Footsteps of the representatives and boot strikes of the soldiers escorting them echoed off vast expanses of marble, and brought her out of her brooding. The approaching knot of people strode through glaring shafts of sunlight that streamed in through round windows at the lower edge of the dome. Kahlan put on her Confessor’s face, as her mother had taught her, a face that showed nothing, and masked what was inside.
Arched openings around the room covered stairways up to colonnaded balconies edged with polished mahogany railings.
The group, flanked by D’Haran soldiers, came to a halt before the resplendent, carved desk. Tristan Bashkar of Jara and Leonora and Walter Cholbane of Grennidon stood at the fore. Behind them waited ambassadors Seldon from Mardovia, Wexler from Pendisan Reach, and Brumford from Togressa.
Kahlan knew that Jara and Grennidon, lands of vast wealth and large standing armies, were likely to be the most obstinate about retaining their prerogative of status in return for their surrender. She knew she must shake their confidence first. Having served in a position of authority and power most of her life, first as a Confessor, then as the Mother Confessor, Kahlan knew the task well. She knew these people, knew how they thought; surrender was acceptable, as long as they could retain station above certain other lands, and as long as they could be assured of unfettered authority in their own business.
That kind of attitude was no longer acceptable. It couldn’t be tolerated if all of them were to have a chance against the Imperial Order. Kahlan had to uphold Richard’s word and conditions of surrender. The future of every land in the Midlands depended on this.
In order for this new union to prevail against the Imperial Order, there could no longer be sovereign lands, each with its own agenda. They must now all be one, under one authority of command, working together as one people, not a coalition that could fragment at a critical moment, letting the Imperial Order snatch freedom from all.
“Lord Rahl is occupied with matters of our mutual safety in our struggle. I have come in his place to hear your decisions. Your words will be passed on to him as you speak them to me. As Mother Confessor, Queen of Galea, Queen of Kelton, and betrothed of the Master of D’Hara, I have the authority to speak on behalf of the D’Haran empire. My word is as final as would be Lord Rahl’s.”
The words had come out unbidden, but that was what it was—the D’Haran empire. Richard was its supreme leader, its supreme authority.
The representatives bowed and mumbled that they understood.
Wanting these people of authority to know that the order of things was no longer how it had been in these chambers in the past, Kahlan reversed the order of how such matters were handled.
“Ambassador Brumford, please step forward.”
Tristan Bashkar and Leonora Cholbane immediately began objecting. It was unheard of to have a lesser land speak first.
Kahlan’s glare brought them to silence. “When I ask you to speak for your people, then you may speak. Not before. Until a land joins with us through surrender of their sovereignty, they have no standing before me.
“Do not expect that your presumption will be excused, as was customary in the past in the alliance of the Midlands. The Midlands alliance is no more. You now stand in the D’Haran empire.”
An icy silence settled over the chambers.
Kahlan had been devastated when she had first heard that Richard had spoken much the same words in this very chamber to representatives of the Midlands. She had come to understand that there was no other way.
Tristan Bashkar and the Cholbanes, to whom she had directed her words, stood red-faced but silent. When she moved her gaze to Ambassador Brumford, he remembered her orders and scurried forward.
The amicable Ambassador Brumford gathered his voluminous violet robes in one hand and put a knee to the marble floor as he sank into a deep bow.
“Mother Confessor,” he said as he straightened, “Togressa stands ready to join with you and all free people in our alliance against tyranny.”
“Thank you, Ambassador. We welcome Togressa as a member of the D’Haran empire. The people of Togressa will have standing equal to any among us. We know your people will do their part.”
“They will. Thank you, Mother Confessor. Please relay my word to Lord Rahl that we are joyful to be a part of D’Hara.”
Kahlan smiled sincerely. “Lord Rahl and I share your joy, Ambassador Brumford.”
He moved to the side as Kahlan called forward the muscled, short, fiery-eyed Ambassador Wexler from Pendisan Reach.
“Mother Confessor,” he said upon arising, tugging his leather surcoat straight, “Pendisan Reach is a small land, with a small legion of men at arms, but we are fierce fighters, as any who have come against our swords can attest.
“The Mother Confessor has always fought for us with the same fierceness. We have always held with the Midlands and with the Mother Confessor, and so we accord your words great weight. With the greatest respect, we heed your counsel to join with D’Hara.
“Our swords are lowered to you and Lord Rahl. The people of Pendisan Reach, both those of simple muscle and bone, and those with magic’s talents, wish to be at the van of battle against the horde from beyond the wilds, so that the enemy may have a bitter taste of our ferocity. We will be known to all from this day forward as the D’Harans from Pendisan Reach, if it so pleases you.”
Touched by his words, Kahlan bowed her head to him. The people of Pendisan Reach did have a flair for the dramatic, but they were no less wholehearted for it. As small as their land was, they were not to be taken lightly; the ambassador’s bold claim of their ferocity was no idle boast. If only their numbers were as great as their fortitude.
“I can’t promise you the van, Ambassador Wexler, but we will be honored to have your people with us in our struggle. We will value them regardless of how they serve.”
She turned a dispassionate face to the ambassador from Mardovia. The Mardovian people were proud, too, and no less fierce. They had to be for their survival in tough country among the wilds, though they, also, were a small land.
“Ambassador Seldon, please come forward and deliver Mardovia’s decision.”
Ambassador Seldon glided forward, wearily eying the others. He bowed from the waist, his white hair falling forward over the gold braiding on the shoulders of his red coat as he did so.
“Mother Confessor. The assembly of seven of Mardovia in our mother city of Renwold has charged me with the duty of the long journey to Aydindril to relay their decision. The assembly of seven has no desire or intention to relinquish rule over our beloved people to outlanders, whether they be from D’Hara or from the Imperial Order.
“Your war with the Imperial Order is not our war. The assembly of seven has ruled that Mardovia will remain sovereign and will remain neutral.”
Behind her, in the silence, a soldier coughed. The sound of it echoed around the stone chamber.
“Ambassador Seldon, the land of Mardovia lies among the eastern wilds, not far from the Old World. You will be vulnerable to attack.”
“Mother Confessor, the walls surrounding our mother city of Renwold have stood the test of time. As you say, we lie among the people of the wilds. Those people in the past have tried to exterminate us. None ever succeeded in so much as breaching the walls, much less overcoming our stalwart defenders. Instead, the various peoples of the wilds now trade with us, and Renwold is a center of commerce in the eastern wilds of the Midlands, respected by all who once sought to conquer us.”
Kahlan leaned forward. “Ambassador, the Order is no tribe from the wilds. They will crush you. Doesn’t the assembly of seven have the sense to realize that?”
Ambassador Seldon smiled indulgently. “Mother Confessor, I understand your concern, but as I have said, Renwold’s walls have stood us in good stead. Be assured, Renwold will not fall to the Order.” His expression hardened. “Nor will it fall to this new alliance you form with D’Hara.
“Numbers do not mean much against
a knob of stone in the wilds. Would-be conquerors soon tire of breaking their teeth on so small a morsel. Our small size, our location, and our walls make us less than worth the trouble. Should we join with you, then we would be vulnerable because we would represent resistance.
“Our neutrality is not of hostile intent. We will be willing to trade with your alliance, as we will be willing to trade with the Imperial Order. We wish harm to no one, but we will defend ourselves.”
“Ambassador Seldon, your wife and children are in Renwold. Don’t you understand the danger to your family?”
“My beloved wife and children are safe behind the walls of Renwold, Mother Confessor. I fear not for them.”
“And will your walls stand against magic? The Order uses those with magic! Or are you too drunk with the past to see the threat to your future?”
His face had reddened. “The decision of the assembly of seven is final. We don’t fear for our safety. We have people of magic in turn to protect the walls from magic. Neutrality is not a threat. Perhaps you should pray to the good spirits for mercy, since it is you who sues for war. To live by violence is to invite it.”
Kahlan drummed her fingernails against the desktop as everyone awaited her words. She knew that even if she could convince this man, it would do no good; the assembly of seven had made its decision, and he could not change it even if he wanted.
“Ambassador Seldon, you will leave Aydindril by the end of the day. You will return to the assembly of seven in Renwold, and tell them that D’Hara does not recognize neutrality. This is a struggle for our world—whether it is to thrive in the Light, or wither under the shadow of tyranny. Lord Rahl has decreed that there are no bystanders. I have decreed no mercy against the Order. We are of one mind in this.
“You are either with us, or you stand against us. The Imperial Order views it the same.
“Tell the assembly of seven that Mardovia now stands against us. One of us, either D’Hara or the Order, will conquer Mardovia. Direct them to pray to the good spirits, and ask that it is we who conquer you and take Renwold instead of the Order. We will impose harsh sanctions for your resistance, but your people will live. Should the Order set upon you first, they will annihilate your defenders and enslave your people. Mardovia will be ground into the dust of the past.”
His indulgent smile widened. “Fear not, Mother Confessor. Renwold will stand against any land, even the Order.”
Kahlan regarded him with cold ire. “I have walked among the dead inside the walls of Ebinissia. I have seen the slaughter at the hands of the Order. I have seen what they did to the living, first. I will pray for those poor people who will suffer because of the mad delusions of the assembly of seven.”
Kahlan angrily gestured to the guards to escort the man from the chambers. She knew what would happen to the Mardovian people if the Order attacked first. She knew, too, that Richard could not risk the lives of allies simply to take Renwold in order to protect it. It was too distant a land. She would advise against it, as would any of his generals.
Mardovia was lost; their neutrality would draw the Order as the scent of blood drew wolves.
She had walked through the gates in the massive walls of Renwold. The walls were impressive. They were not invincible. The Order had wizards, like Marlin. The walls would not stand against wizard’s fire, despite those of magic’s talent defending Renwold.
Kahlan tried to put the fate of Mardovia from her mind as she called the pair from the royal house in Grennidon forward.
“How does Grennidon stand?” she growled.
Walter Cholbane cleared his throat. His sister spoke.
“Grennidon, a land of great importance, a land of vast fields which produce—”
Kahlan cut her off. “I asked how Grennidon stands.”
Leonora dry-washed her hands as she considered the resolve in Kahlan’s eyes.
“The royal house offers its surrender, Mother Confessor.”
“Thank you, Leonora. We are gladdened for you and for your people. Please see to it that my officers here are granted any information they need so that your army can be brought under coordination of our central command.”
“Yes, Mother Confessor,” she stammered. “Mother Confessor, are our forces to be bled against the walls of Renwold to bring them down?”
Grennidon was north of Mardovia, and in the best position to attack, but Kahlan knew that Grennidon would not relish attacking a trading partner. Moreover, some of the family of the assembly of seven had married into the royal house of Cholbane.
“No. Renwold is a city of the walking dead. The vultures will pick it clean. In the meantime, trade with Mardovia is forbidden. We trade only with those who join us.”
“Yes, Mother Confessor.”
“Mother Confessor,” Walter, her brother, interjected, “we wish to discuss some of the terms with Lord Rahl. We have things of value to offer, and matters of interest to us that we wish to bring to his attention.”
“Surrender is unconditional. There is nothing to discuss. Lord Rahl has instructed me to remind you that there will be no negotiations. Either you are with us, or you are against us. Now, do you wish to withdraw your offer of surrender before you sign the documents and instead cast your fate with Mardovia?”
He pressed his lips together as he took a deep breath. “No, Mother Confessor.”
“Thank you. When Lord Rahl has the time, soon, I hope, he would very much like to hear what you have to say, as a valued member of the D’Haran empire. Just remember that you are now part of D’Hara, and he is the Master of D’Hara, the master of that empire.”
She had treated them with less respect than the two small lands who had offered their surrender; not to do so would have resulted in emboldening them, and inviting trouble. These two were among those who always requested red rooms.
Walter and Leonora seemed to relax, now that Kahlan had their acquiescence. The Cholbanes could be tenacious and stubborn to the end, but once an agreement was reached and their word given, they never looked back, never second-guessed what might have been. It was a quality that made dealings with them bearable.
“We understand, Mother Confessor,” Walter said.
“Yes,” his sister added. “And we look forward to the day that the Imperial Order no longer threatens all our people.”
“Thank you, both of you. I know this must seem harsh to you, but know that we rejoice to count you and your people among us.”
As they moved off to sign the papers and talk with the officers, Kahlan turned her attention to Tristan Bashkar, of Jara.
“Minister Bashkar, how stands Jara?”
Tristan Bashkar was a member of the royal family of Jara. In Jara, the position of minister was one of high rank and trust. Of those gathered, he was the only one with the authority to change his land’s commitment without returning home for consultation. If he thought there was reason enough, he could alter the royal family’s instructions, and thus, Jara’s stand.
Hardly out of his thirties, he wore his age well. He also used his looks to distract people from his quick mind. After people had been disarmed by his likable smile, bright brown eyes, and smooth-spoken flattery, he would extract concessions before they realized they had parted with them.
He brushed a thick lock of dark hair back from his forehead—a compulsive habit. Or possibly a way to draw interest to his eyes, where people were often distracted.
He spread his hands apologetically. “Mother Confessor, I’m afraid it’s not as easy as a simple yes or no, although I wish to assure you that we are in harmony with the great empire of D’Hara, and admire the wisdom of both Lord Rahl, and of course, yourself. We have always put the advice of the Mother Confessor above all others.”
Kahlan sighed. “Tristan, I’m in no mood for your usual games. You and I have sparred in these chambers more times than I can remember. Don’t test me today. I’ll not have it.”
Being a member of the royal family, he was well trained in all the ar
ts of war, and had fought with distinction in the past. Broad-shouldered and tall, he cut a handsome figure. His easy smile always carried a playful twist that cloaked any threat, were there one, and there sometimes was. Kahlan never turned her back, so to speak, on Tristan Bashkar.
He casually unbuttoned his dark blue coat and rested a hand on his hip. The ploy revealed an ornate knife sheathed at his belt. Kahlan had heard it whispered that, going into battle, Tristan Bashkar preferred to draw his knife rather than his sword. It was whispered, too, that he got sadistic pleasure from slicing the enemy.
“Mother Confessor, I admit that in the past I’ve been reticent to reveal our exact position in order to best protect our people from the avarice of other lands; but it isn’t like that this time. You see, the way we view the situation—”
“I’m not interested. I want only to know if you stand with us or against us. If you stand against us, Tristan, I give you my word that by morning we will have troops riding for the royal palace in Sandilar, and they will return with either unconditional surrender, or the heads off the royal family.
“General Baldwin is here in Aydindril with a sizable Keltish force. I’ll send him—Keltans never let down their queen, nor rest until she is satisfied. I am now the queen of Kelton. Do you wish a fight with General Baldwin?”
“Of course not, Mother Confessor. We wish no fight, but if you will hear me out—”
Kahlan slapped a hand to the desk, silencing him. “When the Imperial Order held Aydindril, before Richard liberated it, Jara sat on the council, allied with the Order.”
“As was D’Hara, at the time,” he gently reminded her.
Kahlan glared at him. “I was brought before the council, and convicted of the very crimes committed by the Order. Wizard Ranson, from the Order, called for a death sentence. The councilor from Jara sat at this desk and voted to have me beheaded.”