Terry Goodkind - The Pillars of Creation

He also realized that his mother was a liar. She had hidden his true identity from her own son, her flesh and blood. Darken Rahl’s flesh and blood. She was probably resentful and envious and didn’t want Oba to know of his greatness. That would be just like her. She was always trying to beat him down. The bitch.

The smoke coming through the open door no longer smelled of lamp oil. It now carried the aroma of roasting meat. Oba grinned as he peeked through the doorway to see Lathea’s hand sticking above the cabinet, blackening in the flames, waving to him from the world of the dead.

Sneaking across the snow to hide behind the fat trunk of an oak, Oba watched as the couple hurried down the path, through the trees, toward the road. When they had passed out of sight, he followed in their tracks, staying hidden. He was a pretty big man to hide behind a tree, but in the darkness it wasn’t difficult.

He was puzzled, and troubled, by certain aspects of the encounter. He had been surprised that the couple wouldn’t want to call for help, and instead ran away. The woman, especially, was eager to escape, thinking that because of Lathea’s death, someone was after them. A quad, she had said. That was part of what troubled him.

Oba had vaguely heard of quads before. Assassins of some sort. Assassins sent by the Lord Rahl himself. Assassins sent after important people. Or people who were especially dangerous. Maybe that was it, they were dangerous people and not common thieves, after all.

Oba had heard her name—Jennsen.

But the thing that had really perked up his ears was that Lathea had a sister named Althea—yet another cursed sorceress—and Althea was the only one who could see the holes in the world. That was most troubling of all, because that was the very same thing that Lathea had said to him. At the time, he had thought the old sorceress was already conversing with the spirits in the world of the dead, or maybe with the Keeper of the underworld himself, but as it turned out, she was speaking the truth.

Somehow, this Jennsen woman and Oba were both what Lathea called holes in the world. That sounded important. This Jennsen was somehow like him. They were somehow connected. That fascinated him.

He wished he had gotten a better look at her. The first meeting had been in darkness. The second time he saw her, just now, the fire had provided only enough light for a dim and shadowed view. As she had turned away, he only had time for a quick glimpse. From that fleeting look, he’d seen that she was a remarkably beautiful young woman.

He paused behind a tree before making his way across the open snow toward the concealment of a more distant tree. These people, like Jennsen, like Oba, who were holes in the world, were important. Quads were sent after important people—people who were especially dangerous to the Lord Rahl. Lathea had said that if he knew of Oba, the Lord Rahl would want to exterminate him.

Oba didn’t know if he believed Lathea. She would be jealous of anyone more important than herself. Still, he might be in some kind of danger without even knowing it—hunted because he was an important man. That seemed pretty far-fetched, but in view of all the other new things he had learned this night, he didn’t think it was entirely out of the question. An important man, a man interested in leaming new things, didn’t just dismiss such new information without giving it due consideration.

Oba was still trying to connect together all the things he had learned. It was all very complicated—that much he did know. He had to take everything into account if he was to put it all together.

As he scurried to the next tree, he decided that it might be best if he went to the inn and got a better look at Jennsen and Sebastian, the man with her. His eyes tracked them as they reached the road that headed back into town.

Even though the couple kept looking around, it wasn’t difficult in such darkness for Oba to follow them without being seen. Once they were back among the buildings, it was even easier. From around the corner of one building, Oba saw the light spill out into the road when they opened the door below a metal mug swinging in the wind. Laughter and music spilled out, too—like a celebration of the sorceress’s demise. Too bad everyone didn’t know that Oba was the hero who had done away with the bane of all their lives. If people knew what he had managed to accomplish, he would probably have all the free drinks he could want. He watched as Jennsen and Sebastian were swallowed inside. The door thudded shut. The stillness of the winter night returned.

Oba never got a chance to go to an inn for a drink. He never had any money. He had money, now. He had had a hard night, but he had emerged a new man. A rich man. Wiping his nose on his jacket sleeve, he made for the door. It was time for him to go to a cozy inn and have a drink. If anyone deserved one, it was Oba Rahl.

Jennsen suspiciously scanned the faces at the inn, looking for any that might betray murderous design. She still felt sick from the sight of what had been done to Lathea. This night, there were monsters about. Men looked her way, but the twinkle in their eyes seemed merry, not murderous. But how would she know, before it was too late?

She ached to take the stairs two at a time.

“Easy,” Sebastian whispered, apparently believing she was on the verge of panicked flight. Maybe she was. His grip on her arm tightened. “Let’s not make people suspicious.” They took the stairs one at a time, moving at a measured pace, just a couple going to their room.

In their room, Jennsen burst into motion, gathering the few items they had removed from their packs, replacing them, securing the straps and buckles. Even Sebastian, checking his weapons beneath his cloak, seemed unnerved by what had happened to Lathea. Jennsen made sure that her knife was free in its scabbard.

“You sure you wouldn’t like to get some sleep? Lathea couldn’t have told them anything—she didn’t know we were staying here at the inn. It might be better to start fresh at dawn.”

She shot him a look as she shouldered her pack.

“Right,” he said. He caught her arm. “Jennsen, slow down. If you run, people will want to know why you’re running.”

He was in enemy territory. He would know how to go about the business of not raising suspicion. Jennsen nodded.

“What should I do?”

“Just act like we’re going down for a drink, or to listen to the music. If you insist on going directly out, walk. Don’t call attention to us by running. Maybe we’re just going to visit a friend or relative—who’s to say? But we don’t want people to wonder if there’s something wrong. People forget normal. They remember when things look wrong.”

Abashed, she nodded again. “I guess I’m not very good at this. Closeup running, I mean. I’ve been running and hiding my whole life, but not like this, when they’re so close I can almost feel their breath on my neck.”

He smiled that warm smile of his, the one that looked so good on him. “You aren’t trained in this kind of thing. I wouldn’t expect you to know how to act. Even so, I don’t think I’ve ever met another woman who was as good as you are under such pressure. You’re doing fine—you really are.”

Jennsen felt a little better to know that she wasn’t acting like a complete fool. He had a way about him that gave her confidence, put her at ease, made her able to do things she didn’t think she could. He let her decide on her own what it was she wanted to do, and then he backed up her decision. Not many men would do that for a woman.

Down the steps once again, for the last time, she could feel the door on the other side of the room, as if she were drowning and it was the only air. People so close, brushing against her, still made her uneasy, made her feel the desperate need for that air.