Terry Goodkind - Soul of the Fire

“The Dominie Dirtch are going to be destroyed. I can’t leave them for Jagang to hide behind, but I don’t want our forces to come down here. Jagang is also coming here for food for his army. I hope to spoil some of that food.

“Tell the general my orders are for him to protect the routes up into the Midlands. Out here on the plains he doesn’t stand a chance against the Order’s numbers. He will have a better chance keeping Jagang from advancing into the rest of the Midlands if our forces fight our way, not Jagang’s.”

“Yes, sir. Wise advice.”

“It should be, it’s General Reibisch’s advice. I hope, too, to reduce the Order’s numbers. Tell him to use his discretion.”

“What about you, Lord Rahl? Where is he to find you?”

“You tell him to worry about his men, not me. I’m . . . not sure where I’ll be. Reibisch knows what to do. That’s why they made him a general. He would know better than I what to do about soldiering.”

“Yes, sir. The general is a good man.”

Richard held up a finger for emphasis. “This is important. I want you to follow this order, and I want Reibisch to follow it.

“The people of Anderith have made their choice. I don’t want a single one of our men lifting a weapon to help them. I don’t want any of our men to have to shed blood for these people. Understand? Not one!”

The color left the captain’s face. He backed away a half step.

“Not. One. Drop. Of. Our. Blood,” Richard said.

“Yes, sir. I will tell the general your exact words.”

“My orders.” Richard climbed up into the saddle. “And I mean that. You’re all good men, Captain Meiffert. Someday, I want you going home to your families—not dying for nothing.”

The captain saluted with a fist to his heart. “Our sincere hope, too, Lord Rahl.”

Richard returned the salute, and then trotted his horse out of camp for the last time, on his way to perform his final duty.

“Darling, I’m home,” Dalton called toward the bedroom.

He had sent up a bottle of wine, along with a plate of Teresa’s favorite dish, suckling rabbits roasted in a red wine sauce. Mr. Drummond was most pleased to be able to keep his job by complying with the unusual request.

Perfumed candles were lit around the rooms, the drapes were drawn, and the servants all sent away.

The master and the mistress wanted to be alone.

Teresa met him at the bedroom door with a glass of wine and a smile. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so glad you were able to come in early tonight. I’ve so looked forward to it all day.”

“As have I,” he said with his best smile.

She gave him a mischievous look. “I’m so looking forward to proving to you how much I love you, and to thank you for being so understanding about my duty to the Sovereign.”

Dalton slipped the silk robe from her shoulders, kissing her bare flesh. She giggled as he worked his kisses up her neck. She made a feeble effort to slow his advances.

She hunched her head against his face. “Dalton, don’t you want some wine?”

“I want you,” he said, in an intimate growl. “It’s been too long.”

“Oh, Dalton, I know. I’ve ached for you.”

“Then prove it,” he teased.

She giggled again against his continued kisses.

“My, but what’s gotten into you, Dalton?” She moaned. “Whatever it is, I like it.”

“Tess, I’ve taken the day off tomorrow, too. I want to make love to you tonight, and all day tomorrow.”

She responded to his intimacies as he guided her toward their big bed with the hammered-iron posts that looked like the columns outside the Office of Cultural Amity, the bed that belonged to the Minister of Culture, along with everything else in the magnificent apartments.

Once, all of this splendor would have brought him great pleasure. Pleasure in what he had accomplished, in what he had attained, in how far he had come.

“Dalton, please don’t be disappointed, but Bertrand is expecting me tomorrow afternoon.”

Dalton shrugged as he gently placed her on the bed. “Well, we have tonight, and in the morning again. Right?”

She beamed. “Of course, sweetheart. Tonight, and for the morning. Oh, Dalton, I’m so happy you understand about the Sovereign needing me.”

“But I do, darling. You may think this sounds strange, but, in a way, I find it . . . exciting.”

“You do?” She grinned her wicked grin. “I like the idea of that. You being excited, I mean.”

She watched as he opened her robe and kissed her breasts. He came up for breath.

“To know the Sovereign himself chooses my wife, my beautiful Tess, and by the direct word of the Creator at that, is the best compliment a loyal Ander man could ever have.”

“Dalton,” she said, breathless from his kisses and caresses. “I’ve never seen you like this.” She drew him closer. “I like it. I like it a lot. Come here, let me show you how much.”

Before she began, she pulled back.

“Dalton, Bertrand was pleased, too. He said he liked your attitude. He said he found it exciting, too.”

“We all need our Sovereign to guide us into the future and bring us the Creator’s words. I’m so glad you can help relieve the Sovereign’s stress in this life.”

She was panting now. “Yes, Dalton, I do. I really do. It’s so . . . I don’t know, so wonderful to have such a high calling.”

“Why don’t you tell me all about it, darling, as we make love. I’d like to hear it all.”

“Oh, Dalton, I’m so glad.”

Dalton allowed himself a couple of days to recover after being with Tess. It had been an experience he once would have found the height of his existence. It once would have been a source of joy.

After the experience, though, he needed to deprive himself of Tess for several days in order to be in a state of heightened need for a task such as he must now perform.

The hallway was deserted outside her quarters and offices. Bertrand was in the opposite wing, with Teresa, having the stresses of his high office relieved. Dalton had made sure it was a time when Teresa was with Bertrand. The thought of it would help him to focus on the work at hand.

Bertrand and his wife made sure they rarely encountered one another. Having their quarters in opposite wings helped.

She did sometimes visit him, though. Their screaming battles were legendary among the staff. Bertrand one day sported a cut over his eye. He was usually able to duck the objects she hurled at him, but on that occasion she had caught him off guard.

Partly because of Hildemara’s popularity, but mostly because of her dangerous connections, Bertrand dared not confront, cross, or do away with his wife. She had warned him he had better hope she didn’t die a sudden death of natural causes—or any other causes—lest his own health suddenly fail, too.

It was a threat Bertrand did not take lightly. For the most part, he simply avoided her. There were times, though, when his penchant for risk caused him to make foolish comments or in some other way embarrass her, and then she went looking for him. It mattered not where he was, either in his bed, his privy, or a meeting with wealthy backers. Bertrand generally avoided troubles with her by trying to take care, but there were times when he provoked her ire.

It was a relationship that had worked on this estranged level for years, and had borne them a daughter neither cared for. Dalton had only seen her recently when they brought her back from boarding school in order to stand with them at public addresses decrying the horrors of an uncaring Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor.

Now the Lord Rahl had been rejected by the people. Now the Mother Confessor was . . . well, he wasn’t sure what had become of her, but he was reasonably sure she was dead. It had cost Dalton some good men, but in war there were always losses. He would replace them if need be.