept in the vaults  deep under the Palace of the  Prophets. That
Richard knew it, that he dared declare it aloud in such company, augured the
worst possible interpretation. Every lioness in the room retracted her claws
in  caution.  Richard  drove  his  sword home  into  its  scabbard as if  to
punctuate his threat.
     Nicci knew that  the profound importance of what  she had seen  in  his
eyes and in his presence would forever haunt her.
     She knew, too, that she must destroy him.
     Nicci had  to surrender  favors and  commit  to  obligations  she never
imagined  she would have  willingly done, but in return, she became  one  of
Richard's six teachers.  The burdens  she had taken  on  in return for  that
privilege  were  all worth it when she sat alone with  him,  across  a small
table in his room, lightly holding his hands-if one could be said to lightly
grasp lightning-endeavoring to teach him to  touch his  Han, the  essence of
life  and spirit  within the gifted. Try as he might, he felt nothing. That,
in itself, was peculiar.  The inkling of what  she felt  within him, though,
was  often enough to leave her unable to bring forth more than a few  sparse
words. She had casually  questioned the others, and knew  they were blind to
it.
     Although Nicci  could not comprehend what  it  was about his  intellect
that his eyes and his conduct  revealed, she  did know that it disturbed the
numb safety  of her  indifference. She  ached to grasp it before  she had to
destroy him, and at the same time ached to destroy him before she did.
     Whenever she  became confident  that  she  was beginning to unravel the
mystery  of his  singular character,  and thought she could predict  what he
would  do  in a given  , situation, he would confound her by doing something
completely unexpected, if not impossible. Time and again he reduced to ashes
what  she had  thought was the foundation of her understanding  of  him. She
spent  hours sitting alone,  in abysmal misery, because  it  seemed to be in
plain sight,  yet she couldn't  define  it. She knew  only that  it was some
principle important beyond measure, and it remained beyond her .: grasp.
     Richard,  never happy  about his situation, became increasingly distant
as time passed. Forlorn of hope, Nicci decided that the time had come.
     When she went to his room for what she meant to be his final lesson and
his  end, he  surprised her  by offering her a  rare  white  rose. Worse, he
offered  it with a smile  and no explanation. As he held it  out, she was so
petrified that she could only manage  to say, "Why, thank you, Richard." The
white roses were from  only one kind of place: dangerous restricted areas no
student should ever have been able  to enter. That  he apparently could, and
that he  would so  boldly offer her the proof of his trespass, startled her.
She held the white rose carefully between a finger and thumb, not knowing if
he  was warning  her-by giving her a  forbidden thing-that  °;  he  was  the
bringer of death, and she was being marked, or if it was a gesture of

     simple,  if strange,  kindness.  She erred on the side of caution. Once
again, his nature had stayed her hand.
     The other  Sisters  of the Dark had plans of their own. Richard's gift,
as far as Nicci was concerned, was probably the  least remarkable and by far
the least important thing about him, yet Liliana, one of his other teachers,
a woman of boundless  greed and limited insight, thought to steal the innate
ability of  his  Han  for herself.  It  sparked a lethal confrontation which
Liliana lost. The  six  of  them, their leader, Ulicia,  and Richard's  five
remaining  teachers-having  been discovered,  escaped with  their lives  and
little else, only to end up in Jagang's clutches.
     In  the end, Nicci  understood  that quality in his eyes no better than
the first moment she had seen it.
     It had all slipped through her fingers.
     --]----
     The girl ran for her mother when Nicci released her grip on the studded
strap around her neck.
     "Well?"  Commander Kardeef shrieked. He planted his fists on his  hips.
"Are you  through  with your games? It's time these people learned the  true
meaning of ruthless!"
     Nicci  stared into  the  depths of his  dark eyes.  They were  defiant,
angry, and determined-yet they were nothing at all like Richard's eyes.
     Nicci turned to the soldiers.
     She gestured. "You two. Seize the commander."
     The  men blinked dumbly.  Commander Kardeef's face went red with  rage.
"That's  it! You've finally  gone too far!" He wheeled to his men,  a  whole
field  of  them-two  thousand of  them.  He  pointed a  thumb back over  his
shoulder at Nicci. "Grab this lunatic witch!"
     Half a dozen men nearest to her drew  weapons as they rushed her.  Like
all Order field troops, they were  big,  strong,  and  quick. They were also
experienced.
     Nicci thrust  a fist out in  the direction of  the closest as he lifted
his  whip to  lash  out and  entangle her. With  the  speed of thought, both
Additive  Magic  and  Subtractive twined together  in a lethal  mix  as  she
unleashed a focused  bolt of power. It produced a burst of  light so hot and
so white that  for an instant  it  made  the sunlight seem  dim and  cold by
comparison.
     The blast blew  a mellon-sized hole through the center of the soldier's
chest. For an instant, before  the internal  pressure forced his  organs  to
fill the  sudden  void,  she could see men behind through the gaping hole in
his chest.
     The afterimage of the flare lingered in her mind's eye like lightning's
arc. The acrid smell of scorched air stung her eyes. The clap of her power's
thunder rumbled out across the surrounding green fields of wheat.
     Before the soldier hit  the ground, Nicci unleased her  power  on three
more  of  the charging  men, taking off  one's  entire shoulder,  the wallop
whirling him around like a ghastly fountain, the  dangling limb flinging off
into the crowd. A third man was cut  almost in two. She  felt the concussion
of  the following  bolt deep  in her chest and,  amid a blinding  flash, the
fourth man's head came apart in a cloud of red mist and bony debris.
     Her warning  gaze  met the eyes  of  two men  with  knives  gripped  in
white-knuckled

     fists. They halted. Many more  took a step back as the four reports, to
her so separate  yet so close atop  one another that they almost merged into
one ripping blast, still echoed off the buildings.
     "Now," she  said in a quiet,  calm,  composed voice  that  by its  very
gentleness  betrayed how deadly earnest was  the threat, "if you  men do not
follow my orders, and seize Commander Kardeef, I will seize him myself. But,
of course, not until after I've killed every last one of you."
     The only sound was the moan of wind between the buildings.
     "Do as I say, or die. I will not wait."
     The big men, knowing her,  made their decision in the instant they knew
was all she would grant them,  and leaped to seize the commander. He managed
to draw  his  sword. Kadar  Kardeef was no stranger  to  pitched  battle. He
screamed  orders as he fought them  off. More than one man fell  dead in the
melee. Others cried out as they took wounds. From behind, men finally caught
the  deadly sword arm. Additional men piled on  the commander until they had
him disarmed, down on the ground, and finally under control.
     "What  do you think you're doing?" Kadar Kardeef  roared at her  as the
men pulled him to his feet.
     Nicci  closed the  distance between them. The soldiers  held  his  arms
twisted behind his back. She stared into his wild eyes.
     "Why, Commander, I am merely following your orders."
     "What are you talking about!"
     She smiled  without humor just because she knew it would further madden
him.
     One of the  men glanced back  over his shoulder. "What do you want done
with him?"
     "Don't hurt him-I want  him  fully conscious. Strip him and bind him to
the pole."
     "Pole? What pole?"
     "The pole that held the pigs you men ate."
     Nicci snapped her fingers, and they began pulling off their commander's
clothes, She watched  without  emotion as he  was finally stripped. His gear
and  prized weapons became  plunder, quickly disappearing into the  hands of
men he had commanded. They grunted with  effort as  they  fought to bind the
struggling, naked, hairy commander to the pole at his back.
     Nicci turned to  the stunned crowd.  "Commander  Kardeef wishes  you to
know  how  ruthless we  can  be. I am going to  carry out those  orders, and
demonstrate it for you."  She turned back to the soldiers. "Put him over the
fire to roast like a pig."
     The soldiers  bore  the struggling, furious Kadar Kardeef, the hero  of
the Little Gap campaign, to the fire pit. They knew that Jagang watched them
through her  eyes.  They  had reason to be confident  that the emperor would
stop her  if he wished to. After all, he was the dream walker, and  they had
seen him force her and the other Sisters to  submit  to his wishes countless
times, no matter how degrading those wishes were.
     They could  not know  that, for some reason, Jagang did not have access
to ha mind right then.
     The wooden ends of the pole  clattered  into  the  sockets in the stone
supports to each side of the fire pit. The pole sprang up  and down with the
weight of its load The weight finally settled, leaving Kadar Kardeef to hang
facedown. He had little choice but to watch the glowing coals beneath him.

     Even though the fire had burned down, it wasn't long before the heat of
the wavering,  low flames began causing him distress.  As  people watched in
silent  dismay, the  commander twisted as he shrieked orders, demanding that
his  men  take  him  down, promising  them punishment if they  delayed.  His
diatribe trailed off as he began gasping for control of his growing dread.
     Watching the eyes of the town's people, Nicci pointed behind her.
     "This  is  how  ruthless  the  Imperial  Order  is:  they  will slowly,
painfully,  burn to death a  great commander,  a  war  hero, a man known and
revered far and wide, a man who has served them well, just  to prove to you,
the people of an  insignificant little town, that they will  not hesitate to
kill  anyone.  Our  goal  is the  good of all,  and  that goal  is held more
important than any mere man among us. This is the proof. Now, do you people,
for any reason, still think that we would shrink from harming any or all  of
you if you don't contribute to the common good?"
     Nearly everyone shook their heads as they all mumbled, "No, Mistress."
     Behind her,  Commander Kardeef writhed in pain. He again yelled at  his
men, commanding them to bring him  down, and to kill "the crazy witch." None
of  the  soldiers moved to  comply with  his orders.  To look  at them, they
didn't even hear him. These  men had no notion of compassion. There was only
life, and death. They chose life; that choice required his death.
     Nicci stood  watching the eyes of the people as the minutes dragged on.
The commander was up a  good distance from the  low flames, but there  was a
expansive bed of broiling hot  coals. She knew  that, from time to time, the
gusty breeze diverted  the fierce heat  to give  him a fleeting reprieve. It
would only prolong his ordeal; the heat was inexorable. Still, it would take
some time. She didn't ask for more firewood. She was in no hurry.
     People's noses wrinkled; everyone could smell his body hair burning. No
one dared speak. As the ordeal wore on,  the skin across Kardeef's chest and
stomach reddened, and then darkened. It was a good fifteen minutes before it
finally began to crack and split open. He shrieked in pain nearly the entire
time. The smell turned to a surprisingly pleasant aroma of cooking meat.
     In the  end,  he  gave in  to  wailing  for  mercy. He called her name,
begging  her  to bring  it to an end, to either free him or  to  finish  him
quickly. As she listened  to him sob  her name,  she stroked  the gold  ring
through  her lower lip, his voice little  more  to her than the buzzing of a
fly.
     The thin layer of fat that lay over his powerful muscles began melting.
He grew hoarse. Fueled by the fat, flames flared up, scorching his face.
     "Nicci!" Kardeef knew his  pleas for mercy were  falling on indifferent
ears.  He betrayed  his true  feelings. "You  vicious  bitch!  You  deserved
everything I did to your"
     She casually confronted his wild gaze. "Yes, I did. Give my regards  to
the Keeper, Kadar."
     "Tell him  yourself! When Jagang finds out  about this,  he'll tear you
limb from limb! You'll soon be in the underworld, in the Keeper's hands!"
     His words were once more but a trifling drone.
     Sweat beaded  on people's  foreheads as the spectacle dragged  on. They
needed  no spoken orders to know she  expected  them to remain and watch the
whole  thing. Their own  imaginations,  should  they consider disobeying her
unspoken orders, would dream up punishments she never  could. Only  the boys
were  fascinated by the remarkable  exhibition. Knowing  looks passed  among
them; torture such as this was

     a treat to the minds of young immortals. Someday, they might make  good
Order troops-if they didn't grow up.
     Nicci  met  the  glare of  the  girl.  The  hatred  in those  eyes  was
breathtaking.  Even  though  the  girl had been afraid  of  the  dunking and
scrubbing,  her eyes, at the time, had shown  that the  world  was  still  a
wondrous place, and she was someone special. Now, her eyes betrayed her lost
innocence.
     The whole  time, Nicci stood tall, with her back straight and shoulders
square, to take the full  blow of the girl's bright new hatred, feeling  the
rare sensation of experiencing something.
     The girl had no idea that  Commander Kardeef had taken her place in the
flames,
     When the commander finally went silent, Nicci turned her  eyes from the
girl and spoke to the town's people.
     "The past is gone.  You are part of  the Imperial  Order. If you people
don't  do  the moral  thing by  contributing toward  the  well-being of your
fellow citizens of the Order, I will return."
     They  did not doubt her. If there was one thing  they obviously wanted,
it was never to see her again.
     One of the soldiers, his fists trembling at his sides,  tramped forward
in halting steps. His eyes were wide with bewildered pain. "I want you back,
darlin," he growled  in a voice that didn't match the startled expression in
his eyes. The voice turned deadly. "And I want you back right now."
     There was no mistaking Jagang's voice, or the rage in it.
     It was difficult for him to  control  the mind of one without the gift.
He had  the  soldier  in  a tenacious  grip.  Jagang would  not have  used a
soldier, thereby betraying  his impotence, had he been able to reach  in and
control Nicci's mind.
     She had absolutely no idea why he had suddenly lost the link to her. It
had happened before. She knew he would eventually reestablish his ability to
hurt her. She had merely to wait.
     "You are angry with me, Excellency?"
     "What do you think?"
     She shrugged. "Since Kadar  was  your better in bed, I  would think you
would be pleased."
     "Get  yourself back  here right now!" the  soldier  roared in  Jagang's
voice. "Do you understand? Right now!"
     Nicci bowed. "But, of course, Excellency."
     As she straightened,  she yanked  the  soldier's  long  knife  from the
sheath  at his  belt  and slammed  it hilt-deep into his  muscled  gut.  She
`gritted her teeth with the effort of pivoting the handle sideways, sweeping
the blade in a lethal arc through his insides.
     She doubted the man felt his messy death writhing at her feet while she
waited for  her carriage to  make  its way around  the square. He died  with
Jagang's chuckle on his lips. Since a dream walker could only be in a living
mind, for the time being, the afternoon returned to quiet.
     After her  carriage rocked  to a dusty halt, a  soldier  reached up and
opened  the  door. She leaned out from the  step, turning back to the crowd,
holding  the  outside  handrail in  order to stand straight so that they all
might see her. Her blond hair fluttered in the sunny breeze.
     "Do not forget this day, and how your  lives  were all spared by Jagang
the Just!
     The  commander  would  have murdered you;  the emperor, through me, has
instead'

     shown his compassion. Spread the word of the mercy and wisdom of Jagang
the Just, and I will have no need to return."
     The crowd mumbled that they would.
     "Do you want us to  bring the commander with us," a soldier  asked. The
man,  Kadar   Kardeef's  loyal  second,  now  wore  Kardeef's   sword.  Like
vegetables, fidelity's  fresh vitality was  fleeting,  its final fate stench
and rot.
     "Leave him to roast as a reminder. Everyone else will return with me to
Fairfield."
     "By your command," he said with a bow. He  circled  his arm and ordered
the men to mount up and move out.
     Nicci leaned out farther and looked up  at the  driver. "His Excellency
wishes to see me. Although he has not  said  as much, I'm reasonably sure he
would like you to hurry."
     Nicci  took  her place on  the hard leather  cushion  inside,  her back
straight against the upright seat, while the driver let out a shrill whistle
and cracked his whip.  The team leaped forward, jerking  the carriage ahead.
With a hand on the windowsill, she steadied herself as  the ironbound wheels
bounced over the  hard, rough  ground of  the town square until they reached
the  road, where  the carnage settled  down into this familiar jolting ride.
Sunlight slanted in  the  window, falling across the empty cushion  opposite
her. The bold bright patch glided off the  seat as the carriage negotiated a
curve  in the  road, finally slipping up to come  to rest in  her lap like a
warm  cat.  Darkly  clad riders to each side,  ahead,  and behind  stretched
forward  over the withers of their galloping mounts.  A rumbling  roar along
with  billowing  plumes  of dust lifted  into  the air  from the  thundering
hooves.
     For  the moment,  Nicci  was free of  Jagang. She was surrounded by two
thousand men, yet she felt totally  alone. Before long, she would have  pain
to fill the terrible void.
     She felt no  joy, no fear. She sometimes wondered why she felt  nothing
but the need to hurt.
     As  the carriage raced toward Jagang, her thoughts were focused instead
on another man, trying to recall every occasion  that she had seen him.  She
went over every moment  she had spent with Richard  Cypher, or as he was now
known-and as Jagang knew him-Richard Rahl.
     She thought about his gray eyes.
     Until  the day she saw him, she had never believed such a person  could
exist.
     When she thought about Richard, like now, only one haunting need burned
in her: to destroy him.

     C H A P T E R 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