Terry Goodkind - The Pillars of Creation

“No. Mord-Sith have a power that enables them to appropriate another’s magic—even a wizard or a sorceress. They capture not only the person, but their magic, as well. There can be no escape from a Mord-Sith unless she releases the person.”

Sebastian seemed only more confused. “What do you mean they appropriate another’s magic? That makes no sense. What could they do with such magic if it were another’s power? That would be like pulling out someone’s teeth and trying to eat with them.”

Jennsen swept her hand back over her head, under her hood, replacing the red ringlets that had fallen out. “I don’t know, Sebastian. I’ve heard that they use the person’s own magic against them, to hurt them—to give them pain.”

“Then why should we be afraid of them?”

“They may torture information out of the gifted enemies of Lord Rahl, but they can hurt anyone. Did you see the weapon they carry?”

“No. I saw no weapon on them. They only carried a small, red leather rod.”

“That is their weapon. It’s called an Agiel. They keep it on a chain around their wrist so it is always at hand. It’s a weapon of magic.”

He considered what she said, but clearly didn’t yet understand it. “What do they do with it, with their Agiel?”

His manner had turned from incredulity to a more calm, analytical questioning for information. He was once again doing the job Jagang the Just had sent him to do.

“I’m no expert on the subject, but from what I’ve heard, the mere touch of an Agiel can do anything from causing inconceivable pain, to breaking bones, to instant death. The Mord-Sith decides how much pain, if the bones are to break, and whether or not you are to die by the touch.”

He watched out toward the intersection as he considered what she’d said. “Why are you so afraid of them? And if you have only heard these things, why do you fear them so?”

Now she was the one who was incredulous. “Sebastian, Lord Rahl has been hunting me my whole life. These women are his personal killers. Don’t you think they would love to bring me to the feet of their master?”

“I suppose.”

“At least they were wearing their brown leather. They wear red leather when they sense a threat, or when they torture someone. In red leather the blood doesn’t show so much.”

He slid both hands over his eyes and then back over his white spikes of hair. “This is a nightmare land you live in, Jennsen Daggett.”

Jennsen Rahl, she almost corrected out of self-pity. Jennsen from her mother, Rahl from her father.

“Do you think I don’t know it?”

“And what if this sorceress doesn’t want to help you?”

She picked at a thread on her knee. “I don’t know.”

“He will come after you. Lord Rahl will never let you be. You will never be free.”

. . . unless you kill him , were the words she could hear left off.

“Althea must help me . . . I’m so sick of being afraid,” Jennsen said, near tears, “so sick of running.”

He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I understand.”

No two words could have been more meaningful at that moment. She could only nod her appreciation.

His tone turned more impassioned. “Jennsen, we have gifted women like Althea. They’re from a sect, the Sisters of the Light, that used to live at the Palace of the Prophets in the Old World. Richard Rahl, when he invaded the Old World, destroyed their palace. It was said to be a beautiful and special place, but he destroyed it. Now the Sisters are with Emperor Jagang, helping him. Maybe our sorceresses would be able to help you, too.”

She looked up into his caring eyes. “Really? Maybe those with the emperor would know a way to hide me from my murderous half brother’s wizardry? . . . But he’s always only a half step behind, waiting for me to stumble so he can pounce. Sebastian, I don’t think I could make it that far. Althea helped hide me from Lord Rahl once. I must convince her to help me again. If she won’t, I fear I’ll have no chance before I’m caught.”

He leaned out again, checking, then gave her a confident smile. “We’ll find Althea. Her magic will hide you and then you can get away.”

Feeling better, she returned the smile.

Judging that the Mord-Sith were gone and it was safe, they returned to the hall to search for Friedrich. They each inquired at several places before Jennsen found someone who knew of the gilder. With fresh hope, she and Sebastian moved deeper into the palace, following the directions they were given, to a juncture of grand passageways.

There, in the center of the intersection of two central corridors, she was surprised to see a quiet plaza with a square pool of dark water. Tiles, rather than the usual marble, surrounded the pool. Four columns at the outer edge of the tiles supported the soaring opening to the sky, covered, since it was winter, by leaded glass panels. The beveled glass gave the light cast down across the tiles a shimmering, liquid quality.

In the pool, off center in a way that seemed right without Jennsen understanding exactly why it felt right, stood a dark pitted rock with a bell atop it. It was a remarkably quiet sanctuary in the center of such a busy place.

Seeing the square with the bell sparked her memory of similar places. When the bell tolled, she recalled, the people came to such squares to bow down and chant a devotion to the Lord Rahl. She suspected that such homage was one price paid for the honor of being allowed in his palace.

People sat on the low wall around the edge, talking in hushed tones, watching orange fish gliding through the dark water. Even Sebastian stared for a few minutes before moving on.

Everywhere, there were alert soldiers. Some seemed to be stationed at key spots. Squads of guards moved through the halls, watching everyone, stopping some people to speak with them. What the soldiers asked, Jennsen didn’t know, but it worried her greatly.

“What do we say if they question us?” she asked.

“It’s best not to say anything unless you have to.”

“But if you have to, then what?”

“Tell them that we live on a farm to the south. Farmers are isolated and don’t know much about anything but life on their farm, so it wouldn’t sound suspicious if we say we don’t know about anything else. We came to see the palace and perhaps buy a few small things—herbs and such.”

Jennsen had met farmers, and didn’t think they were as ignorant of things as Sebastian seemed to think. “Farmers grow or collect their own herbs,” she said. “I don’t think they would need to come to the palace to buy them.”

“Well, then . . . we came to buy some nice cloth so you could make clothes for the baby.”

“Baby? What baby?”

“Your baby. You are my wife and only recently found yourself pregnant. You are with child.”

Jennsen felt her face flush to red. She couldn’t say she was pregnant—that would only lead to more questions.

“All right. We’re farmers, here to buy a few small things—herbs and such. Rare herbs we don’t grow ourselves.”

His only answer was a sideways glance and a smile. His arm returned to her waist, as if to banish her embarrassment.

Beyond another intersection of wide passageways, following the directions they’d been given, they turned down another hall to the right. It, too, was lined with vendors. Jennsen immediately spotted the booth with a gilded star hanging before it. She didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but the gilded star had eight points, like the star in a Grace. She had drawn the Grace often enough to know.

With Sebastian at her side, she rushed over to the booth. Her heart sank when they found the place occupied only by an empty chair, but it was still morning, and she reasoned that maybe he hadn’t come in yet. The closest businesses weren’t yet open, either.