n hit that hard, but his head was spinning. As they started out, faces back in doorways and around dark corners peeked out to watch them. When Richard looked their way, the people ducked back in. "They know you are not from here," Anson whispered. Richard didn't trust that one of those people wouldn't call the guards. "Let's hurry up and get what we came here for." Anson nodded and hurriedly led Richard down a narrow street with what looked like little more than huts huddled together to each side. The single torch burning outside the long building where the soldiers had gone provided little light down the street. The town, at least what Richard could see of it in the dark, was a pretty shabby-looking place. In fact, he wouldn't call it a town so much as a village. Many of the structures appeared to be housing for livestock, not people. Only rarely were there any lights coming from any of the squat buildings and the light he did see looked like it came from candles, not lamps. At the end of the street, Richard followed Anson through a small side door into a larger building. The cows inside mooed at the intrusion. Sheep rustled in their pens. A few goats in other pens bleated. Richard and Anson paused to let the animals settle down before making their way through the barn to a ladder at the side. Richard followed Anson as he climbed quickly to a small hayloft. At the end of the loft, Anson reached up over a low rafter to where it tied into the wall behind a cross brace. "Here it is," he said as he grimaced, stretching his arm up into the hiding place. He came out with a small, square-sided bottle and handed it to Richard. "This is the antidote. Hurry and drink it, and then let's get out of here." The large door banged open. Even though it was dark outside, the torch down the street provided just enough light to silhouette the broad shape of a man standing in the doorway. By his demeanor, he had to be a soldier. Richard pulled the stopper from the bottle. The antidote had the slight aroma of cinnamon. He quickly downed it, hardly noticing its sweet, spicy taste. He never took his eyes off the man in the doorway. "Who's in here?" the man bellowed. "Sir," Richard called down, "I'm just getting some hay for the livestock." "In the dark? What are you up to? Get down here right now." Richard put a hand against Anson's chest and pushed him back into the darkness. "Yes, sir. I'm coming," Richard called to the soldier as he hurried down the ladder. At the bottom of the ladder, he turned and saw the man coming toward him. Richard reached for his knife under the coat he was wearing, only remembering then that he didn't have his knife. The soldier was still silhouetted against the open barn door. Richard was in the darkness and the man probably wouldn't be able to see him. He silently moved away from the ladder. As the soldier passed near him, Richard stepped in behind him and reached to his side, seizing the knife sheathed behind the axe hanging on his belt. Richard gingerly drew the knife just as the man stopped and looked up the ladder to the hayloft. As he was looking up, Richard snatched a fistful of hair with one hand and reached around with the other, slicing deep through the soldier's throat before he realized what was happening. Richard held the man tight as he struggled, a wet gurgling the only sound coming from him. He reached back, frantically grabbing at Richard for a moment before his movements lost their energy and he went limp. "Anson," Richard whispered up the ladder as he let the man slip to the ground, "come on. Let's go." Anson hurried down the ladder, coming to a halt as he reached the bottom and turned around to see the dark shape of the dead man sprawled on the ground. "What happened?" Richard looked up from his work at undoing the weapon belt around the dead weight of the soldier. "I killed him." "Oh." Richard handed the knife, in its sheath, to Anson. "Here you go. Now you have a real weapon--a long knife." Richard rolled the dead soldier over to pull the belt the rest of the way out from under the man. As he tugged it free, he heard a noise and turned just in time to see another soldier running in toward them. Anson slammed the long knife hilt-deep into the man's chest. The man staggered back. Richard shot to his feet, bringing the weapon belt with him. The soldier gasped for breath as he clutched at the knife handle. He dropped heavily to his knees. One hand clawed at the air above him as he swayed. Pulling a final gasp, he toppled to his side. Anson stood staring at the man lying in a heap, the knife jutting from his chest. He bent, then, and pulled his new knife free. "Are you all right?" Richard whispered when Anson stood. Anson nodded. "I recognize this man. We called him the weasel. He deserved to die." Richard gently clapped Anson on the back of the shoulder. "You did well. Now, let's get out of here." As they made their way back up the street, Richard asked Anson to wait while he checked down alleyways and between low buildings, searching for soldiers. As a guide, Richard often scouted at night. In the darkness, he was in his element. The town was a lot smaller than he had expected. It was also much less organized than he thought it would be, with no apparent order to where the simple structures had been built. The streets through the haphazard town, if they could be called streets, were in most cases little more than footpaths between clusters of small, single-room buildings. He saw a few handcarts, but nothing more elaborate. There was only one road through the town, leading back to the barn where they had recovered the antidote and run into the two soldiers, that was wide enough to accommodate a wagon. His search didn't turn up any patrolling soldiers. "Do you know if all the men of the Order stay together?" Richard asked when he returned to Anson, waiting in the shadows. "At night they go inside. They sleep in our place, by where we came in." "You mean that low building where the first two soldiers went?" "That's right. That's where most people used to gather at night, but now the men of the Order use it for themselves." Richard frowned at the man. "You mean you all slept together?" Anson sounded mildly surprised by the question. "Yes. We were together whenever possible. Many people had a house where they could work, eat, and keep belongings, but they rarely slept in them. We usually all slept in the sleeping houses where we gathered to talk about the day. Everyone wanted to be together. Sometimes people would sleep in another place, but mostly we sleep there together so we can all feel safe--much like we all slept together at night as we made our way down out of the pass with the statue." "And everyone just... lay down together?" Anson diverted his eyes. "Couples often slept apart from others by being with one another under a single blanket, but they were still together with our people. In the dark, though, no one could see them . .. together under a blanket." Richard had trouble imagining such a way of life. "The whole town fit in that sleeping building? There was enough room?" "No, there were too many of us to all sleep in one sleeping house. There are two." Anson pointed. "There is another on the far side of the one you saw." "Let's go have a look, then." They moved quickly back toward the town gates, such as they were, and toward the sleeping houses. The dark street was empty. Richard didn't see anyone on the paths between buildings. What people were left in the town had apparently gone to sleep or were afraid to come out in the darkness. A door in one of the small homes opened a crack, as if someone inside were peering out. The door opened wider and a thin figure dashed out toward them. "Anson!" came the whispered voice. It was a boy, in his early teens. He fell to his knees and clutched Anson's arm, kissing his hand in joy to see him. "Anson, I am so happy that you are home! We've missed you so much. We feared for you--feared that you were murdered." Anson grabbed the boy by his shirt and hauled him to his feet. "Bernie, I'm well and I'm happy to see you well, but you must go back in now. The men will see you. If they catch you outside ..." "Oh, please, Anson, come sleep at our house. We're so alone and afraid." "Who?" "Just me and my grandfather, now. Please come in and be with us." "I can't right now. Maybe another time." The boy peered up at Richard, then, and when he saw that he didn't recognize him shrank back. "This is a friend of mine, Bernie--from another town." Anson squatted down beside the boy. "Please, Bernie, I will return, but you must go back inside and stay there tonight. Don't come out. We fear there might be trouble. Stay inside. Tell your grandfather my words, will you now?" Bernie finally agreed and ran back into the dark doorway. Richard was eager to get out of the town before anyone else came out to pay their respects. If he and Anson weren't careful, they would end up attracting the attention of the soldiers. They moved quickly the rest of the way up the street, using buildings for cover. Pressing up against the side of one at the head of the street, Richard peered around the corner at the squat daub-and-wattle sleeping house where the guards had gone. The door was open, letting soft light spill out across the ground. "In there?" Richard whispered. "You all slept in there?" "Yes. That is one of the sleeping houses, and beyond it the other one." Richard thought about it for a moment. "What did you sleep on?" "Hay. We put blankets over it, usually. We changed the hay often to keep it fresh, but these men do not bother. They sleep like animals in dusty old hay." Richard looked out through the open gates at the fields. He looked back at the sleeping house. "And now the soldiers all sleep in there?" "Yes. They took the place from us. They said it was to be their barracks. Now our people--the ones still alive--must sleep wherever they can." Richard made Anson stay put while he slipped through the shadows, out of the light of the torch, to survey the area beyond the first building. The second long structure also had soldiers inside laughing and talking. There were more men than were needed to guard such a small place, but Witherton was the gateway into Bandakar--and the gateway out. "Come on," Richard said as he came up beside Anson, "let's get back to the others. I have an idea." As they made their way to the gate, Richard looked up, as he often did, to check the starry sky for any sign of black-tipped races. He saw instead that the pole to each side of the gate held a body hanging by the ankles. When Anson saw them, he paused, held frozen by the horror of the sight. Richard laid a hand on the man's shoulder and leaned close. "Are you all right?" Anson shook his head. "No. But I will be better when the men who come to us and do such things are dead." CHAPTER 48 Richard didn't know if the antidote was supposed to make him feel better, but if it was, it hadn't yet done its work. As they crept through the pitch-black fields, his chest hurt with every breath he took. He paused and closed his eyes briefly against the pain of the headache caused by his gift. He wanted nothing more than to lie down, but there was no time for that. Everyone started out once more when he did, quietly making their way through the fields outside of Witherton. It felt good, at least, to have his sword back, even if he dreaded the thought of having to draw it for fear of finding its magic was no longer there for him. Once they recovered the other two bottles of the antidote and he was rid of the poison, then maybe they could make it back to Nicci so that she could help him deal with his gift. He tried not to worry if a sorceress could help a wizard once his gift had gone out of control, as his had. Nicci had vast experience. As soon as he reached her, she could help him. Even if she couldn't help him, he felt confident that she would at least know what he had to do in order to get the help he needed. After all, she was once a Sister of the Light; the purpose of the Sisters of the Light had been to help those with the gift to learn to control it. "I think I see the outer wall," Kahlan said in a quiet voice. "Yes, that's the place." Richard pointed. "There's the gate. See it?" "I think so," she whispered back. It was a dark night, with no moon. While the others were having difficulty seeing much of anything as they made their way through the dark, Richard was glad for the conditions. The starlight was enough for him to see by, but he didn't think it was enough to give the soldiers any help in seeing them. As they crept closer, the sleeping house came into view through the open gate. The torch still burned outside the door to the building where the soldiers slept. Richard signaled everyone to gather around close. They all crouched low. He grabbed the shoulder of Anson's shirt and pulled him up closer yet, then did the same with Owen. Both now carried battle-axes. Anson also carried the knife he'd earned. The rest of the men carried the weapons they had helped finish making. When Richard and Anson had returned to the forest clearing, Anson had told the waiting men everything that had happened. When he said that he killed the man called the weasel, Richard held his breath, not sure exactly how the men would react to hearing that one of their own had actually killed a man. There was a brief moment of astonished silence, and then spontaneous joy at the accomplishment. Every man wanted to shake Anson's hand to congratulate him, to tell him how proud they were. At that moment, any lingering doubts Richard harbored had vanished. He had allowed the men to celebrate briefly while he waited for the night to darken, and then they had started making their way through the fields. This was the night that Witherton gained its freedom. Richard looked around at all the dark shapes. "All right, now, remember all the things we've told you. You must stay quiet and hold the gates steady while Anson and Owen cut the rope where they hinge. Be careful not to let the gates fall once the ropes are cut." In the dim starlight Richard could just make out the men nodding to his instructions. Richard carefully checked the sky, looking for any sign of black-tipped races. He didn't see any. It had been a long time since they'd seen any races. It seemed that the trick of taking to the forests just before they changed their expected route and being careful to stay out of sight from the sky had worked. It was possible that they had succeeded in slipping out from under Nicholas the Slide's surveillance. If they really had escaped his observation, then he wouldn't know where to begin looking for them. Richard briefly squeezed Kahlan's hand and then started for the opening in the town wall. Cara crouched close at his other side. Tom was bringing up the rear, along with Jennsen, making sure there were no surprises from behind. They had left Betty not only tied up, but confined to a makeshift pen to be sure she didn't follow after them and give them away at the wrong moment. The goat had been unusually distraught to be left behind, but with lives at stake they couldn't risk Jennsen's goat causing trouble. She would be happy enough after they returned. When they reached the fields close to the town gates, Richard motioned for everyone to get down and stay where they were. Along with Tom, Richard moved up to the gates, taking cover in the shadow of the wall. There was a soldier just inside the gate, pacing slowly in his lonely nighttime sentry duty. He wasn't being very careful, or he would not be doing such duty in the light of the torch. As the soldier turned to walk away from them, Tom slipped up behind the man and swiftly silenced him. As Tom dragged the dead man through the gates to hide him in the darkness outside the wall, Richard moved in through the gates, staying in the shadows and away from the torch burning outside the sleeping house. The door to the sleeping house stood open, but no light or sound came from inside. This late, the men were bound to be asleep. He moved past the first long building to the second, and there came upon another guard. Quickly, silently, Richard seized the man and cut his throat, holding him tight as he struggled. When he finally went limp, Richard laid him in the darkness at the head of the second sleeping house, around the corner from the torchlight. In the distance, the men had already swarmed over the gates, holding them up while Anson and Owen worked quickly at cutting the ropes that acted as hinges. In moments, both sections of gate were freed. Richard could hear the soft grunts of effort as the heavy gates were manhandled around by the two gangs of men. Jennsen handed Richard his bow, the string already strung. She handed him one of the special arrows, holding the rest at the ready for him. Kahlan slipped up to the torch on the pole outside the first building and lit several small torches, handing each of them off to the men. She kept one for herself. Richard nocked the arrow and then glanced around at the faces seeming to float before him in the wavering torchlight. In answer to the unspoken question, they all nodded that they were ready. He checked the men balancing the two gates and saw their nod. The bow in one hand, with his fist holding the arrow in place, Richard gave hand signals to the men, starting them moving. What had been a slow, careful approach from the woods into the town suddenly transformed into a headlong rush. Richard held the head of the arrow nocked in his bow in the flame of the torch Kahlan held out for him. As soon as it caught, he ran to the open door of the sleeping house, leaned into the darkness, and fired the arrow toward the back. As the blazing arrow flew the length of the building, it illuminated row upon row of men sleeping on the bed of straw. The arrow landed at the far end, spilling flame across the straw. A few heads lifted at the confusing sight. Jennsen handed Richard another. He immediately drew string to cheek and the arrow shot toward the middle of the interior. As Richard pulled back from the doorway, two men with torches, dripping flaming drops of pitch, heaved them just inside. They hissed as they flew through the air, landing amid the sleeping men, bouncing and tumbling through the straw, igniting a wall of flame. In a matter of only a few heartbeats since the attack started, the first sleeping house was set afire from one end to the other. The largest blaze, by design, was the fire spread by the pitch-laden torches, at the end of the building nearest the door. Confused cries came from inside, muted by the thick walls. The sleeping soldiers scrambled to their feet. Richard checked that the men with the heavy gates were coming; then he ran around the sleeping house to the second building. Jennsen, following close behind, handed him an arrow, the flames around its head wrapped in oil-soaked cloth making a whooshing sound as she ran. One of his men pulled the torch from the stand outside the building where the guard Richard killed had been patrolling. Richard leaned in the doorway only to see a big man charging at him out of the dark interior. Richard pressed his back against the doorjamb and kicked the man squarely in the chest, driving him back. Richard drew the bowstring back and shot the flaming arrow off into the interior. As it lit the interior in its flight through the building, he could see that some of the men had been awakened and were getting up. Turning to take the second flaming arrow from Jennsen, he saw smoke pouring up from the first building. As soon as he drew string to cheek and loosed the second arrow, he leaned away and men heaved the torches in. One torch fell back out of the doorway. It had bounced off the chest of a man rushing for the doorway to see what was happening. The pitch from the torch caught his greasy beard afire. He let out a bloodcurdling scream. Richard kicked him back inside. In an instant, men by the dozens were racing for the door, not only to escape the burning building, but to meet the attack. Richard saw the flash of weapons being drawn. He sprang back from the doorway as the men carrying the heavy section of gate rushed in. They turned the gate sideways and rammed it in under the eaves, but before they could bring the bottom down to wedge it against the ground, the weight of bellowing men inside crashed into the section of gate and drove it back. The men carrying it fell back, the weight knocking them from their feet, the gate landing atop them. Suddenly, men were pouring from the doorway. Richard's men were ready and fell on them, driving the wooden weapons into their soft underbellies and snapping the handles off as man after man spilled out of the doorway. Standing to the side of the door, others used their maces to bash in the skulls of soldiers who emerged. When one soldier came out with his sword raised, the man to the side clubbed his arm as another rushed in and drove a wooden stake in up under his ribs. The more men who fell at the doorway, the more those trying to get out were slowed and could be dispatched. The soldiers were so stunned to see these people fighting that in some cases they fought back only ineffectually. As a soldier leaped over the bodies in the doorway and lifted a sword, a man jumped on his back and seized his arm while another stabbed him. Another, crying orders, charged Jennsen, only to have the bolt of a crossbow fired into his face. A few soldiers escaped the burning building and managed to slip past Richard's men only to meet Cara's Agiel. Their screams, worse than the cries of men on fire, briefly brought the gaze of every man, from both sides of the battle. Fallen knives and swords were scooped up by the men of the town and turned on the men from the Imperial Order. Richard fired an arrow into the center of the chest of a man emerging from the smoke that rolled out of the doorway. As he was falling, a second arrow felled the man behind him. As more men rushed out, they fell over those piled around the doorway and were hacked to death with commandeered axes or stabbed with confiscated swords. Since they could emerge only one at a time, the soldiers couldn't mount a coordinated attack, but those waiting could. As Richard's men fought back those struggling to get out of the doorway of the burning building, other men rushed to help lift the gate so those under it could get up and get control of it. Once the gate was lifted, the men swung it around and, with a cry of joint effort, ran with it toward the building. They drove the top up under the eaves, first, but when they brought the bottom edge down, the bodies piled in the doorway prevented them from getting the bottom down so they could wedge it in place. Richard called out orders. Some of his men rushed in and seized an arm or a leg of a dead man and dragged the body aside so the others could finally bring the bottom of the gate down against the building to close off the opening. One man from inside squeezed through just before they had the gate in place. The weight of the door pinned him against the building. Owen leaned in and with a sword he'd picked up decisively stabbed the man through the throat. As men inside pounded at the gate covering the doorway and threw their weight against it, men on the outside piled around to push it down and hold it in place. Other men fell to their knees and drove stakes into the ground to lock the gate section in place, trapping the soldiers inside.Behind, streamers of flame leaked out from under the eaves of the first building and leaped up into the night sky. The roof of the building ignited all at once, explosively engulfing the entire sleeping house in sparks and flames. Screams of men being burned alive ripped the night. The waves of heat coming off the massive fire as the first building was consumed by the flames began to carry the heavy aroma of cooking meat. It reminded Richard that, for the killing he did, his gift demanded the balance of not eating meat. After all the killing of this night, since his gift was already spinning out of control, he would have to be even more careful to avoid eating any meat. His head was already hurting so much that he was having trouble focusing his vision; he couldn't afford to do anything that would further unbalance his gift. If he was not careful, the poison wouldn't get the chance to be the first to kill him. Heavy black smoke billowed out from around the edges of the gate covering the doorway of the second sleeping house. Screams and pleas came from inside. The men of the town moved back, watching, as smoke began rolling up from under its eaves. The battle seemed to have ended as quickly as it had started. No one spoke as they stood in the harsh glare from the roaring fires. Flames ate through the second building. With a loud whoosh it was engulfed in fire. The heat drove everyone back away from the two sleeping houses. As they moved back from the burning buildings, they encountered the rest of the people of the town, all gathered in the shadows, watching in stunned silence. One of the older men took a step forward. "Speaker Owen, what is this? You have committed violence?" Owen stepped away from the men he was with to stand before the people of his town. He held an arm back, pointing toward Richard. "This is Lord Rahl, of the D'Haran Empire. I went in search of him to help us be free. We have much to tell you, but for now you must know that tonight, for the first time in many seasons, our town is free. "Yes, we have helped Lord Rahl to kill the evil men who have terrorized us. We have avenged the deaths of our loved ones. We will no longer be victims. We will be free!" Standing silently, the people seemed able only to stare at him. Many looked confused. Some looked quietly jubilant, but most just looked stunned. The boy, Bernie, ran up to Anson, peering up in astonishment. "An-son, you and our other people have freed us? Truly?" "Yes." He laid a hand on Bernie's shoulder. "Our town is now free." "Thank you." He broke into a grin as he turned back to the town's people. "We are free of the murderers!" A sudden, spontaneous cheer rose into the night, drowning out the sound of the crackling flames. The people rushed in around men they had not seen for months, touching them, hugging them, all asking questions of the men. Richard took Kahlan's hand as he stepped back out of the way, joining Cara, Jennsen, and Tom. These people who were so against violence, who lived their whole life avoiding the truth of what their beliefs caused, were now basking in the tearful joy of what it really meant to be freed from terror and violence. People slowly left their men to come and look at Richard and those standing with him. He and Kahlan smiled at their obvious joy. They gathered in close before him, smiling, staring, as if Richard and those with him were some strange creatures from afar. Bernie had attached himself to Anson's arm. Others had the rest of the men firmly embraced. One by one, though, the men started pulling away so that they could stand behind Richard and Kahlan. "We are so happy that you are home, now," people were telling the men. "We have you back, at last." "Now we are all together again," Bernie said. "We can't stay," Anson told him. Everyone in the crowd fell silent. Bernie, like many of the others, looked heartbroken. "What?" Buzzing, worried whispers spread through the crowd. Everyone was shaken by the news that the men were not home to stay. Owen lifted a hand so they would listen. When they went silent, he explained. "The people of Bandakar are still under the cruel power of the men from the Order. Just as you have become free tonight, so must the rest of the people of Bandakar be free. "Lord Rahl and his wife, the Mother Confessor, as well as his friend and protector Cara, his sister Jennsen, and Tom, another friend and protector, have all agreed to help us. They cannot do it alone. We must be part of it, for this is our land, but more importantly, our people, our loved ones." "Owen, you must not engage in violence," an older man said. In view of their sudden freedom, it was not an emphatic statement. It seemed to be an objection more out of obligation than anything else. "You have begun a cycle of violence. Such a thing is wrong." "We will speak with you before we go, so that you might come to understand, as we have, why we must do this to be truly free of violence and brutality. Lord Rahl has shown us that a cycle of violence is not the result of fighting back for your own life, but is the result of a shrinking back from doing what is necessary to crush those who would kill you. If you do as you must in duty to yourself and your loved ones, then you will eradicate the enemy so completely that they can no longer do you any harm. Then, there is no cycle of violence, but an end to violence. Then, and only then, will true peace and freedom take root." "Such actions can never accomplish anything but to start violence," an old man objected. "Look around," Anson said. "The violence has not begun tonight, but ended. Violence has been crushed, as it should be, by crushing evil men who bring it upon us." People nodded to one another, the heady relief of being suddenly freed from the grip of the terror brought by the soldiers of the Imperial Order plainly overcoming their objections. Joy had taken over from fear. The reality of having their lives returned had opened their eyes. "But you must understand, as we have come to understand," Owen said, "that nothing can ever again be the way it once was. Those ways are in the past." Richard noticed that the men weren't slouching anymore. They stood with their heads held high. "We have chosen to live," Owen told his people. "In so doing, we have found true freedom." "I think we all have," the old man in the crowd said. CHAPTER 49 Zedd frowned with the effort of concentrating on what it was Sister Tahirah had placed on the table before him. He looked up at her, at the way her scowl pinched in around her humped nose. "Well?" she demanded. Zedd looked down, squinting at the thing before him. It looked like a leather-covered ball painted with faded blue and pink zigzagged lines all around it. What was it about it that seemed so familiar, yet so distant? He blinked, trying to better focus his eyes. His neck ached something fierce. A father, hearing his young son in the next tent screaming in appalling agony, had grabbed Zedd by the hair and yanked him away from other parents who, pulling and pawing at him, made desperate demands of their own. Because of the torn muscles in his neck, it was painful to hold up his head. Compared to the torture he'd heard, though, it was nothing. The dim interior of the tent, lit by several lamps hanging from poles, felt as if it were detached from the ground and swirling around him. The foul place stank. The heat and humidity only made the smell, and the spinning, worse. Zedd felt as if he might pass out. It had been so long since he'd slept that he couldn't even remember the last time he had actually lain down. The only sleep he got was when he fell asleep in the chair while Sister Tahirah was seeing to another object being unloaded from the wagons, or when she went to bed and the next Sister hadn't yet arrived to take the next stint in their laborious cataloging of the items brought from the Keep. The catnaps he got were rarely longer than a few precious minutes at a time. The guards had orders not to allow him or Adie to lie down. At least the screams of the children had ended. At least, as long as he cooperated, those cries of pain had stopped. At least, as long as he went along, the parents had hope. A violent crack of pain suddenly hammered the side of his head, knocking him back. The chair toppled over, spilling him to the ground. With his arms bound behind his back, he couldn't do anything to break the fall and he hit hard. Zedd's ears rang, not only from the fall, but with the aftermath of the blow of the Sister's power delivered through the collar around his neck. He hated that wicked instrument of control. The Sisters were not shy about exercising that control. Because the collar locked him away from the use of his own gift, he could not use his ability to defend himself. Instead, they used his power against him. It took little or no provocation to send one of the Sisters into a fit of violence. Many of these women had once been kindly people devoting their lives to helping others. Jagang had enslaved them to a different cause. Now they did his bidding. Though they might have once been gentle, they were now, he knew, trying to keep one step ahead of the discipline Jagang meted out to them. That discipline could be excruciating beyond endurance. The Sisters were expected to get results; Jagang would not be interested in the excuse that Zedd was being difficult. Zedd saw that Adie, too, had been knocked to the ground. Any punishment he received, she, too, endured. He felt more agony for her than for himself. Soldiers standing to the side moved in to right the chair and lift Zedd into it. With his arms bound behind his back, he couldn't get up by himself. They sat him down hard enough to drive a grunt from his lungs. "Well?" Sister Tahirah demanded. "What is it?" Zedd once again leaned in, staring down at the round object sitting by itself in the center of the table. The faint blue and pink lines zigzagging all around it stirred deep feelings. He thought he should know this thing. "It's . . . it's . . ." "It's what!" Sister Tahirah slammed the book against the edge of the table, causing the round object to bounce up and roll a few inches before it came to a stop closer to Zedd. She tucked the book under one arm as she leaned with the other on the table. She bent down toward him. "What is it? What does it do?" "I... I can't remember." "Would you like me to bring in some children," the Sister said in the soft, sweet tone of a very bitter threat, "and show you their little faces before they are taken to the tent next to us to be tortured?" "I'm so tired," he said. "I'm trying to remember, but I'm so tired." "Maybe while the children are screaming you would like to explain to their parents that you are tired and just can't quite seem to remember." Children. Parents. Zedd suddenly remembered what the object was. Painful memories welled up. He felt a tear run down his cheek. "Dear spirits," he whispered. "Where did you find this?" "What is it?" "Where did you find it?" Zedd repeated. Huffing impatiently, the Sister straightened. She opened the book and made a noisy show of turning heatedly through the pages. Finally, she stopped and tapped a finger in the open book. "It says here that it was found hidden in an open recess in the back of a black six-drawer chest in a corridor. There was a tapestry of three prancing white horses hanging above the chest." She lowered the book. "Now, what is it?" Zedd swallowed. "A ball." The Sister glared. "I know it's a ball, you old fool. What is it for? What does it do? What is its purpose?" Staring at the ball no bigger than his fist, Zedd remembered. "It's a ball for children to play with. Its purpose is to bring them pleasure." He remembered this ball, brightly colored back then, frequently bouncing down the halls of the Wizard's Keep, his daughter giggling and chasing after it. He had given it to her for doing well in her studies. Sometimes she would roll it down the halls, urging it along with a switch, as if she were walking a pet. Her favorite thing to do was to bounce it on the floor so that it would come up against a wall, after which it would bounce to another wall at an intersection of stone hallways. In that way she made it bounce around a corner. She would watch which hall it went down, left or right, then chase after it. One day she came to him in tears. He asked her to tell him her troubles. She crawled up in his lap and told him that her ball had gone somewhere and gotten itself lost. She wanted him to get it unlost. Zedd told her that if she looked, she would likely find it. She spent days despondently wandering the halls of the Keep, searching for it. She couldn't find it. Finally, starting out one morning at sunrise, Zedd made the long walk down to the city of Aydindril, to the market on Stentor Street. That was where he had first come across a stand where they sold such toys and found the ball with the zigzagged lines. There he bought her another one--not just like it, but instead one with pink and green stars. He deliberately chose a ball unlike the one she'd lost because he didn't want her to think that wishes could be miraculously fulfilled, but he did want her to know that there were solutions that could solve problems. He remembered his daughter hugging his legs, thanking him for the new ball, telling him that he was the best father in all the world and that she would be ever so much more careful with the new ball and never lose it. He had smiled as he watched her put a little hand to her heart and recite a little-girl oath she had invented on the spot. She treasured the ball with the pink and green stars. Since it was small, it was one of the few things she had been able to take with her, after she was grown, when she and Zedd ran away to Westland, after Darken Rahl had raped her. When Richard had been young, he had played with that ball. Zedd remembered the smile on his daughter's face as she watched her own child play with that precious ball. Zedd could see in her beautiful eyes the memories of her own childhood as she watched Richard play. She had kept that ball her whole life, kept it until she died. This ball before him was the very same one his daughter had lost. It must have bounced up behind the chest and fallen into a recess in the back, where it had been for all those long years. Zedd leaned forward, resting his forehead on the dusty ball surrounded with faded blue and pink zigzagged lines, the ball which her little fingers had once held, and wept. Sister Tahirah seized a fistful of his hair and pulled him upright. "I don't believe you're telling me the truth. It's an object of magic. I want to know what it is and what it does." Holding his head back, she glared into his eyes. "You know that I will not hesitate to do what is necessary to make you cooperate. His Excellency accepts no excuses for failure." Zedd stared up at her, blinking away his tears. "It's a ball, a toy. That's all it is." With a sneer, she released him. "The great and powerful Wizard Zorander." She shook her head. "To think that we once feared you. You are a pathetic old man, your courage crushed by nothing more than the cry of a child."