Terry Goodkind - Phantom - Chainfire Trilogy Part 2

“Think there’s anyone here who can beat us?”

“I expect we’ll find out sooner or later,” Richard said.

“I’ll tell you, Ruben, I’d like to get a crack at cracking some heads on the emperor’s team.” The man gave Richard a sidelong glance. “Think if we beat the emperor’s team they’ll let us go home?”

“Are you serious?”

The man huffed a laugh. “It was a joke, Ruben.”

“A poor one,” Richard said.

“I suppose,” Johnrock said with a sigh. “Still, they say the emperor’s team is the best. I’d not like to feel that whip again.”

“Once was enough for me, too.”

The two of them had shared the iron cage ever since Richard had been captured back in Tamarang. Johnrock had already been a captive, taken before Richard. He was a big man, a miller, from the southern reaches of the Midlands. Just before the supply train had moved through his little village, soldiers on lead patrol had arrived and thought that, because of his size, Johnrock might make a good addition to the team.

Richard didn’t know Johnrock’s real name. He’d said everyone just called him Johnrock because of his size and how hard his muscles were from carrying sacks of grain. He knew Richard as Ruben Rybnik. Even though Johnrock was a fellow captive, Richard didn’t think it would be safe to let anyone know his real name.

Johnrock had told Richard that he’d broken the arms of three of the soldiers trying to capture him before they took him down. Richard said only that they had pointed arrows at him, and so he’d given up. Johnrock had appeared slightly embarrassed for what he saw as Richard’s lack of mettle.

Despite his rather goofy, lopsided grin, which he wore often and despite his circumstances, Johnrock had a quick wit and an analytical mind. He had come to like Richard because Richard was the only one who didn’t assume he was stupid and didn’t treat him as such. Johnrock was anything but stupid.

He had eventually decided that he’d been wrong about Richard’s lack of bravery and had asked to be his right wingman in the Ja’La games. Wingman was a rather thankless position that exposed him to charges and bruises from the opponents. Johnrock saw the value in such a position because it allowed him to break the heads of men from the Order and he was cheered for doing so. Even though he was a big man, Johnrock was quick—a combination that made him a perfect man for Richard’s right wing. He loved being close to Richard during play so he could see Richard vent his rage on the Ja’La field in a way that the other teams didn’t expect. Together, the two of them had become a formidable pair on the field. It was never spoken, but they both knew that the other valued the chance to extract a little bit of revenge on those who had captured them.

The camp beyond the iron bars seemed to go on endlessly. Richard was sickened to see where they were—out on the Azrith Plain around the People’s Palace. He didn’t want to look anymore, and sat back down, leaning up against the other side of the box, resting a wrist over his knee as the wagon swayed and bucked through the endless horde.

He was relieved that the D’Haran forces were long gone, or they would have by now been annihilated for nothing. Instead, those men would by now have had enough time to make it down to the Old World. They were probably already laying waste to the place.

Richard hoped they stuck to the plan—fast and fierce attacks, keep separated and hit everywhere in the Old World, sparing nothing. He didn’t want anyone in the Old World to feel safe. There needed to be consequences to the actions that flowed from their beliefs.

The men in the camp all watched the wagon train passing among them. It looked to be welcome, probably for the food it brought. Richard hoped they got their fill. Knowing the orders he had given, it was likely to be one of the last supply trains to leave the Old World. Without supplies, out on the Azrith Plain, with winter about to descend upon them, Jagang’s army was going to find itself unexpectedly falling on hard times.

Nearly all the men they passed near to stared into Richard’s cage, trying to get a glimpse of him. He expected that there were already rumors spreading through the camp about him and his Ja’La team. He had learned when they stopped to play teams at army posts along the way that their reputation preceded them. These men were fans of the game and looked forward to the tournaments, especially since there would no doubt be heightened interest because of the arrival of Richard’s team—or Ruben’s team, as it was informally known. The team really belonged to the commander with the snake face. There was little else to entertain these soldiers, other than the women captives. Richard tried not to think about that, because it only made him angry, and there was nothing he could do about it in his cage.

One day, after a particularly violent game that they had won handily, Johnrock admitted to being confused as to why Richard would have allowed himself to so easily be captured. Richard finally told him the truth of what happened. Johnrock at first didn’t believe him. Richard told him to ask snake-face some time. He did and found that Richard was telling the truth. Johnrock greatly valued liberty and thought it was worth fighting for. That was when Johnrock asked to be Richard’s right wingman.

Where Richard had once channeled his rage through the Sword of Truth, he now channeled it through the broc and the play of the Ja’La game. Even his own team, as much as they liked him leading them, to a degree feared him. Except Johnrock. Johnrock didn’t fear Richard. He shared Richard’s way of playing—as if the game were life-or-death.

For some of their opponents made up of Imperial Order troops who thought too much of themselves, it had been. It was not at all unusual for players, especially opponents of Richard’s team, to be seriously hurt, or even die during a match. One of the men on Richard’s team had died during a game. He’d been hit in the head with the heavy broc when he wasn’t looking. It snapped his neck.

Richard remembered walking the streets of Aydindril with Kahlan, watching children play Ja’La. He had given out official balls if they would trade in their heavy brocs for the lighter ones Richard had had made up. He didn’t want them getting hurt just to play a game. Now all those children had fled Aydindril.

“This looks like a bad place for us to be, Ruben,” Johnrock said in a quiet voice as he watched the camp roll past their little window. He sounded uncharacteristically gloomy. “A very bad place for us to be slaves.”

“If you think you’re a slave, then you are a slave,” Richard said.

Johnrock stared back at Richard for a long moment. “Then I’m not a slave, either, Ruben.”

Richard nodded. “Good for you, Johnrock.”

The man went back to watching the endless camp pass before his eyes. He had probably never seen the likes of it in his life. Richard remembered his own wonder when he first left his Hartland woods to discover what was beyond.

“Would you look at that,” Johnrock said in a low voice, staring out through the bars.

Richard didn’t feel like looking. “What is it?”

“A lot of men—soldiers—but not like the rest of the soldiers. These all look the same. Better weapons, better organized. Bigger. They look fierce. Everyone is making way for them.”

Johnrock looked back over his shoulder at Richard. “I bet it’s the emperor come to watch us roll by—come to see the challengers to his team come to the tournaments. From the descriptions I’ve heard, I bet that fellow being guarded by all those big guards in chain mail is Jagang himself.”

Richard went back to the small opening to have a look. He gripped the bars as he put his face close to see better as they passed close to the guards and their charge.