Terry Goodkind - The Pillars of Creation

“He’s dead” was all she could think to say.

Jennsen was unaccustomed to speaking to strangers. She was unaccustomed to speaking to anyone but her mother. She was unsure as to what to say—how to react—especially under the circumstances.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He stretched his neck a little, without coming any closer, trying to see the man on the ground.

Jennsen thought it a considerate thing to do—not trying to come closer to someone who was clearly nervous. She hated that she was so obvious. She had always hoped she might appear to others somewhat inscrutable.

His gaze lifted from the dead man, to her knife, to her face. “I suppose you had cause.”

Perplexed for a second, she finally grasped his meaning and blurted out, “I didn’t do it!”

He shrugged. “Sorry. From over here I can’t tell what happened.”

Jennsen felt awkward holding a knife on the man. She lowered the arm with the weapon.

“I didn’t mean to . . . to appear a madwoman. You just startled the wits out of me.”

His smile warmed. “I understand. No harm done. So, what happened?”

Jennsen gestured with her empty hand toward the cliff face. “I think he fell from the trail up there. His neck’s broken. At least I think it is. I only just discovered him. I don’t see any other footprints. My guess is that he was killed in a fall.”

As Jennsen returned her knife to its sheath on her belt, he considered the cliff. “Glad I took the bottom, rather than the trail up there.”

She inclined her head in invitation toward the dead man. “I was looking for something that might tell me who he was. I thought maybe I should . . . notify someone. But I haven’t found anything.”

The man’s boots crunched through the coarse gravel as he approached. He knelt on the other side of the body, rather than beside her, perhaps to give the knife-wielding madwoman a precautionary bit of space so she would feet a little less jumpy.

“I’d guess you were right,” he said, after taking in the abnormal cant of the head. “Looks like he’s been here at least part of the day.”

“I was through here earlier. Those are my tracks, there. I don’t see any others about.” She gestured toward her catch lying just behind her. “When I went to the lake to check my lines, earlier, he wasn’t here.”

He twisted his head in order to better study the still face. “Any idea who he was?”

“No. I don’t have a clue, other than that he’s a soldier.”

The man looked up. “Any idea what kind of soldier?”

Jennsen’s brow drew tight. “What kind? He’s a D’Haran soldier.” She lowered herself to the ground in order to look at the stranger more directly. “Where are you from that you wouldn’t recognize a D’Haran soldier?”

He ran his hand under his cloak’s hood and rubbed it along the side of his neck. “I’m just a traveler, passing through.” He looked as tired as he sounded.

The answer perplexed her. “I’ve moved around my whole life and I don’t know of anyone who wouldn’t know a D’Haran soldier when they saw one. How can you not?”

“I’m new to D’Hara.”

“That’s not possible. D’Hara covers most of the world.”

This time, his smile betrayed amusement. “Is that so?”

She could feel her face heat and she knew it must be going red with how ignorant of the world at large she had shown herself to be. “Well, doesn’t it?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m from far to the south. Beyond the land that is D’Hara.”

She stared in wonder, her chagrin evaporating in light of the implications that came into her head at such an astonishing notion. Perhaps her dream might not be so extravagant.

“And what are you doing, here, in D’Hara?”

“I told you. Traveling.” He sounded weary. She knew how exhausting it could be to travel. His tone turned more serious. “I know he’s a D’Haran soldier. You misunderstood me. What I meant was, what kind of soldier? A man belonging to a local regiment? A man stationed here? A soldier on his way home for a visit? A soldier going for a drink in town? A scout?”

Her sense of alarm rose. “A scout? What would he be scouting for in his own homeland?”

The man looked off at the low dark clouds. “I don’t know. I was only wondering if you knew anything of him.”

“No, of course not. I just found him.”

“Are these D’Haran soldiers dangerous? I mean, do they bother folks? Folks just traveling through?”

Her gaze fled his questioning eyes. “I—I don’t know. I guess they could be.”

She feared to say too much, but she wouldn’t want him to end up in trouble because she said too little.

“What do you suppose a lone soldier was doing way out here? Soldiers aren’t often alone.”

“I don’t know. Why do you suppose a simple woman would know more about soldiering than a man of the world who travels about? Don’t you have any ideas of your own? Maybe he was just on his way home, for a visit, or something. Maybe he was thinking about a girl back home, and so he wasn’t paying attention like he should have been. Maybe that’s why he slipped and fell.”

He rubbed his neck again, as if he were in pain.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m not making much sense. I’m a little tired. Maybe I’m not thinking clearly. Maybe I was only concerned for you.”

“For me? What do you mean?”

“I mean that soldiers belong to units of one sort or another. Other soldiers know them and know where they’re supposed to be. Soldiers don’t just go off alone when they want to. They aren’t like some lone trapper who could vanish and no one would know.”

“Or some lone traveler?”

An easy grin softened his expression. “Or some lone traveler.” The grin withered. “The point is, other soldiers will likely look for him. If they come upon his body, here, they’ll bring in troops to prevent anyone from leaving the area. Once they gather anyone they can find, they’ll start asking questions.

“From what I’ve heard about D’Haran soldiers, they know how to ask questions. They’ll want to know every detail about every person they question.”

Jennsen’s middle cramped in sick, churning consternation. The last thing in the world she wanted was D’Haran soldiers asking questions of her or her mother. This dead soldier could end up being the death of them.

“But what are the chances—”

“I’m only saying that I’d not like to have this fellow’s friends come along and decide that someone has to pay for his death. They might not see it as an accident. Soldiers get stirred up by the death of a comrade, even if it was an accident. You and I are the only two around. I’d not like to have a bunch of soldiers discover him and decide to blame us.”

“You mean, even if it was an accident, they might seize an innocent person and blame them for it?”

“I don’t know, but in my experience that’s the way soldiers are. When they’re angry they find someone to blame.”

“But they can’t blame us. You weren’t even here, and I was only going to tend my fishing lines.”

He planted an elbow on his knee and leaned over the dead man toward her. “And this soldier, going about his business for the great D’Haran Empire, saw a beautiful young woman strutting along and was so distracted by her that he slipped and fell.”

“I wasn’t ‘strutting’!”

“I don’t mean to suggest you were. I only meant to show you how people can find blame when they decide they want to.”

She’d not thought of that. They were D’Haran soldiers. Such behavior would hardly be out of the question.

The rest of what he’d said registered in her mind. Jennsen had never before had a man call her beautiful. It flustered her, coming so unexpectedly and out of place, as it did, in the middle of such a worry. Since she didn’t have any idea how to react to the compliment, and since there were so many more important thoughts commanding her emotions, she ignored it.