seeing  what my mind wants me to see. It may not be
real."
     Richard folded his arms and leaned back against the granite base of the
statue as he gazed out toward the Pillars of Creation, ignoring
     Owen's doubt. Knowing Richard as  she did, Kahlan imagined that he must
be considering his options.
     Standing beside him, she was  about to lean  back  against the stone of
the statue's base,  but  instead paused  to  first  brush the snow  off from
beside where  the warning  beacon rested. As she brushed the snow  away, she
saw that there were words carved in the top of the decorative molding.
     "Richard . .. look at this."
     He turned to see what she saw, and then started hurriedly brushing away
more of the snow. The others crowded around, trying to see what was  written
in the stone of  the statue's base. Cara, on the  other side of Richard, ran
her hand all the way to the end to clean off the entire ledge.
     Kahlan couldn't read it.  It was in another  language  she didn't know,
but thought she recognized.
     "High D'Haran?" Cara asked.
     Richard nodded his confirmation as he  studied the words. "This must be
a very old dialect," he said,  half to himself as  he scrutinized it, trying
to figure it  out. "It's not just an old dialect, but one with which I'm not
familiar. Maybe because this is so distant a place."
     "What  does  it say?"  Jennsen  wanted  to  know as  she  peered around
Richard, between him and Kahlan. "Can you translate it?"
     "It's difficult to work  it out," Richard mumbled.  He  swiped his hair
back  with one hand as  he  ran the  fingers  of his  other lightly over the
words.
     He finally straightened and glanced up at Owen, standing to the side of
the base, watching.
     Everyone waited while Richard looked  down at the words again. "I'm not
sure,"  he finally  said. "The  phraseology is odd.  . .." He looked  up  at
Kahlan. "I  can't  be  sure.  I've not seen  High D'Haran  written this  way
before. I feel like I should know what it says, but I can't quite get it."
     Kahlan didn't know if  he really couldn't be sure, or if he didn't want
to speak the translation in front of the others.
     "Well, maybe if you think it over for  a while, it might  come to you,"
she  offered, trying  to give him a way of putting it off for the time being
if he wanted to.
     Richard didn't take her offer. Instead, he tapped a finger to the words
on the left of the warning  beacon. "This part is a little more clear to me.
I think it  says something like Tear any breach  of this seal to the  empire
beyond ...' "
     He  wiped a hand  across  his mouth  as he considered  the  rest of the
words. "I'm not so sure about the rest of it," he finally said. "It seems to
say, 'for beyond is evil: those who cannot see.' "
     "Of course," Jennsen muttered in angry comprehension.
     Richard raked his fingers back through his hair. "I'm not at all sure I
have  it right. Something  about it still doesn't make sense. I'm not sure I
have it right."
     "You  have  it perfectly  right," Jennsen  said. "Those  who cannot see
magic.  This was placed by the gifted who  sealed those people away from the
rest of the world because of how they were born." Her fiery eyes filled with
tears. "Fear any  breach of this seal  to  the empire beyond, for  beyond is
evil--those who cannot see magic. That's what it means, those who cannot see
magic."
     No one argued with  her. The only sound was the rush of the wind across
the open ground.
     Richard spoke softly to her. "I'm not sure that's it, Jenn."
     She folded her arms and turned away, glaring out  toward the Pillars of
Creation.
     Kahlan  could understand how she felt. Kahlan knew what it  was like to
be  shunned  by almost everyone except  those who  were like you. Confessors
were  thought of  as monsters by many people. Given the chance,  Kahlan  was
sure  that much of the rest of humanity would  be happy to seal her away for
being a Confessor.
     But  just  because she could understand how  Jennsen  felt, that didn't
mean Kahlan thought the  young woman was right. Jennsen's anger at those who
banished  these people was justified, but her anger at Richard and  the rest
of  them for having the same spark of the gift,  which made them in that way
the same, was not.
     Richard turned his attention to Owen. "How many men do you have waiting
in the hills for you to return?"
     "Not quite a hundred."
     Richard sighed in disappointment. "Well,  if that's all you have,  then
that's all you have. We'll have to see to getting more later.
     "For now, I want you to go get those men. Bring them here, to me. We'll
wait here for you to return. This will be our base from where we work a plan
to get the Order out  of Bandakar. We'll set up a  camp down there, in those
trees, where it's well protected."
     Owen looked down the  incline  to where Richard pointed,  and then  off
toward his homeland.  His  confused frown  returned  to Richard. "But,  Lord
Rahl, it is you who must give us freedom. Why  not  just come with me to the
men, if you want to see them?"
     "Because  I  think this will be a safer place than where they  are now,
where the Order probably knows they're hiding."
     "But the Order does not know that  there are men  hiding, or where they
are."
     "You're deluding yourselves. The men in  the Order are brutal, but they
aren't stupid."
     "If they really know where  the men are, then why hasn't the Order come
to call them in?"
     "They will," Richard  said. "When  it suits them,  they will. Your  men
aren't a threat, so  the  men  of the Order are in  no hurry  to expend  any
effort  to capture  them. Sooner  or later  they will, though,  because they
won't want anyone to think they can escape the Order's rule.
     "I want your  men away from there, to a place they've not been: here. I
want the  Order to think they're gone, to  think  they've run away, so  they
won't go after them."
     "Well," Owen said, thinking it over, "I guess that would be all right."
     Tom  stood  watch  near  the  far  corner of the  statue's base, giving
Jennsen room to be alone. She looked  angry and he looked like he thought it
best just to leave her be. Tom looked  as if he felt guilty  for having been
born with  the spark of  the gift that  allowed him to see magic,  that same
spark possessed by those who had banished people like Jennsen.
     "Tom," Richard said, "I want you to go with Owen."
     Jennsen's arms came unfolded as  she turned toward Richard. "Why do you
want him to go?" She suddenly sounded a lot less angry.
     "That's right," Owen said. "Why should he go?"
     "Because," Richard said, "I want to make sure that you and your men get
back here. I need the antidote, remember? The more men I have back here with
me who know where it is, the  better. I want them safely away from the Order
for now. With blond hair and blue eyes, Tom will fit in with your people. If
you run into  any soldiers from  the Order they  will think he's one of you.
Tom will make sure you all get back here."
     "But it could be dangerous," Jennsen objected.
     Richard fixed her in his challenging stare. He didn't say  anything. He
simply waited to see if she would dare to attempt to justify her objections.
Finally, she broke eye contact and looked away.
     "I guess it makes sense, though," she finally admitted.
     Richard turned his attention back to Tom. "I want you to see if you can
bring back some  supplies. And I'd like  to  use your hatchet  while  you're
gone, if that's all right."
     Tom nodded  and  pulled his  hatchet from  his pack. As Richard stepped
closer to take the  axe, he started  ticking off a list of things he  wanted
the  man  to  look  for--specific  tools,  yew  wood, hide glue, packthread,
leather, and a list of other things Kahlan couldn't hear.
     Tom hooked his thumbs behind his belt. "All right. I doubt I'll find it
all right  off.  Do you  want  me to  search out what I can't  find before I
return?"
     "No. I need it all, but I need  those  men back  here  more. Get what's
readily available and then get  back  here with Owen and his men  as soon as
possible."
     "I'll get what I can. When do you want us to leave?"
     "Now. We don't have a moment to lose."
     "Now?" Owen sounded incredulous. "It will be dark in an hour or two."
     "Those couple of hours may be hours I need," Richard said. "Don't waste
them."
     Kahlan thought that he meant because of  the poison,  but he could have
had the gift in mind. She could see  how much pain he  was in because of the
headache caused by the gift. She ached to hold him, to comfort  him, to make
him better, but she couldn't  make it all just go away; they had to find the
solutions. She  glanced at  the small figure of Richard standing on the base
of the statue. Half of that figure was as dark as a night stone, as dark and
dead as the deepest part of the underworld itself.
     Tom swung  his  pack  up over his shoulder. "Take care  of them for me,
will you, Cara?" he asked with a wink. She smiled her  agreement. "I'll  see
you  all in a few days,  then." He waved his farewell, his gaze lingering on
Jennsen, before shepherding  Owen around the  statue  and  toward the  man's
homeland.
     Cara  folded her arms and leveled a look at  Jennsen. "You're a fool if
you don't go kiss him a good journey."
     Jennsen hesitated, her eyes turning toward Richard.
     "I've learned not to argue with Cara," Richard said.
     Jennsen smiled and ran over the ridge to catch Tom before he was  gone.
Betty, at the end of a long rope, scampered to follow after.
     Richard  stuffed  the  small figure  of himself into  his  pack  before
picking up his bow from where it leaned against the statue. "We'd better get
down into the trees and set up a camp."
     Richard, Kahlan,  and Cara started down the rise  toward the concealing
safety of  the huge pines. They had been long enough out in the open, as far
as Kahlan  was concerned. It was only a matter of time before the races came
in search of them--before Nicholas came looking for them.
     As cold as it was up in the pass, Kahlan knew  they didn't dare build a
fire; the races could spot the smoke and then find them. They needed instead
to build  a snug shelter. Kahlan wished  they could find  a wayward pine  to
protect and hide them for the night, but she had  not seen any of those down
in the Old World and wishing wasn't going to grow one.
     As she stepped carefully  on dry  patches of rock, avoiding the snow so
as not to leave tracks, she checked the dark clouds.  It was always possible
that it might  warm just a little and  that the precipitation could  turn to
rain. Even if it didn't, it still would be a miserably cold night.
     Jennsen,  Betty following behind,  returned, catching up  with them  as
they zigzagged down through the steep notches of ledge. The wind was getting
colder, the snow a little heavier.
     When they  reached  a  flatter  spot,  Jennsen  caught  Richard's  arm.
"Richard, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be angry  with you.  I know  you didn't
banish those people. I know it's not  your fault." She gathered up the slack
on Betty's rope, looping it into  coils. "It just makes  me angry that those
people were treated like that. I'm like them, and so it makes me angry."
     "The way they were treated should make  you angry," Richard said as  he
started away, "but not because you share an attribute with them."
     Taken aback by  his words,  even  looking a little hurt, Jennsen didn't
move. "What do you mean?"
     Richard  paused and turned back to her. "That's how the  Imperial Order
thinks.  That's  how   Owen's  people  think.  It's  a  belief  in  granting
disembodied prestige,  or the mantle of guilt, to all  those who share  some
specific trait or attribute.
     "The Imperial Order would like  you to believe  that your virtue,  your
ultimate value, or  even your wickedness, arises entirely from being born  a
member  of  a  given  group,  that free will  itself is either  impotent  or
nonexistent.  They  want  you   to  believe  that   all  people  are  merely
interchangeable   members   of   groups   that   share  fixed,   preordained
characteristics, and  they  are predestined  to live  through  a  collective
identity,  the  group will, unable to rise on individual merit because there
can be no such thing as independent, individual merit, only group merit.
     "They  believe that people can only rise above  their station  in  life
when  selected  to be  awarded recognition because  their  group  is  due an
indulgence, and  so a  representative,  a stand-in  for the  group,  must be
selected to be awarded the badge of self-worth. Only the reflected light off
this badge, they believe, can bring the radiance  of self-worth to others of
their group.
     "But those granted this badge live with the  uneasy knowledge that it's
only  an illusion of  competence.  It never brings any  sincere self-respect
because you  can't fool yourself. Ultimately, because it is counterfeit, the
sham of esteem granted  because  of a connection with  a group  can  only be
propped up by force.
     "This belittling of mankind, the  Order's  condemnation of everyone and
everything human, is their transcendent judgment of man's inadequacy.
     "When you direct your anger at me for  having  a trait borne by someone
else, you  pronounce me guilty for  their crimes. That's  what happens  when
people say  I'm a monster  because our father was a  monster. If  you admire
someone  simply  because  you  believe  their group is deserving,  then  you
embrace the same corrupt ethics.
     "The Imperial Order says  that no individual should have  the right  to
achieve something on his own, to accomplish what someone else cannot, and so
magic must be stripped from mankind. They say that accomplishment is corrupt
because it  is rooted in the evil  of self-interest, therefore the fruits of
that accomplishment  are  tainted by its evil.  This is why they preach that
any  gain must be sacrificed to those who have not earned it. They hold that
only through such sacrifice can those fruits be purified and made good.
     "We believe,  on  the  other hand, that your own individual life is the
value and its own end, and what you achieve is yours.
     "Only you can achieve self-worth for yourself. Any group offering it to
you, or demanding it of you, comes bearing chains of slavery."
     Jennsen stared at him for a long moment. A  smile finally overcame her.
"That's why, then, I always wanted to be accepted for who I was, for myself,
and always thought it unfair to be persecuted because of how I was born?"
     "That's  why,"  Richard  said. "If  you  want to be proud  of  yourself
because of what you accomplish, then don't allow yourself to be  chained  to
some  group, and don't  in turn chain other  individuals  to  one.  Let your
judgment of individuals be earned.
     "This means  I should  not  be hated  because my father was  evil,  nor
should I be admired because my grandfather is good. I have the right to live
my own life, for my own benefit. You are Jennsen Rahl, and your life is what
you, alone, make of it."
     They made  the rest of the way down  the hill in silence. Jennsen still
had a faraway look as she thought about what Richard had said.
     When  they  reached the trees,  Kahlan was relieved to get in under the
sheltering limbs of the ancient pines and even more so when they entered the
secluded protection of the lower, thicker balsam trees.  They made their way
through dense thickets  into the quiet  solitude of  the towering trees, and
farther down  the  slope, to  a place where an outcropping of  rock  offered
protection from the elements. It would  be easier to construct  a shelter in
such a place by leaning boughs against it in order to make a relatively warm
shelter.
     Richard used Tom's hatchet to cut some stout poles from  young pines in
the  understory which  he placed against the  rock wall. While he lashed the
poles together with wiry lengths of  pine roots he pulled  up from the mossy
ground,  Kahlan,  Jennsen, and  Cara started  collecting  boughs to make dry
bedding and to cover over the shelter.
     "Richard," Jennsen asked as she dragged a bundle of balsam close to the
shelter, "how  do you think  you are going  to rid  Bandakar of the Imperial
Order?"
     Richard laid a  heavy bough up high  on the poles and  tied it in place
with  a length  of the wiry pine root. "I don't know that  I can. My primary
concern is to get to the antidote."
     Jennsen looked a bit  surprised.  "But aren't you going  to help  those
people?"
     He glanced back over his shoulder at  her. "They poisoned me. No matter
how you dress it up, they're willing to  murder  me if  I don't do  as  they
wish--if I don't do their dirty work for them. They think we're savages, and
they're above us.  They don't think our lives are worth  as much--because we
are not members of their group. My first responsibility is  to my own  life,
to getting that antidote."
     "I see what you mean." Jennsen handed  him another balsam bough. "But I
still think that if we  eliminate the Order there, and  this Nicholas, we'll
be helping ourselves."
     Richard smiled. "I can agree  with that, and we're going to do  what we
can. But to  truly help them,  I need to convince Owen and his men that they
must help themselves."
     Cara snorted a derisive laugh. "That will be a good trick, teaching the
lambs to become the wolves."
     Kahlan agreed. She  thought that convincing Owen  and his men to defend
themselves would be more difficult than the five of them ridding Bandakar of
the Imperial Order by themselves. She wondered what Richard had in mind.
     "Well," Jennsen said,  "since  we're all in this, all going to face the
Order  up  in  Bandakar,  don't  you  think that  I  have  a  right  to know
everything? To know  what you two are always making eyes at each other about
and whispering about?"
     Richard stared at Jennsen a moment before he looked back at Kahlan.
     Kahlan  laid her bundle of branches  down near  the shelter.  "I  think
she's right."
     Richard looked unhappy about it, but  finally  nodded and set down  the
balsam bough he was holding. "Almost two years ago, Jagang managed to find a
way to use magic to start a plague. The plague itself was not magic; it  was
just  the plague. It swept  through cities  killing  people  by  the tens of
thousands. Since  the firestorm had  been  started with a spark of  magic, I
found a way to stop the plague, using magic."
     Kahlan did not believe that such a nightmare could be reduced to such a
simple statement and  even begin  to  adequately convey the horror  they had
gone  through.  But  by the  look on Jennsen's  face, she at least grasped a
little bit of the terror that had gripped the land.
     "In  order for Richard to return from the place where he  had  to go to
stop the plague," Kahlan said,  leaving out terrible portions of the  story,
"he had to take  the infection of plague. Had  he  not, he would have lived,
but lived alone for the rest of his life  and died alone without ever seeing
me or  anyone else again. He took  the plague into himself so  that he could
come back and tell me he loved me."
     Jennsen stared, wide-eyed. "Didn't you know he loved you?"
     Kahlan smiled a small  bitter smile. "Don't you think your mother would
come back from the world of the dead to tell you she loves you, even  though
you know she does?"
     "Yes, I suppose she  would. But why  would you  have to become infected
just to return? And return from where?"
     "It was a place, called the Temple of the  Winds, that was partially in
the underworld." Richard gestured up the pass. "Something like that boundary
was part  of the  world of the dead but  was still here, in this  world. You
might say  that  the  Temple of the  Winds  was something like  that. It was
hidden within  the underworld. Because  I  had to cross a boundary of sorts,
through the  underworld, the  spirits set a  price for me to  return  to the
world of life."
     "Spirits? You saw spirits there?" Jennsen asked.  When Richard  nodded,
she asked, "Why would they set such a price?"
     "The spirit who set the price of my return was Darken Rahl."
     Jennsen's jaw dropped.
     "When  we found Lord Rahl," Cara said,  "he was almost dead. The Mother
Confessor went on a dangerous journey  through the sliph, all alone, to find
what  would cure him. She succeeded in bringing it  back, but Lord Rahl  was
moments away from death."
     "I used the magic I recovered," Kahlan said. "It was something that had
the power  to reverse the plague that the magic had given him. The  magic  I
invoked to do this was the three chimes."
     "Three chimes?" Jennsen asked. "What are they?"
     "The chimes  are underworld magic. Summoning their  assistance keeps  a
person from crossing over into the world of the dead.
     "Unfortunately, or  perhaps  fortunately,  at the  time I  didn't  know
anything else about the chimes. It turns  out  that they were created during
the  great war  to end magic.  The chimes  are  beings of sorts, but without
souls. They come from the underworld. They annul magic in this world."
     Jennsen looked confused. "But how can they accomplish such a thing?"
     "I don't know how they work, exactly. But their presence in this world,
since they are part of  the world of the  dead,  begins  the destruction  of
magic."
     "Can't  you get  rid of the chimes?  Can't  you find a way to send them
back?"
     "I already did  that," Richard said. "But while they were here, in this
world, magic began to fail."
     "Apparently,"  Kahlan  said, "what I began that  day when I called  the
chimes into the world  of life began  a cascade of events  that continues to
progress, even though the chimes have been sent back to the underworld."
     "We don't know that," Richard said, more to Kahlan than to Jennsen.
     "Richard is right," Kahlan told Jennsen, "we don't know  it  for  sure,
but we have  good  reason  to believe  it's true. This boundary locking away
Bandakar  failed. The timing would suggest that it  failed not  long after I
freed the chimes. One of those mistakes I told you about, before. Remember?"
     Jennsen, staring  at Kahlan, finally nodded.  "But  you didn't do it to
hurt people.  You didn't know it would  happen.  You  didn't  know how  this
boundary  would  fail,  how the  Order  would  go  in there and  abuse those
people."
     "Doesn't really  make any difference, does it? I  did it.  I caused it.
Because of me, magic  may  be  failing. I accomplished  what  the  Order  is
working so hard to bring about. As a result of what I did, all those  people
in Bandakar died, and others are now out in the world where they  will  once
again do as they did in ancient times--they will begin breeding the gift out
of mankind.
     "We stand  at  the brink of the end times of magic, all because  of me,
because of what I did."
     Jennsen stood frozen.  "And so you regret what you caused? That you may
have done something that will end magic?"
     Kahlan felt Richard's arm around her waist. "I only know a  world  with
magic," she finally said. "I became  the Mother  Confessor--in part--to help
protect people with magic who are unable to protect themselves. I, too, am a
creature  of magic--it's  inextricably  bound into  me.  I  know  profoundly
beautiful  things  of magic  that I love;  they are a  part  of the world of
life."
     "So you fear you may have caused the end of what you love most."
     "Not love most." Kahlan smiled. "I became the  Mother Confessor because
I believe in laws that protect all people, give all individuals the right to
their own  life.  I  would  not want  an  artist's  ability to sculpt to  be
stopped,  or a  singer's voice to be  silenced,  or a  person's mind  to  be
stilled. Nor do  I want people's ability to achieve what they can with magic
to be stripped from them.
     "Magic itself is not the central issue, not what this is about. I  want
all the flowers,  in all their variety, to have a chance  to  bloom. You are
beautiful, too, Jennsen. I would not choose to lose you, either. Each person
has a right  to life. The  idea  that  there must be a  choice  of one  over
another is counter to what we believe."
     Jennsen smiled at Kahlan's hand on her cheek. "Well, I guess that  in a
world without magic, I could be queen."
     On her way by with balsam  boughs, Cara said, "Queens, too, must bow to
the Mother Confessor. Don't forget it."







        CHAPTER 36




     Light flooded  in as  the  lid  of the box suddenly  lifted. The  rusty
hinges groaned in protest of  every  inch the lid rose. Zedd squinted at the
abrupt,  blinding light of day.  Beefy arms  flipped the hinged lid back. If
there had  been  any  slack in the  chain  around his neck,  Zedd would have
jumped at the  booming bang when the heavy cover flopped back, showering him
in dirt and rusty grit.
     Between the  bright light  and  the dust swirling through the air, Zedd
could  hardly see. It didn't help,  either, that the short chain around  his
neck was  bolted to the center  of the floor of the box, leaving only enough
slack for him to be able to lift his head  a few inches. With his arms bound
in iron behind his back, he could do little more than lie on the floor.
     While Zedd was forced to lie there on  his side, his neck near the iron
bolt, he at least could breathe in the sudden rush  of  cooler air. The heat
in  the  box  had been  sweltering.  On a couple of occasions, when they had
stopped  at night, they had given him a cup of water. It had not been nearly
enough. He and Adie had been fed precious little, but it was water he needed
more than food. Zedd felt like he might die of thirst. He could hardly think
of anything but water.
     He  had lost  track  of the number of days  he had  been chained to the
floor of the box, but he was somewhat surprised to find himself still alive.
The box had been bouncing around in the back of a wagon over the course of a
long, rough, but swift journey. He could only assume that he was being taken
to Emperor Jagang. He  was also sure that he would  be sorry if he was still
alive at the end of the journey.
     There had  been times, in the stifling  heat of the  box,  when  he had
expected  that he would  soon fade into  unconsciousness and die. There were
times when he longed to  die. He was sure  that  falling  into such a  fatal
sleep  would be  far preferable to  what  was in  store  for him. He  had no
choice,  though;  the  control  the  Sister  exerted  through  the  Rada'Han
prevented him from  strangling himself  to death with the chain,  and it was
pretty hard, he had discovered, to will himself to die.
     Zedd, his head still held to the floor of the box by the stub of chain,
tried to peer up, but he could see only sky. He heard another lid bang open.
He coughed as another cloud of dust drifted  over him. When he  heard Adie's
cough, he  didn't know if he was  relieved  to know that she, too, was still
alive, or sorry that  she was,  knowing  what she,  like he,  would  have to
endure.
     Zedd was, in a way, ready for the torture he knew he would be subjected
to.  He was a wizard and had passed tests  of pain. He  feared such torture,
but he would  endure it  until  it finally  ended his life. In  his weakened
condition, he expected that it wouldn't take all that long. In a way, such a
time under torture was like an old acquaintance come back to haunt him.
     But he feared the torture of Adie far more than his own. He hated above
all  else the torture of others. He hated to think of her coming  under such
treatment.
     The wagon shuddered as the front of  the  other box dropped open. A cry
escaped Adie's throat when a man struck her.
     "Move, you stupid old woman, so I can get at the lock!"
     Zedd could hear Adie's shoes scraping  the wooden crate as, hands bound
behind her  back, she tried to comply. By  the sounds of fists on flesh, the
man wasn't happy  with her efforts. Zedd closed his  eyes, wishing he  could
close his ears as well.
     The front of Zedd's confining box crashed open, letting  in more  light
and dust. A shadow fell across him as a man approached. Because his face was
pinned to the floor by the chain, Zedd couldn't see the man.
     A big hand  reached  in, fitting a  key to the lock. Zedd kept his head
stretched as far away as possible to give the man  all the room available to
let him  do his work. Such effort earned Zedd a heavy punch  in  the side of
his head. The blow left his ears ringing.
     The lock finally  sprang open. The  man's  big fist seized Zedd  by the
hair and dragged him, like  a sack of grain, out of  the  box and toward the
rear of the wagon. Zedd pressed  his lips together, to keep  from crying out
as his bones bumped over protruding wooden runners in  the wagon bed. At the
back edge of the wagon he was summarily  dumped off the  back  to  slam down
onto the ground.
     Ears ringing, head spinning, Zedd tried to sit  up when  he was kicked,
knowing it was a  command. He spat out  dirt. With his hands tied behind his
back  he was  having  difficulty  complying. After  three kicks, a  big  man
grabbed him by the hair and lifted him upright.
     Zedd's  heart sank to see that  they  sat among an  army  of astounding
size. The  dark mass of humanity  blighted the  land as far as he could see.
So, it would seem, they had arrived.
     Out of the  corner of his eye,  he  saw Adie sitting in the dirt beside
him, her head hanging. She had a livid bruise on her cheek.  She didn't look
up when a shadow fell across her.
     A woman in a long drab skirt moved in before them, distracting him from
his appraisal of the  enemy forces. Zedd recognized the brown wool dress. It
was the Sister of the Dark who had  put the collar  around  their  necks. He
didn't know  her name; she'd never offered it. In fact, she hadn't spoken to
them since they were chained in their boxes. She  stood over them, now, like
the strict governess of incorrigible children.
     The  ring through her lower lip, marking her as a slave, in Zedd's mind
irrevocably tarnished her air of authority.
     The  ground was covered  with horse manure, most, but not all,  old and
dried. Out  beyond the Sister, horses stood picketed  seemingly without  any
order among the  soldiers. Horses that looked like they  might belong to the
cavalry were well kept. Workhorses were not so healthy. Among the horses and
men, wagons and stacks of supplies dotted the late-day landscape.
     The place had the  foul  stink of shallow latrines, horses, manure, and
the filthy smell of crowded human habitation failing to meet common sanitary
needs. Zedd blinked when  acrid woodsmoke  from one of the thousands of cook
fires drifted across him, burning his eyes.
     The  air  was also thick  with mosquitoes, gnats, and  flies. The flies
were the worst. The mosquito bites would itch later, but the flies stung the
instant they bit, and with his arms bound behind his back, there wasn't much
he could do about  it other than shake his head to  try to  keep them out of
his eyes and nose.
     The two  soldiers who had freed  Zedd and Adie from  their boxes  stood
patiently to the  sides. Beyond the woman's skirts a vast encampment  spread
out as  far  as the eye could see. There were men everywhere, men engaged in
work, at  rest, and at recreation.  They  were  dressed in  every variety of
clothing,  from leather armor, chain mail, and studded belts to hides, dirty
tunics, and trousers  in  the process of rotting into rags. Most of the  men
were  unshaven,  and  all were  as  filthy as  feral recluses living  in mad
seclusion.  The mass encampment generated a constant din of yells, whistles,
men  hollering  and laughing, the jangle and rattle  of metal,  the ring  of
hammers or rhythm of saws, and,  piercing through it all, the occasional cry
of someone in agonizing pain.
     Tents by  the thousands, tents  of all sorts, like  leaves after  a big
wind,  lay littering  the  gently  rolling  landscape at  the  foothills  of
towering mountains to the east. Many a tent was decorated with loot; gingham
curtains hung at an entrance, a small chair or table sat before a tent, here
and there an  item of women's personal clothing flew as a  flag of conquest.
Wagons and horses and  gear were all jammed together among the rabble in  no
seeming  plan.  The ground had been churned to a fine dust  by the masses in
this mock city devoid of skeletal order.
     The place was a nightmare of humanity reduced to the  savagery of a mob
on the  loose,  the  scope of  their goals no more than the impulse  of  the
moment. Though their leaders had ends, these men did not.
     "His Excellency has requested you both," the Sister said down to them.
     Neither Zedd nor Adie said anything. The men hauled them  both to their
feet. A sharp shove started  them moving behind the Sister after she marched
away. Zedd noticed, then, that there were more soldiers, close to  a  dozen,
escorting them.
     The wagon had delivered them to the end of a road, of sorts, that ran a
winding course  through the sprawling encampment. The end of the road, where
wagons sat in a row, appeared to be the entrance  to an inner camp, probably
a command  area. The regular soldiers outside a ring of heavily armed guards
ate, played dice, gambled, bartered loot, joked, talked,  and  drank as they
watched the prisoners being escorted.
     The thought occurred to Zedd that if he called out, proclaiming that he
was  the one  who  was responsible for  the light  spell that had killed  or
wounded so many of their chums, maybe the men would riot, set upon them, and
kill them before Jagang had a chance to do his worst.
     Zedd  opened  his mouth to try out his plan, but  saw the Sister glance
back over her shoulder. He discovered that  his voice was muted  through her
control of the collar around his neck. There would be no speaking unless she
allowed it.
     Following the Sister, they  walked past the standing  row  of wagons in
front of the one that had brought them. There were well over a dozen freight
wagons all lined up before the cordoned-off area with the larger tents. None
of the wagons were empty, but all were loaded with crates.
     With sinking realization, Zedd understood. These were wagons with goods
looted  from  the  Wizard's Keep.  These were all  wagons that had  made the
journey with them. They were all  full of the things those  ungifted men, at
the Sister's orders,  had taken out  of the Keep. Zedd feared to think  what
priceless items of profound danger sat in these crates. There were things in
the Keep  that became hazardous to  anyone  should they  be removed from the
shields that guarded them. There were rare items that, if removed from their
protective environment, such as darkness, for even a brief time, would cease
to be viable.
     Guards in layered  hides, mail, leather, and  armed with pikes set with
long  steel points flanked by sharpened winged  blades, huge crescent  axes,
swords,  and spiked maces prowled the  restricted area.  These grim soldiers
were bigger  and  more menacing-looking than the  regular  men  out  in  the
camp--and those were fearsome enough.  While  the special  guards patrolled,
ever watchful, the unconcerned regular soldiers just  outside  the perimeter
carried on with their business.
     The guards led the Sister, Zedd,  and Adie through an opening in a line
of  spiked  barricades. Beyond were the smaller of  the special tents.  Most
were round  and the  same size.  Zedd thought that these were  probably  the
tents of the staff the emperor would keep close, his attendants and personal
slaves. Zedd  wondered if the Sisters  were  all held  within  the emperor's
compound.
     Up ahead, the palatial vision of the grand tents of an emperor and  his
entourage  rose  up in  the late-afternoon light. No  doubt  some  of  these
comfortable  tents  set about the center compound,  within the ring of tents
for  servants and attendants, were accommodations for high-ranking officers,
officials, and the emperor's most trusted advisors.
     Zedd wished he had a light spell and the ability to ignite it. He could
probably decapitate the Imperial Order right then and there.
     But he knew  that such confusion and turmoil would only be  a temporary
setback for the Imperial Order. They would provide  another brute to enforce
their message. It would take more than killing Jagang to end  the  threat of
the Order. He wasn't even  sure anymore just what it would  take to free the
world of the oppression and tyranny of the Imperial Order.
     Despite  the seductively  simplistic notions  held by most people,  the
Emperor Jagang was not the driving force of this invasion. The driving force
was a vicious ideology. To exist, it could not permit successful lives to be
lived in sight of the suffering masses  produced as a  result of the beliefs
and dictates of the Imperial Order. The freedom and resulting success of the
people living in the New World put the lie to all the Order preached. It was
blasphemy to succeed on your  own; since the Order  taught that it could not
be done, it could only be sinful.  Sin had to be eliminated for  the greater
good. Therefore, the freedom of the New World had to be crushed.
     "These the  ones?" a guard  with  short-cropped  hair asked.  The rings
hanging from his nose  and ears reminded  Zedd of a prized pig decorated for
the summer fair. Of course, prized pigs would have been washed and clean and
would have smelled better.
     "Yes," the Sister said. "Both of them, as instructed."
     With deliberate  care  the man's  dark-eyed gaze took in  Adie and then
Zedd. By his scowl, he apparently  thought  himself a righteous man  who was
displeased with what he saw: evil. After noting the collars they both  wore,
showing  that they would  be no danger  to the emperor, he stepped aside and
lifted a thumb, directing  them through a second barricade beyond  the tents
of the  attendants,  servants, and  slaves.  The  guard's glare followed the
sinners on their way to meet their proper fate.
     Other men,  from inside  the inner compound, swept in to surround them.
Zedd saw that these men  wore more  orderly  outfits. They  were  layered in
similar leather and mail, wearing heavy leather  weapon belts, their  chests
crisscrossed  with  studded  straps.  There was  a  uniformity  to  them,  a
sameness,  that showed these were special guards.  The weapons hung on those
wide belts were better made, and they carried more of them. By  the way they
moved, Zedd knew  that these were not typical men rounded up to be soldiers,
but trained men with highly developed talents for warfare.
     These were the emperor's elite bodyguards.
     Zedd looked longingly at the nearly full water  bucket set out for  the
men standing guard in the heat.  It wouldn't do, if you  were an emperor, to
have your  elite guards falling  over from lack  of water. Knowing  what the
response  was likely  to be, Zedd didn't ask for a drink. A sidelong  glance
showed Adie licking her cracked lips, but she, too, remained silent.
     Up  a  slight rise sat by far the largest  and grandest  of  the tents,
among the impressive  but  lesser quarters  of  the  emperor's retinue.  The
emperor's tent appeared more a traveling palace,  actually, than a  tent. It
boasted a tri-peaked  roof pierced by high  poles bearing colorful standards
and flags. Brightly  embroidered panels adorned the exterior walls.  Red and
yellow  banners  flapped  lazily  in  the  hot,  late-day  air. Tassels  and
streamers  all around it made  it look  like  a central gathering tent at  a
festival.
     A guard flanking a doorway  met Zedd's  gaze before he lifted aside the
lambskin covered with shields of  gold and  hammered  medallions of  silver,
allowing them entrance. One of the other guards stiff-armed Zedd's shoulder,
nearly  knocking him sprawling. Zedd  staggered through the doorway into the
dimly lit interior, Adie stumbling in after him.
     Inside, the raucous noise of the encampment was muted by layers of rich
carpets placed haphazardly.  Hundreds of silk and brocade pillows lined  the
edge of  the  floor. Colorfully  decorated  hangings  divided  up  the murky
interior space and covered the outer walls. Openings overhead, screened with
gauzy material,  let  in little light but did allow some air to move through
the quiet gloom of the grand  tent. It was  so dim, in  fact, that lamps and
candles were needed.
     In the middle of the room, toward the back, sat a