Terry Goodkind - The Pillars of Creation

A dark dome expanded up through the light. Jennsen realized that, because of the distance, what looked to her like a spreading dome of dust had to be debris at least as big as trees. Or wagons.

As the dark cloud expanded upward through the light, it dissipated, as if evaporating in the might of that consuming heat and light. Jennsen could see a wave, like the rings made by tossing a rock in a pond, radiating outward, except this was a single wave racing across the ground.

As everyone stood transfixed, gripped in fright, a sudden wall of wind, driving dirt and sand before it, blasted up the hill toward them. It was the shock of the wave that had finally reached them. It was so abrupt and so powerful that if the branches were not already bare, they would have been stripped of leaves right then and there. Limbs snapped as trees shuddered under the concussion of wind.

More horses panicked, bucking and bolting. Men dropped to the ground to protect themselves from what might come next. Jennsen, staggered by the blast of wind, shielded her eyes with a hand while huge soldiers recited prayers learned in childhood, begging the Creator for salvation.

Jagang stood facing the sight with angry defiant challenge.

“Dear spirits,” Jennsen finally said, squinting, blinking the dust from her eyes as the aftermath seemed to abate. “What could that have possibly been?”

Sister Perdita had gone ashen. “A light web.” Her voice was low and heavy with what Jennsen had never detected from her before: dread.

“Impossible!” Emperor Jagang roared. “There are Sisters down there warding for light spells!”

Sister Perdita said nothing. She couldn’t seem to take her gaze from the arresting sight.

Jennsen could tell that the pain was wearing heavily on Sebastian, but he spoke forcefully. “I’ve been told that a light web can’t do any more damage than”—he gestured back at the palace—“perhaps to destroy a building.”

Sister Perdita said nothing, and with that silence offered the evidence to the contrary that was clearly before his eyes.

Jennsen took the reins to both horses in one hand and put the other to Sebastian’s back in sympathy. She ached for him and wanted him to be somewhere safe where his injury could be tended to. The Sisters had said that it was serious and needed their attention. Jennsen suspected that the wound he suffered at the hands of the sorceress needed the intervention of magic.

“How can it be a light web!” Jagang demanded. “There’s not even anyone here! No troops, no army, no force—except maybe a couple of their gifted.”

“That’s all it would take,” Sister Perdita said. “Such a thing needs no supporting troops. I told you that something was wrong. With the Keep here, in Aydindril, there’s no telling what even a lone wizard might be able to do to hold off an army—even our army.”

“You mean,” Sebastian asked, “it’s like the way a small force in a high pass, for example, can hold off a whole army?”

“That’s right.”

Jagang looked incredulous. “You mean to say that you think that even that one skinny old wizard, in a place like the Keep, might be able to do all that?”

Sister Perdita’s gaze shifted to the emperor. “That one skinny old wizard, as you call him, has just managed to do the impossible. He has not only found what was probably a light web constructed thousands of years ago, but, even more inconceivable, he somehow managed to ignite it.”

Jagang turned to stare off to where the light was finally dying. “Dear Creator,” he whispered, “that’s right where the army is.” He wiped a hand back across his shaved head as he considered the frightening implications. “How could they ignite a light web among our army? We’re warded for that! How!”

Sister Perdita’s eyes turned toward the ground. “There is no way for us to tell, Excellency. It could be something as simple as a box containing an ancient light web from which he removed all the fail-safes and then left it for us to come across. As our men set up camp, maybe a man found it, wondered what was in the innocent-looking little box, opened it, and the light of day was the final trigger. It could be something else entirely else that we could never begin to dream up or imagine, much less forestall. We’ll never know. Whoever triggered it is now part of that cloud of smoke hanging over the river valley.”

“Excellency,” Sebastian said, “I urgently advise that we get the army out of here—move them back.” He paused to wince in pain. “If they’re able to unleash such a defense—with all the gifted and their protection we have—then taking the Keep might be impossible.”

“But we must!” Jagang roared.

Sebastian sagged forward, waiting for a stitch of pain to pass. “Excellency, if we lose the army, then Lord Rahl will triumph. It’s as simple as that. Aydindril is not worth the risk it has proven itself to be.” This was not so much the Sebastian Jennsen knew, as it was Sebastian, the Order’s strategist, speaking. “Better for us to withdraw and fight another day on our terms, not theirs. Time is our ally, not theirs.”

In silent fury, the emperor stared off toward his imperiled army as he considered Sebastian’s advice. There was no telling how many men had just died.

“This is Lord Rahl’s doing,” Jagang finally whispered. “He has to be killed. In the Creator’s name, he must be killed.”

Jennsen knew that she was the only one who could accomplish such a thing.

Jennsen paced in the dimly lit tent, her footsteps silent across the emperor’s opulent carpets. A Sister stood vigil near the outer entry, making sure that no one could come into the tent to disturb the emperor, or, more important, to harm him. Outside, a massive contingent of guards, including more Sisters, patrolled the area. Occasionally, the Sister over by the outer entry glanced at Jennsen as she paced.

Pacing was all she could do. Her insides were a painful knot of worry over Sebastian. He had lost consciousness on the long ride back to the encampment. Sister Perdita said that he was in danger of losing his life. Jennsen couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. He was all she had.

Emperor Jagang was also in grave condition after having lost so much blood and then having to endure the long hard ride back with the tattered remnants of the elite cavalry, but he’d refused to delay his return for any reason, even his own well-being. He never thought of himself, only of getting back to his army. Both men were at last now secure in the confines of the emperor’s tents, being attended to by Sisters of the Light. Jennsen had wanted to stay with Sebastian, but the Sisters chased her out.

The emperor had been made worse by the sight of the army. He’d been fit to kill anyone who gave him an excuse. Jennsen could understand his rage of emotion.

The light web had ignited close to the center of the encampment. Even this many hours after the event, the place was still mass confusion.

Many units had scattered, preparing for the possibility of an imminent attack. Others, it was suspected, had simply run for the hills. In the area where the light web had ignited there was nothing but a vast depression of blackened ground. In the ensuing chaos, no one had been able to determine how many men had been killed. It was next to impossible, with so many either killed or scattered, to get an accurate count of units, much less individuals, but there was no argument that the devastation was staggering.

Jennsen had overheard whispers of over half a million men turned to dust in an instant, and maybe as many as twice that number. In the end, the number killed might prove to be much higher; there were inestimable numbers of seriously injured soldiers—men burned or blinded, men severely cut or with limbs taken off by flying debris, men partially crushed by heavy wagons and equipment toppling on them, men made deaf, men so insensate, so stupefied, that they could only stare unblinking at nothing. There were not enough army surgeons or Sisters of the Light to even begin to attend to the tiniest fraction of the wounded. With every hour that passed, thousands of those who survived the initial blast died of their injuries.