Terry Goodkind - The Pillars of Creation

“If they find him,” the man said, “then, at the least, they’re going to collect anyone around and question them long and hard.”

All the ugly implications were becoming all too real. The day of doom was suddenly looming near.

“What do you think we should do?”

He thought it over a moment. “Well, if they do come by, but don’t find him, then they won’t have any reason to stop and question the people here. If they don’t find him, they’ll go somewhere else to keep looking for him.”

He rose and looked around. “Ground’s too hard to dig a grave.” He pulled his hood farther forward to shield his eyes from the mist as he searched. He pointed to a spot near the base of the cliff. “There. There’s a deep cleft that looks big enough. We could put him in there and cover him over with gravel and rocks. Best burial we can manage this time of year.”

And probably more than he deserved. She would just as soon leave him, but that wouldn’t be wise. Covering him up was what she had planned on doing before the stranger happened along. This would be a better way to do it. There would be less chance that animals would uncover him for passing soldiers to discover.

Seeing her trying to hastily weigh the various ramifications, and mistaking it for reluctance, he spoke in soft assurance. “The man is dead. Nothing can be done about it. It was an accident. Why let that accident bring trouble? We didn’t do anything wrong. We weren’t even here when it happened. I say we bury him and go on with our lives—without D’Haran soldiers becoming unjustly involved.”

Jennsen stood. The man might be right about soldiers coming upon a dead friend and deciding to question people. There was abundant reason to be worried about the dead D’Haran soldier without this new concern. She thought again about the piece of paper she’d found in his pocket. That would be reason enough—without any other.

If the piece of paper was what she thought it might be, then questioning would only be the beginning of the ordeal.

“Agreed,” she said. “If we’re to do it, let’s be quick.”

He smiled, more relief than anything, she thought. Then, turning to face her more squarely, he pushed his hood back off his head, the way men did out of respect for a woman.

Jennsen was shocked to see, even though he was at most only six or seven years older than she, that his cropped hair was as white as snow. She gazed at it with much the same sense of wonder as people gazed at her red hair. With the shadows of the hood gone, she saw that his eyes were as blue as hers, as blue as people said her father’s had been.

The combination of his short white hair and those blue eyes was arresting. The way they both went with his clean-shaven face was singularly appealing. It all fit together with his features in a way that seemed completely right.

He held his hand out across the dead soldier.

“My name is Sebastian.”

She hesitated a moment, but then offered her hand in return. Even though his was big and no doubt powerful, he didn’t squeeze her hand to prove it, the way some men did. The unnatural warmth of the hand surprised her.

“Are you going to tell me your name?”

“I’m Jennsen Daggett.”

“Jennsen.” He smiled his pleasure at the sound of it.

She felt her face going red again. Instead of noticing, he immediately set to the task by grabbing the soldier under his arms and giving him a tug. The body moved only a short distance with each mighty pull. The soldier had been a huge man. Now he was a huge dead weight.

Jennsen seized the soldier’s cloak at the shoulder to help. Sebastian moved his hold to the cloak at the other shoulder and together they dragged the weight of the man, who loomed as dangerous to her in death as he would have in life, across the gravel and slick patches of smooth rock.

Still panting from the effort, and before pushing the soldier into the crevice that was to be his final resting place, Sebastian rolled him over. Jennsen saw for the first time that he wore a short sword strapped over his shoulder, under his pack. She hadn’t seen it before because he was lying on it. Hooked on the weapons belt around his waist, at the small of his back, hung a crescent-bladed battle-axe. Jennsen’s level of apprehension rose at seeing how heavily armed the soldier had been. Regular soldiers didn’t carry this many weapons. Or a knife like he had.

Sebastian tugged the straps of the pack down off the arms. He unstrapped the short sword and set it aside. He pulled off the weapons belt and tossed it atop the sword.

“Nothing too unusual in the pack,” he said after a brief inspection. He added the pack to the short sword, the weapons belt, and the axe.

Sebastian started searching the dead man’s pockets. Jennsen was about to question what he was doing when she recalled that she had done the same. She was somewhat more disturbed when he returned the other items after picking out the money. She thought it rather coldblooded, stealing from the dead.

Sebastian held the money out to her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Take it.” He offered the money again, more insistently this time. “What good is it going to do in the ground? Money is of use to relieve the suffering of the living, not the dead. You think the good spirits will ask him for the price of a bright and pleasant eternity?”

He was a D’Haran soldier. Jennsen expected the Keeper of the underworld would have something somewhat more dark in store for this man’s eternity.

“But . . . it’s not mine.”

He frowned a reproving look. “Consider it partial compensation for all you’ve suffered.”

She felt her flesh go cold. How could he know? They were always so careful.

“What do you mean?”

“The years taken off your life by the fright this fellow gave you today.”

Jennsen finally was able to let her breath go in a silent sigh. She had to stop fearing the worst in what people said.

She allowed Sebastian to put the coins in her hand. “All right, but I think you should have half for helping me.” She handed three gold marks back.

He grasped her hand with his other and pressed all three coins into her palm. “Take it. It’s yours, now.”

Jennsen thought of what this much money could mean. She nodded. “My mother has had a hard life. She could use it. I will give it to my mother.”

“I hope it helps you both, then. Let it be this man’s last good act—helping you and your mother.”

“Your hands are warm.” By the look in his eyes, she thought she knew why. She said no more.

He nodded and confirmed her suspicion. “I’ve got a touch of fever. I came down with it this morning. When we get finished with this business I’m hoping to get to the next town and rest up in a dry room for a while. I just need some rest to regain my strength.”

“Town is too far for you to make today.”

“You sure? I can make good time. I’m used to traveling.”

“So am I,” Jennsen said, “and it takes me most of a day to make it. There’s only a couple of hours of light left—and we have yet to finish with this task. Not even a fast horse would get you near town today.”

Sebastian let out a sigh. “Well, I guess I’ll make do.”

He knelt again and rolled the soldier partway over in order to unstrap the knife. The sheath, fine-grain black leather, was trimmed with silver to match the handle and decorated with the same ornate emblem. On one knee, Sebastian held the gleaming, sheathed knife up to her.

“Silly to bury such a fine weapon. Here you go. Better than that piece of junk you showed me before.”

Jennsen stood stunned and confused. “But, you should keep it.”

“I’ll take the others. More to my taste anyway. The knife is yours. Sebastian’s rule.”