Soul of the Fire

Chapter 51

Bertrand Chanboor looked up when Dalton came into the room. Bertrand’s wife was there, too, standing before his ornate desk. Dalton met her eyes briefly. He was a bit surprised to see her there, but guessed this was important enough for her to meet with her husband.

“Well?” Bertrand asked.

“They confirmed what we were told,” Dalton said. “They saw it with their own eyes.”

“And they have soldiers?” Hildemara asked. “That part is true, also?”

“Yes. The best guess is near a thousand men.”

Cursing under her breath, she tapped a finger against Bertrand’s desk as she considered. “And the fools at the border just let them through without a care.”

“We cultivate such an army, you will recall,” Bertrand reminded her as he stood. “They also let through our ‘special Ander guard troops,’ after all.”

“The people at the border can’t be blamed,” Dalton put in. “They couldn’t very well refuse the Mother Confessor entry. The man could be none other than the Lord Rahl himself.”

Erupting in rage, the Minister heaved his glass dipping pen. It clattered across the floor before shattering against the far wall. He went to the window and leaned against the sill as he gazed out.

“For Creation’s sake, Bertrand, get a grip on yourself,” Lady Chanboor growled.

He turned in red-faced anger and shook a finger at his wife.

“This could ruin everything! We’ve worked years at this, carefully cultivated the relationship, sown the seeds, pulled the weeds that have sprung up, and just when we’re about to finally reap the harvest of our lives, she comes riding in with that—that—that D’Haran bastard Lord Rahl!”

Hildemara folded her arms. “Well that really solves the problem, throwing a fit. I swear, Bertrand, sometimes you have less sense than a drunken fisherman.”

“And the sort of pompous wife who drives him to it!”

He ground his teeth and pulled aside his chair, no doubt preparing to launch into an extended tirade. Dalton could almost see her back arch, fur lift, and claws lengthen.

Dalton was usually ignored, like a piece of furniture, when they started in on each other. This time, he had better things to do than wait for it to broaden into a worse argument that would only waste valuable time. He had to issue orders, depending on what was decided. He had to get people in place.

He thought about Franca, wondering if she might have recovered her power. He hadn’t seen much of her lately, and when he had, she seemed distracted. She had been spending a lot of time in the library. It would be valuable at a time like this to have Franca’s assistance. Her true assistance.

“The Mother Confessor and the Lord Rahl are riding hard, and my men only just made it ahead of them,” Dalton said, before Bertrand could lay into his wife, or she could throw something at him. “They should be here within the hour—two at most. We should be prepared.”

Bertrand glared a moment before pulling his chair close and sitting. He folded his hands on the table. “Yes, you’re right, Dalton. Quite right. First thing is to get Stein and his men out of sight. It wouldn’t do to have—”

“I’ve already taken the liberty of seeing to it, Minister. I’ve sent some of them on an inspection of grain storage facilities, and others wanted to look over the strategic routes into Anderith.”

Bertrand looked up. “Good.”

“We’ve worked too many years to lose it all, now, when we’re this close,” Hildemara said. “However, if we just keep our heads, I don’t see any reason we can’t proceed with everything as planned.”

Her husband nodded, having cooled considerably, as he did when he put his mind to difficult matters. He had the odd ability to be in a fit of rage one moment, and smiling the next.

“Possibly.” He turned to Dalton. “How close is the Order?”

“Still quite a distance, Minister. Stein’s ‘special Ander guard troops’ who arrived the day before yesterday told me four weeks at least. Probably a bit more.”

Bertrand shrugged and arched an eyebrow, a sly smile coming to his lips. “Then we will simply have to stall the Mother Confessor and the Lord Rahl.”

Hildemara put her fists on his desk and leaned toward her husband.

“The two of them, the Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor, will be expecting our answer. They’ve long since explained to our representatives in Aydindril the choice we have, and sent them back with the offer of joining the D’Haran Empire, or facing the probability of conquest and the resulting loss of standing in our own land.”

Dalton agreed with her. “Ours would be a land they would turn their forces to if we don’t agree to the terms of surrender. Were we some small, unimportant land, they would no doubt ignore us as we stall, but we will be an immediate prime target should we refuse to join them.”

“And they have forces somewhere down in the South, from what I’ve heard,” Hildemara put in. “The Lord Rahl is not a man to be denied, or played for a fool. Some of the other lands—Jara, Galea, Herjborgue, Grennidon, and Kelton, among others—have already fallen or joined willingly. Lord Rahl has considerable forces of his own from D’Hara, but with those lands his army is formidable.”

“But they aren’t all down here,” Bertrand said, for some reason suddenly quite calm. “The Order will be able to crush them. The Dominie Dirtch can hold off any force from the D’Haran Empire.”

Dalton thought the confidence unfounded. “From what my sources tell me, this Lord Rahl is a wizard of formidable talent. He is also the Seeker of Truth. I fear such a man may have ways of defeating the Dominie Dirtch.”

Hildemara scowled. “Besides, the Mother Confessor, the Lord Rahl, and perhaps a thousand troops are already inside the line of Dominie Dirtch. They will demand our surrender. We ‘would be stripped of power’ if that happens. The Order won’t be here for weeks—by then too late.”

She shook her finger at her husband. “We’ve worked too many years to lose it all now.”

Bertrand tapped his thumbs as he smiled. “Then we will just, as I said before, have to stall them, won’t we, my dear?”

The D’Haran troops were a dark ribbon on the road behind them as Richard and Kahlan led them toward the Minister of Culture’s estate. A dark ribbon bristling steel. The sun was not an hour from setting behind scattered clouds, but at least they had arrived.

Richard pulled his damp D’Haran shirt away from his chest as he watched a curious raven circling overhead. With raucous calls, it let its lordly presence be known, as was the way with ravens.

It had been a warm and humid day. He and Kahlan both wore extra clothes the soldiers brought so their own would be clean and fit for the meeting they both knew would soon come.

Richard glanced back over his shoulder and received a murderous look from Du Chaillu. He had made her ride a horse so they could make the distance and not take another day. Their journey had taken far too long as it was.

The Baka Tau Mana did not like riding horses. As often as not, Du Chaillu would simply have ignored him when he told her to ride. This time, she knew if she ignored his request she would be left behind.

It had apparently taken Cara some time to locate General Reibisch’s forces and send an escort of troops. Richard, Kahlan, and the Baka Tau Mana had been on foot, slogging through late-spring deluges, for far too long. They hadn’t made a lot of distance on foot before the D’Haran troops finally arrived with horses.

Du Chaillu had also slowed their journey, although not purposely. She endlessly protested that riding would harm her baby before it was born—the baby Richard had suggested she bear. Because of her unborn child, Richard was reluctant to force her to ride.

He hadn’t wanted her along in the first place. After the D’Haran troops had arrived with supplies and extra horses she refused to return home, as she had previously promised she would.

To her credit, she never complained about the difficulty of the journey. But when Richard made her ride, it put her in a vile mood.

Kahlan, at first cool about having the Baka Tau Mana’s spirit woman along, had warmed to the situation ever since the day Richard fell from his horse. Kahlan credited Du Chaillu with saving his life. Richard appreciated Du Chaillu’s eagerness to help, but didn’t believe it was her doing that kept him alive.

He wasn’t at all sure what had happened. Since seeing the Dominie Dirtch, and hearing how they had chimed on their own at the same time he felt the crippling pain, he knew the whole thing had to be tied together somehow, and he didn’t believe Du Chaillu held much sway over it. This was something much bigger than she realized, — and more complex than Richard could understand.

Richard hadn’t slowed for anything since he saw the Dominie Dutch, even her pregnant condition. Since being close to those stone bells and feeling some of what he felt, she had been more cooperative about his hurry.

Richard lifted a hand when he spotted the rider trailing a plume of dust. He could hear orders being relayed back through the ranks in response to his signal, bringing the entire column to a jangling halt. Only when it had stopped, in the sudden silence, did he realize how much noise it made when they were on the move.

“This will be our greeting,” Kahlan said.

“How far to the Minister’s estate?” Richard asked.

“Not far. We’re more than halfway from Fairfield. Maybe a mile.”

Richard and Kahlan dismounted to meet the approaching rider. A soldier took the reins to Kahlan’s horse. Richard handed his back to the man, too, and then stepped away from the others. Kahlan alone walked with him. He had to signal with a hand to keep the soldiers from forming a defensive ring around them.

The young man leaped from his horse before it had skidded to a stop. Holding the reins in one hand, he went to a knee in a bow. Kahlan greeted him in the way of the Mother Confessor and he rose. He wore livery of black boots, dark trousers, white shirt with a fancy collar and cuffs, and tan quilted doublet with black and brown braiding around the edges. The man bowed a head of red hair to Richard. “Lord Rahl?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

He straightened. “I’m Rowley. The Minister of Culture sent me to greet you and extend his joy to have you and the Mother Confessor grace the people of Anderith with your presence.”

“I’m sure,” Richard said.

Kahlan elbowed his ribs. “Thank you, Rowley. We will need a place for our men to set up camp.”

“Yes, Mother Confessor. The Minister wanted me to tell you that you’re welcome to choose any ground in our land. If it would be acceptable, you may have the grounds at the estate for your use.”

Richard didn’t like that idea at all. He didn’t want the men confined in such a way. He wanted them to be close, but able to set up a proper defensive position. Despite what anyone else thought, he had to treat this as being potentially hostile territory.

He gestured to the wheat field. “What about here? We will of course reimburse the landowner for the crops we ruin.”

Rowley bowed. “If it pleases you, Lord Rahl. The Minister wished the choice to be yours. The land is Anderith common ground, and the crops excess, of no real value or concern.

“After you see to your escort, at your convenience, the Minister wishes to invite you to dinner. He asked me to relay his eagerness to meet you, and to see the Mother Confessor again.”

“We don’t—”

Kahlan elbowed him again. “We would be happy to join Minister Chanboor for dinner. Please ask him, though, to understand that we have been riding hard, and are tired. We would appreciate it if he kept the dinner small, no more than three courses.”

Rowley was clearly not prepared for this request, but promised to relay it at once.

Once the man was riding back, Du Chaillu stepped up.

“You need a bath,” she announced to Richard. “Jiaan says there is a pond not far over this hill. Come, we will bathe.”

Kahlan’s brow tightened. Du Chaillu smiled sweetly.

“I usually must suggest it,” she said. “He is shy when we bathe together. His face turns red”—she pointed at Richard’s face—“just like that, when we undress to bathe. His face turns red like that whenever he tells me to take off my clothes.”

Kahlan folded her arms. “Really.”

Du Chaillu nodded. “Do you enjoy bathing with him, too? He seems to enjoy it—bathing with women.”

Now Richard knew how displeased Du Chaillu was with her horseback ride, and how she intended to even the score.

Kahlan’s green eyes turned to him. “What is it with you and women and water?”

Richard shrugged, not about to play the game. “You want to join us? It might be fun.” He winked at her and then turned and seized Du Chaillu’s arm. “Come along, then, wife. We’ll go first, maybe Kahlan will join us later.”

Du Chaillu yanked her arm away. The joke had gone too far for her. “No. I do not wish to go near the water.”

Her eyes betrayed obvious fear. She didn’t wish to give the chimes a chance to drown her again.