I Will Not Surrender - Part II. The Inventor (2/11)
Title: I Will Not Surrender - Part II. The Inventor (2/11)
Author: burning_arrow
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: R/NC-17 (varies by chapter and I’m not going to rate each one)
Warnings: major character death (but fear not for our heroines)
Disclaimer: Obviously I don’t own these characters. If I did, don’t you think things would have gone a bit differently? My muse thanks Terry Goodkind and ABC for giving her such good fodder though.
Word Count: 5,272
Summary: Takes place several years after Tears. Kahlan rules over D’Hara and the Midlands, with Cara at her side, but behind the tentative peace lies a new threat. Part II.: The mystery of Zedd is solved, but the solution to one mystery only generates others.
A/N: This is mostly grounded in the LOTS TV series canon, but borrows occasionally from the books where convenient. It also involves major characters of my own invention. If you don’t like this kind of mix and match please don’t read.
Part II. The Inventor
Cara was up before dawn. She had only slept a few hours but her mind was still racing and she was agitated with the sense that things were not right. She had slipped out of Kahlan’s sleeping embrace, sucking in a sharp, silent breath as a blast of frigid air hit her skin. The only sounds as she dressed were the faint pop and crackle of the dying fire in the hearth and the rattle of the winter winds tearing at the seams between window and sill. D’Hara was far warmer than Aydindril and at first the winters in the northern land felt brutal, but her blood finally seemed to be thickening with the passing of time. She could still feel the cold in her bones most days, but the ache had receded into the background of her subconscious. After she tugged on her gloves, she turned and knelt by the side of the bed. Her eyes roamed over the Confessor’s face, taking in the soft lines of Kahlan’s face as she had done so many times before. She reached a hand out to brush a stray hair from Kahlan’s forehead. She was tempted to steal another kiss from those delicate lips, but she didn’t want to wake Kahlan so early. Instead she placed a few more logs on the fire before leaving the room. If Kahlan was going to wake without her, at least the fire would keep her warm. She crept across the room silently, closing the heavy, oaken door gently behind her.
Her first stop was the kitchens. Mistress Sanderholt and some of her staff were no doubt awake already and they were a good source of food and information, both of which Cara needed right now. Though she walked into the kitchen as silently as she had left her bed chamber, Mistress Sanderholt swiveled to greet her as she entered, still stirring an enormous pot with one calloused hand as she waved the Mord’Sith over. The head cook’s sense for what went on in her domain was unnerving, but it was a trait Cara had become used to. She nodded her head in mute greeting as she approached the older woman.
“Up earlier than usual I see,” remarked Mistress Sanderholt, her shrewd eyes narrowing. She took in the shadows beneath Cara’s eyes. “A bit too early it would seem.”
“I just need a bit of bread and conversation,” growled Cara.
“You, needing conversation? And I’m a gar’s ass,” the cook snorted. She ladled two large spoonfuls of some enticing smelling concoction out of the pot into a wooden bowl and plunked it down on a long plank table in front of Cara. Before Cara could object, Mistress Sanderholt shoved a spoon at her. “Eat. You look like shadrin dung. This is supposed to be today’s lunch, but I think the meat’s passable now.”
Cara sneered and grumbled as she snatched the proffered spoon out of the cook’s hand. The truth of the matter was that, other than the Mother Confessor herself, only Mistress Sanderholt dared order Cara around. Since it was almost always for her own good and since disobeying would probably get her barred from the kitchens, Cara begrudgingly acquiesced. Besides, Cara reasoned as she wolfed down delicious lamb stew, Mistress Sanderholt’s cooking was not to be missed and the kitchens were one of the only truly warm places in all of the Palace during the winter months - not that she would share either of those facts with the cook, who had already returned to tending her stew. Cara ate quickly, while the rest of the kitchen staff bustled around her. She let the sound of clanging pots and steam wash over her.
As Cara finished the last of her stew, scraping the bottom of the bowl with her spoon, Mistress Sanderholt faced her again, wiping her hands with a towel and swiping a few wisps of gray hair out of her eyes. The cook crossed her arms across her chest and assessed the Mord’Sith. She must have been satisfied because she lifted her chin in Cara’s direction. “Now what was it that you wanted to know?”
“Zedd wasn’t at the ceremonies yesterday,” started Cara without preamble. “Have you seen him in the past few days?”
Mistress Sanderholt’s facial expression remained the same, but Cara noticed the twinkle in her eyes at the mention of the old wizard. The cook had a soft spot for the gangly, eccentric wizard, and if rumor held true, Zedd might have been visiting the kitchens for more than just the food. That was saying something, given the wizard’s legendary appetite.
“The First Wizard was here three days ago, stealing honey biscuits before they’d even had a chance to cool,” groused Mistress Sanderholt, though Cara could see the cook wasn’t too put out. “As I recall he wandered off with a pretty sizeable chunk of cheese, a couple of loaves of bread and a slab of saltpork too, muttering something about missing ‘the finer things while being on the road’. Can’t say as I know where he was planning to go though. He didn’t mention anything to you or the Mother Confessor then?”
“No. And with three day’s head start that fool of the First Order could be eyeball deep in trouble by now,” Cara remarked drily. Zedd was free to come and go as he chose, but it was maddening when he failed to notify her. Especially in the dead of winter he shouldn’t be wandering the mountains alone, First Wizard or no.
“Well then, I hope you find him soon. But I wouldn’t underestimate Zeddicus Z’ul Zorander - he’s resourceful when he needs to be,” stated the cook.
Cara rolled her eyes. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
Seeking for more clues to Zedd’s whereabouts, Cara headed next to the Wizard’s Keep. There were rooms she could not enter, magically spelled against intrusion, and enchanted gates that remained locked no matter how she pried, but she found Zedd’s private study and library open. She rifled through the parchment on his desk and checked all the drawers in the battered, walnut cabinet along the east wall, carefully replacing anything she touched to its original position. Her search yielded little though and by mid-morning Cara ended her hunt with an exasperated sigh. The crafty, old bastard could be discrete when he wanted to be and Cara left no better informed of his intent than when she had gone in.
Tendrils of snow swept across the flagstone streets as Cara made her way back down the hill to the Palace. Even she had conceded to the bitter chill in the air by donning a thick elk-hide cloak before embarking on her mission, and she thanked the Spirits for it now. She pulled it tighter around her shoulders as the wind whipped through her hair. Though yesterday had been a bright, calm day, the sun radiantly glinting off the snow, the weather today smelled of storms. Soon the wind would be howling down through every mountain pass and undoubtedly they would get another three feet of snow before the storms blew themselves out. Cara grimaced at the idea. The only thing that made these blasted winters bearable was the bed she would find herself in every night and the woman with whom she would be sharing that bed. That thought made her grimace deepen. She was getting soft, there was no doubt about it.
***
A fortnight passed and still Zedd had not returned. At first Kahlan had shared Cara’s unease with the wizard’s unannounced disappearance, but she reluctantly conceded that Zedd was capable of taking care of himself, and soon other affairs of state claimed her attention. The storms had lasted four whole days, during which Cara still mercilessly drilled the Home Guard in the main parade grounds. Uncertainty needled her, whipping her into a fury, and her acerbic tongue lashed out at any soldier who was half a step behind in maneuvers. It was Kahlan who finally put an end to the exercises when Cara stumbled in after dark on the fourth day, nearly hypothermic and her lips blue. She nearly had to tie Cara to the bed the next day, but finally the Mord’Sith allowed her troops a few days off to recover before resuming normal drills. Though the storms had blown themselves, clouds hung leaden and gloomy over the city, doing little to improve Cara’s mood.
When Cara was not harrying the Home Guard or terrorizing the kitchen staff, Kahlan would find her pacing in her war room like a trapped leopard. Even with the storms gone, most of the mountain passes were snowed in and the plains to the south of Aydindril were treacherous. Cara complained bitterly that she could not send out search parties for Zedd as soon as she had wanted. Forced inaction seemed to have the Mord’Sith scaling the walls. Only Kahlan’s touch appeared to soothe her, and then only temporarily. In the still of the night Kahlan would find herself in Cara’s arms, their bodies so close she could barely tell where hers ended and Cara’s began. Cara’s lovemaking grew more desperate and wild, as if she was trying to purge herself of something for which she had no name. One night after they had both taken their pleasure several times, Cara had shocked Kahlan by nearly tearing the Rada’Han from her neck and slinging it across the room, the metal collar clattering to the floor while Cara kissed Kahlan so hard it left their lips bruised and swollen. Kahlan wanted her lover to talk to her, to tell her what was driving her so feverishly, but Cara seemed to speak less than normal even while her intensity grew. So Kahlan simply held on, clinging to Cara as if she was on the back of a runaway steed.
***
A few days before Spring’s Eve, the Palace was bustling with new life. The clouds had finally lifted and the sun surged through the windows stronger and brighter than it had in months. Though the temperature outside was still chilly, the wind had lost most of its bite. Several of the passes had opened and a steady stream of travelers began to fill Aydindril’s streets, some eager to move out while others filed in to find business, supplies, shelter and news. The meeting of the Council of the Midlands was almost a friendly affair, with the sniping and politics kept to a tolerable level while Kahlan presided, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips for most of the meeting. Cara alone seemed to be unaffected by the pleasant turn in the weather and was busy sharing this with Kahlan almost the moment the doors had closed behind the Councilors.
“I don’t trust that delegation from Kelton!” huffed Cara, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed with disapproval. She continued, “And that insipid little lapdog from Tamarang wants more than he’s saying. The way he practically licked your boots was revolting.”
Cara shook her head in disgust, her hands gripping the back of the nearest chair. Kahlan was sure if she could see Cara’s fingers under her gloves the knuckles would be white. The Mother Confessor respected Cara’s judgment more than any other, but today she wondered if the Mord’Sith’s words had more to do with Cara’s foul temper than any real threat. Undaunted, she laughed and placed a reassuring hand on Cara’s forearm.
“Do what you must do, my love. Send your spies - you’ll do it anyway, even if I tell you not to. But Cara, Kelton has thrived under the new trade agreements with Aydindril, and even Prince Fyren’s brother can’t argue with that. As for Councilor Timmick, he is neither the first nor will he be the last to try to garner favors from the Mother Confessor with a bit of flattery.”
Kahlan’s hand lifted from Cara’s arm up to Cara’s cheek. A twinkle was in her eye as she said, “I know you’ve never had much stomach for politics, but would you please stop trying to strangle that chair. I’m pretty sure the tree was long dead before you got to it.”
The disgruntled expression on Cara’s face didn’t change but the slight flush of red in her cheeks let Kahlan know that Cara was embarrassed at being called out. Cara’s fingers loosened their iron grip on the high-backed seat.
“That’s better,” Kahlan murmured demurely. She looped an arm around Cara’s and began to guide the reluctant Mord’Sith towards the doors of the meeting hall. “We should grab a bite to eat before the D’Haran Trade Guild representatives arrive this afternoon and then -“
Her words were cut short as the double doors burst open to admit one very tall, very breathless and very excited Zeddicus Z’ul Zorander, his long robes billowing out behind him as he strode up to the pair.
“By the Spirits, I am glad to see you,” he exclaimed to Kahlan, grinning. He pulled her into a tight embrace which she returned warmly. Drawing back she beamed up at him, opening her mouth as if to speak, but Cara beat her to it.
“Where in the Keeper’s name have you been?” she snapped, her arms crossed tightly across her chest and her hips cocked at a defiant angle. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”
Zedd arched one bushy eyebrow, and his usually warm voice held the slightest hint of an icy layer as he replied, “I’ll have you know that I was crossing from D’Hara to Westland and back again on my own long before you were toddling around in diapers, child.”
Her only response was an eye roll.
“Zedd, we have been worried,” said Kahlan, her tone much more diplomatic than Cara’s. “Why didn’t you leave us word? We could have sent an envoy with you?”
“I’m sorry to have concerned you, Kahlan, but there was no time. A letter from Verna came and I needed to leave right away. There’s so much to tell! But first you two should meet Belle Hoffert.”
“Who?” asked Cara and Kahlan in unison.
“Me,” replied a low voice from somewhere behind Zedd. The wizard turned aside to reveal a stout woman with mousy brown hair cropped close to her head and clear, light brown eyes that shared their owner’s smile. Cara looked her over with a wary eye, a bit perturbed that the wizard would bring a complete stranger to see Kahlan without announcing her.
Belle might mean beautiful, thought Cara, but this woman’s name doesn’t suit her. It wasn’t that she was ugly, but there were no traces of feminine grace or curves about her. She was square, with a large head and strong jaw, broad shoulders and a thick girth. The hands that hung by her side were beefy with scarred knuckles and a few burn marks. One thumbnail was an ugly purple from where it had obviously been struck in the not too distant past. Her clothes were rough hewn but well cared for and her large boots were scuffed and dirty. The pack that hung from her shoulders looked heavy and was battered from many days on the road. She might almost be handsome after a good bath to wash away the grime of travelling, but Cara’s strongest impression was that the woman was someone who was…solid.
The woman bowed deeply in Kahlan’s direction.
“Mother Confessor, it is an honor to meet you. I am sorry if I caught you off guard.”
If Kahlan had been surprised by the unexpected presence of Belle, she was quick to regain her composure. She graciously accepted Belle’s greeting and asked her to rise. Then she turned back to the wizard.
“Zedd, what’s going on?” Kahlan asked, her eyebrows raised in confusion.
“I’ll explain it all, but might there be a chance we could get a little something from the kitchens? I’m famished.”
Cara snorted. Some things never changed. Kahlan however seemed to think this a reasonable request, replying, “I’ll have something sent up. Perhaps your companion would like to be shown to the guest quarters while we talk?”
“I’m afraid this tale’s as much hers as it is mine. I’d like her to stay if that’s alright.”
Kahlan nodded her assent and motioned for them to take a seat while she sent word to the kitchens. When they all had found chairs at one end of the table, Zedd began his story.
He had received a letter from Verna, Sister of the Light and the new Prelate overseeing the training of the young wizards in the Old World. Though she had scant solid information to offer, she had been hearing rumors of a new rebellion forming that could threaten the Mother Confessor. Unfortunately she didn’t know who the leader of this new threat was, nor did she know where to find him, but her spies were able to discover one important piece of information - that the rebels were looking for a blacksmith named Belle Hoffert in Nicobarese. Verna had also shared that certain magical artifacts, called the Stones of Surrender, had gone missing from the Old World. She didn’t know if the two were connected, but the Prelate didn’t believe in coincidences.
Upon receiving Verna’s letter, Zedd had set out immediately to find Belle, not knowing how close the rebel agents might be or why they were after her. Though the letter relayed mostly rumors, Zedd trusted Verna’s instincts.
“But Zedd,” exclaimed Kahlan, “you left in the dead of winter and Nicobarese is on the other side of the Rang’Shada Mountains. Those passes were sealed.”
“Oh, I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve that even you don’t know about, Kahlan. But that is neither here nor there. The point being I arrived just in time.”
Three men had attacked Belle in her own shop, although only two remained standing by the time Zedd blasted into the back room, the shockwave of his spell ripping the doors leading into the forge completely off their hinges. As Zedd stepped over the downed assailant he noted with satisfaction that the man’s nose would certainly never again return to the same shape it originally had before it met the blacksmith’s hammer. Belle was cornered by the bellows, looking worse for wear with a split lip and a torn shirt, but one strong hand held her hammer and the other an unformed length of iron. She had been swinging the iron and bellowing like an injured bull at her attackers when Zedd caught both of the men in a wizard’s web and flung them like rag dolls against a wall.
“This is all very interesting, wizard,” drawled Cara, her sour expression suggesting his story was anything but, “however, could we get to the part where you explain who she is? Or what these people wanted from her?”
“Patience, child,” Zedd harrumphed, knowing full well that the Mord’Sith had none. “It’ll not be long now - oh look, lamb, my favorite!”
Cara threw up her hands in exasperation as Zedd’s attention narrowed down to the plate being set in front of him. The wizard set about devouring the rack of lamb, fried potatoes and pickled vegetables with his infamous gusto. For a moment the only sounds in the hall were the sounds of food being inhaled at a great pace and Zedd’s satisfied grunts. Belle coughed and shifted in her seat nervously.
“Perhaps, Mother Confessor, I could fill in the rest,” she began, smiling shyly while her eyes darted nervously from Kahlan to Cara and back again. Apparently, the realization that she was sitting at the same table with the Mother Confessor of the Midlands and a very discontent Mord’Sith had sunk in. “I am not one for telling tales, but…”
“Please go on.” Kahlan nodded encouragingly. She was used to having this effect on people, and unlike Cara, she tried to assuage people’s fears, using intimidation as a last resort.
Belle took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “The first thing you should know about me is that I’m no one really, just a blacksmith. My one talent is that I am a bit of an inventor. You see, I’ve had to be, because I am ungifted.”
As one, Cara and Kahlan leaned forward intently. Cara’s eyes narrowed, while Kahlan’s widened. Zedd smirked at them from behind a sizeable piece of meat. Neither of them had met a pristinely ungifted one since Jensen Rahl, Richard’s half-sister, had left the Palace after Richard’s death. They were rare, only a few born in each generation and for many decades the Rahls had hunted them with as much fervor as they had hunted Confessors. Their resistance to any and all magic meant they were a threat to the D’Haran empire, an empire built upon and ruled by magic. Only Richard’s ascension to the D’Haran throne had stopped the slaughter of both Confessors and the pristinely ungifted.
Belle was nonplussed by the sudden attention and she began to babble. “You can’t imagine what it’s like being ungifted in a province like Nicobarese. So many people with the gift. Magic is a way of life there, even for the common folk. I started inventing things as a way to make myself useful. Easy things at first, new improvements on old tools. Then I began working with glass, experimenting with different kinds of lenses. Nothing too impressive. Then I stumbled upon a weapon - it was a simple accident, but I soon came to realize that what I had could be very dangerous in the wrong hands. I hid my prototypes away, burned my notes, but a few of the townspeople knew what I was up to and apparently word got around. At least that’s the conclusion that Zedd and I came to after we discussed it.”
Belle’s voice petered out and she looked to Zedd for support. He nodded at her and winked. Belle visibly relaxed. The wizard pushed his plate away from him, looking a little forlorn that it was empty so soon, but he belched in contentment.
“You see why it took us a bit longer to return to Aydindril than it took me to get there. Without the ability to use magic on Belle we had to resort to more conventional means and that meant waiting for the passes to clear out.”
“What kind of weapon -“
“Who were these men -“
Kahlan and Cara started talking at the same instant. Zedd raised a hand to stop them. A dark cloud passed over his expression before he replied.
“I never had the chance to question those brigands. You see each man had an alcala stone in his mouth. They were dead before I could even ask their names. They carried nothing on them that identified them, no sigil or crest. From their looks they could’ve been D’Haran. One might have been from the Midlands, but really, who knows? I’m afraid I’m no closer to understanding this rebellion or its leader than when I left.”
“We’ll find them, Zedd,” Kahlan said firmly, her eyes suddenly icy. “Now, as for this weapon…”
“Perhaps a demonstration would serve more than words,” Zedd suggested, his tone a bit mysterious.
***
The four of them gathered in a small courtyard away from the center of the palace. Most of the snow had melted, but drifts still piled up in the corners of the yard where the sun was weakest. Cara had guards posted at each entryway, inside the Palace where they could intercept anyone who would interrupt, yet unable to see the courtyard themselves, lest their curiosity get the better of them. Zedd had requisitioned a beam of wood and two saw horses which he placed in the center of the courtyard, laying the length of wood across the trestles. The beam was solid and square, at least four hands wide and deep, and about as long as a man was tall.
Belle took twenty long paces from the beam and turned. As the others watched, she knelt on the cobblestones and pulled something long and metallic out of her pack. She handed it to Cara for inspection. The Mord’Sith grunted a little at the surprising weight. It was a smooth tube of metal, hollow in the center and open at one end. The other end was flat metal and seemed to be thicker than the cylinder walls. There was a single small hole near the closed end of the tube.
“This is a weapon of devastating proportions?” Cara questioned, her eyebrows arching in disbelief. She handed the tube back to Belle. “It seems fit for little more than a club.”
“It’s not a weapon yet,” replied Belle, a slight hint of mischief in her eyes. She drew more items from her pack - a canister of some sort, a strip of cloth and a metal ball. Wordlessly she opened the canister and poured a dark powder into the lid, using it as a rudimentary measuring cup. This she poured down the tube, followed by the metal ball. She stuffed the strip of cloth into the hole at the end. Using stones that Zedd had also claimed, she built a rough pedestal for the cylinder, being sure to back the tube with the heaviest slab. Cara noted that she seemed to be aiming it at the beam. Then Belle grabbed a knife and flint off of her belt and turned to her companions.
“You should step away and cover your ears,” she said seriously.
Seeing Cara about to object, Zedd added, “I would do as she says.”
The three of them stood against the wall behind Belle’s contraption. With a practiced precision, Belle’s knife hit the flint and sparks flew at the first strike. The strip of cloth began to burn and she hurried to join the others, stuffing a thick finger in each of her ears. The cloth burned lower, then disappeared over the lip of the hole. There was a breathless pause and then the world disappeared in a cacophony of thunder and smoke.
Cara’s eyes stung as she waved the acrid smoke from her eyes. Beside her Kahlan was coughing, a grimace on her pale, freckled face. The stink of sulfur permeated the air. Soon however the gray cloud cleared, carried out by the early spring wind. Cara marveled at the sight before her - the thick beam had been cracked completely in two and lay several feet beyond the saw horses on the ground. The trestles themselves had been knocked over in disarray. Large splinters of wood had scattered across the courtyard. Thin wisps of smoke trailed from the mouth of the cylinder. Cara traced what must have been the metal balls trajectory and was astonished to see it firmly embedded in the mortar of the far wall.
“By the Spirits!” exclaimed Kahlan.
“Magnificent,” whispered Cara.
Belle looked at them for a moment, and then turned to look at the destruction before her. Her voice was solemn when she spoke. “Mother Confessor, this is just a small prototype. Imagine what could be done with weapons twice as large, or ten times as large, with balls as big as your head. This could shift the balance of military power in the Midlands and beyond.”
“I want twenty,” said Cara impulsively, surveying the small weapon’s aftermath.
“Cara!” Kahlan rebuked sharply, giving her a disapproving glance.
“My apologies, Mother Confessor,” Cara said, but with a notable lack of conviction. She would be talking to this inventor soon, once they were out of earshot of Kahlan. What this weapon could do for the defense of Aydindril…
“And there’s no magic in this?” Kahlan was asking, a hand waving vaguely at the scene around her. Although she radiated calm, Cara could hear the subtle hint of shock in her voice.
Belle shook her head. “No, just a bit of dumb luck and a few ingredients. The powder is not even that powerful in the open air, but bottle it up and it’s more dangerous than Dragon’s Breath. And unlike Dragon’s Breath, which just explodes in every direction, this can be directed - as you’ve just seen.”
“Does anyone else possess the formula for this powder?” Cara could practically see the wheels turning in Kahlan’s head.
“No, Mother Confessor.”
“And you have the only prototypes with you?”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“Good. Belle, this weapon must never see the light of day,” said Kahlan gravely, her face the mask of the Mother Confessor, “I’m afraid you cannot return to Nicobarese, at least not until this rebellion is stopped. I know this might be hard for you, but I can’t risk your capture. You will be a guest here at the Palace and you may explore the city freely, but I must insist that you do not leave. This is as much for your protection as it is for ours. Do you understand?”
Belle stared at Kahlan wide-eyed, but she nodded. “Yes, Mother Confessor. Once Zedd told me what was going on, I suspected something like this might happen. There is not much for me back home, anyway. I just ask that if I am to stay that at least I be of some use. With your permission I would like to work in your smithy here. I’m not very good at being idle.”
Kahlan gave her a gentle smile and placed a sympathetic hand on the blacksmith’s arm. “I’ll see to it that you’re introduced to our master of the forge in the morning. Until then you should get some rest. Zedd and I still have much to talk about.”
It was a dismissal, however kindly, and Belle hung back as Zedd and Kahlan left the courtyard. Cara gave the blacksmith a shrewd glance, opening her mouth as if to say something, then closing it again.
Finally Cara cocked her head to one side and said coolly, “You should secure your invention. Bring it and any other prototypes to my war room. The guards will see to it that the mess is cleared away.”
As Cara turned to leave, she felt Belle’s strong hand on her arm. She eyed the offending appendage with a icy, reproving stare. No one save the Mother Confessor touched the Mord’Sith without her permission. Belle snatched her hand back, her face a look of surprise at her own daring.
“I am sorry,” she stammered, “but I was thinking…if there is an attack from this rebellion, you’ll be busy protecting the Mother Confessor, and she and the wizard will be busy protecting Aydindril. I know none of you will have time to protect me, but I have no intention of being taken prisoner. I wish I could un-invent this monstrosity, but I can’t, and as long as I’m alive that knowledge is in my head.”
Belle paused, looking at Cara for a reaction. Cara stared back at her, keeping her eyes guarded, studying Belle silently. Belle licked her lips nervously and continued, “Is there is someone who could…train me? To protect myself? If I can fight, maybe I can keep myself from getting captured. I can’t just keep smashing people with my hammer.”
Belle grinned sheepishly at Cara. For a blacksmith this woman certainly thought strategically, decided Cara. She liked that. She could use that.
“You’ll train at night,” said Cara bluntly, “after your work in the smithy. You’ll do as I say, when I say, for however long I say. Is that clear?”
Belle nodded eagerly, her smile widening. “Yes, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, blacksmith.” With that Cara strode from the courtyard, leaving Belle to collect her belongings while ribbons of snow whirled across the stones.
Part III
Author: burning_arrow
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: R/NC-17 (varies by chapter and I’m not going to rate each one)
Warnings: major character death (but fear not for our heroines)
Disclaimer: Obviously I don’t own these characters. If I did, don’t you think things would have gone a bit differently? My muse thanks Terry Goodkind and ABC for giving her such good fodder though.
Word Count: 5,272
Summary: Takes place several years after Tears. Kahlan rules over D’Hara and the Midlands, with Cara at her side, but behind the tentative peace lies a new threat. Part II.: The mystery of Zedd is solved, but the solution to one mystery only generates others.
A/N: This is mostly grounded in the LOTS TV series canon, but borrows occasionally from the books where convenient. It also involves major characters of my own invention. If you don’t like this kind of mix and match please don’t read.
Part II. The Inventor
Cara was up before dawn. She had only slept a few hours but her mind was still racing and she was agitated with the sense that things were not right. She had slipped out of Kahlan’s sleeping embrace, sucking in a sharp, silent breath as a blast of frigid air hit her skin. The only sounds as she dressed were the faint pop and crackle of the dying fire in the hearth and the rattle of the winter winds tearing at the seams between window and sill. D’Hara was far warmer than Aydindril and at first the winters in the northern land felt brutal, but her blood finally seemed to be thickening with the passing of time. She could still feel the cold in her bones most days, but the ache had receded into the background of her subconscious. After she tugged on her gloves, she turned and knelt by the side of the bed. Her eyes roamed over the Confessor’s face, taking in the soft lines of Kahlan’s face as she had done so many times before. She reached a hand out to brush a stray hair from Kahlan’s forehead. She was tempted to steal another kiss from those delicate lips, but she didn’t want to wake Kahlan so early. Instead she placed a few more logs on the fire before leaving the room. If Kahlan was going to wake without her, at least the fire would keep her warm. She crept across the room silently, closing the heavy, oaken door gently behind her.
Her first stop was the kitchens. Mistress Sanderholt and some of her staff were no doubt awake already and they were a good source of food and information, both of which Cara needed right now. Though she walked into the kitchen as silently as she had left her bed chamber, Mistress Sanderholt swiveled to greet her as she entered, still stirring an enormous pot with one calloused hand as she waved the Mord’Sith over. The head cook’s sense for what went on in her domain was unnerving, but it was a trait Cara had become used to. She nodded her head in mute greeting as she approached the older woman.
“Up earlier than usual I see,” remarked Mistress Sanderholt, her shrewd eyes narrowing. She took in the shadows beneath Cara’s eyes. “A bit too early it would seem.”
“I just need a bit of bread and conversation,” growled Cara.
“You, needing conversation? And I’m a gar’s ass,” the cook snorted. She ladled two large spoonfuls of some enticing smelling concoction out of the pot into a wooden bowl and plunked it down on a long plank table in front of Cara. Before Cara could object, Mistress Sanderholt shoved a spoon at her. “Eat. You look like shadrin dung. This is supposed to be today’s lunch, but I think the meat’s passable now.”
Cara sneered and grumbled as she snatched the proffered spoon out of the cook’s hand. The truth of the matter was that, other than the Mother Confessor herself, only Mistress Sanderholt dared order Cara around. Since it was almost always for her own good and since disobeying would probably get her barred from the kitchens, Cara begrudgingly acquiesced. Besides, Cara reasoned as she wolfed down delicious lamb stew, Mistress Sanderholt’s cooking was not to be missed and the kitchens were one of the only truly warm places in all of the Palace during the winter months - not that she would share either of those facts with the cook, who had already returned to tending her stew. Cara ate quickly, while the rest of the kitchen staff bustled around her. She let the sound of clanging pots and steam wash over her.
As Cara finished the last of her stew, scraping the bottom of the bowl with her spoon, Mistress Sanderholt faced her again, wiping her hands with a towel and swiping a few wisps of gray hair out of her eyes. The cook crossed her arms across her chest and assessed the Mord’Sith. She must have been satisfied because she lifted her chin in Cara’s direction. “Now what was it that you wanted to know?”
“Zedd wasn’t at the ceremonies yesterday,” started Cara without preamble. “Have you seen him in the past few days?”
Mistress Sanderholt’s facial expression remained the same, but Cara noticed the twinkle in her eyes at the mention of the old wizard. The cook had a soft spot for the gangly, eccentric wizard, and if rumor held true, Zedd might have been visiting the kitchens for more than just the food. That was saying something, given the wizard’s legendary appetite.
“The First Wizard was here three days ago, stealing honey biscuits before they’d even had a chance to cool,” groused Mistress Sanderholt, though Cara could see the cook wasn’t too put out. “As I recall he wandered off with a pretty sizeable chunk of cheese, a couple of loaves of bread and a slab of saltpork too, muttering something about missing ‘the finer things while being on the road’. Can’t say as I know where he was planning to go though. He didn’t mention anything to you or the Mother Confessor then?”
“No. And with three day’s head start that fool of the First Order could be eyeball deep in trouble by now,” Cara remarked drily. Zedd was free to come and go as he chose, but it was maddening when he failed to notify her. Especially in the dead of winter he shouldn’t be wandering the mountains alone, First Wizard or no.
“Well then, I hope you find him soon. But I wouldn’t underestimate Zeddicus Z’ul Zorander - he’s resourceful when he needs to be,” stated the cook.
Cara rolled her eyes. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
Seeking for more clues to Zedd’s whereabouts, Cara headed next to the Wizard’s Keep. There were rooms she could not enter, magically spelled against intrusion, and enchanted gates that remained locked no matter how she pried, but she found Zedd’s private study and library open. She rifled through the parchment on his desk and checked all the drawers in the battered, walnut cabinet along the east wall, carefully replacing anything she touched to its original position. Her search yielded little though and by mid-morning Cara ended her hunt with an exasperated sigh. The crafty, old bastard could be discrete when he wanted to be and Cara left no better informed of his intent than when she had gone in.
Tendrils of snow swept across the flagstone streets as Cara made her way back down the hill to the Palace. Even she had conceded to the bitter chill in the air by donning a thick elk-hide cloak before embarking on her mission, and she thanked the Spirits for it now. She pulled it tighter around her shoulders as the wind whipped through her hair. Though yesterday had been a bright, calm day, the sun radiantly glinting off the snow, the weather today smelled of storms. Soon the wind would be howling down through every mountain pass and undoubtedly they would get another three feet of snow before the storms blew themselves out. Cara grimaced at the idea. The only thing that made these blasted winters bearable was the bed she would find herself in every night and the woman with whom she would be sharing that bed. That thought made her grimace deepen. She was getting soft, there was no doubt about it.
***
A fortnight passed and still Zedd had not returned. At first Kahlan had shared Cara’s unease with the wizard’s unannounced disappearance, but she reluctantly conceded that Zedd was capable of taking care of himself, and soon other affairs of state claimed her attention. The storms had lasted four whole days, during which Cara still mercilessly drilled the Home Guard in the main parade grounds. Uncertainty needled her, whipping her into a fury, and her acerbic tongue lashed out at any soldier who was half a step behind in maneuvers. It was Kahlan who finally put an end to the exercises when Cara stumbled in after dark on the fourth day, nearly hypothermic and her lips blue. She nearly had to tie Cara to the bed the next day, but finally the Mord’Sith allowed her troops a few days off to recover before resuming normal drills. Though the storms had blown themselves, clouds hung leaden and gloomy over the city, doing little to improve Cara’s mood.
When Cara was not harrying the Home Guard or terrorizing the kitchen staff, Kahlan would find her pacing in her war room like a trapped leopard. Even with the storms gone, most of the mountain passes were snowed in and the plains to the south of Aydindril were treacherous. Cara complained bitterly that she could not send out search parties for Zedd as soon as she had wanted. Forced inaction seemed to have the Mord’Sith scaling the walls. Only Kahlan’s touch appeared to soothe her, and then only temporarily. In the still of the night Kahlan would find herself in Cara’s arms, their bodies so close she could barely tell where hers ended and Cara’s began. Cara’s lovemaking grew more desperate and wild, as if she was trying to purge herself of something for which she had no name. One night after they had both taken their pleasure several times, Cara had shocked Kahlan by nearly tearing the Rada’Han from her neck and slinging it across the room, the metal collar clattering to the floor while Cara kissed Kahlan so hard it left their lips bruised and swollen. Kahlan wanted her lover to talk to her, to tell her what was driving her so feverishly, but Cara seemed to speak less than normal even while her intensity grew. So Kahlan simply held on, clinging to Cara as if she was on the back of a runaway steed.
***
A few days before Spring’s Eve, the Palace was bustling with new life. The clouds had finally lifted and the sun surged through the windows stronger and brighter than it had in months. Though the temperature outside was still chilly, the wind had lost most of its bite. Several of the passes had opened and a steady stream of travelers began to fill Aydindril’s streets, some eager to move out while others filed in to find business, supplies, shelter and news. The meeting of the Council of the Midlands was almost a friendly affair, with the sniping and politics kept to a tolerable level while Kahlan presided, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips for most of the meeting. Cara alone seemed to be unaffected by the pleasant turn in the weather and was busy sharing this with Kahlan almost the moment the doors had closed behind the Councilors.
“I don’t trust that delegation from Kelton!” huffed Cara, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed with disapproval. She continued, “And that insipid little lapdog from Tamarang wants more than he’s saying. The way he practically licked your boots was revolting.”
Cara shook her head in disgust, her hands gripping the back of the nearest chair. Kahlan was sure if she could see Cara’s fingers under her gloves the knuckles would be white. The Mother Confessor respected Cara’s judgment more than any other, but today she wondered if the Mord’Sith’s words had more to do with Cara’s foul temper than any real threat. Undaunted, she laughed and placed a reassuring hand on Cara’s forearm.
“Do what you must do, my love. Send your spies - you’ll do it anyway, even if I tell you not to. But Cara, Kelton has thrived under the new trade agreements with Aydindril, and even Prince Fyren’s brother can’t argue with that. As for Councilor Timmick, he is neither the first nor will he be the last to try to garner favors from the Mother Confessor with a bit of flattery.”
Kahlan’s hand lifted from Cara’s arm up to Cara’s cheek. A twinkle was in her eye as she said, “I know you’ve never had much stomach for politics, but would you please stop trying to strangle that chair. I’m pretty sure the tree was long dead before you got to it.”
The disgruntled expression on Cara’s face didn’t change but the slight flush of red in her cheeks let Kahlan know that Cara was embarrassed at being called out. Cara’s fingers loosened their iron grip on the high-backed seat.
“That’s better,” Kahlan murmured demurely. She looped an arm around Cara’s and began to guide the reluctant Mord’Sith towards the doors of the meeting hall. “We should grab a bite to eat before the D’Haran Trade Guild representatives arrive this afternoon and then -“
Her words were cut short as the double doors burst open to admit one very tall, very breathless and very excited Zeddicus Z’ul Zorander, his long robes billowing out behind him as he strode up to the pair.
“By the Spirits, I am glad to see you,” he exclaimed to Kahlan, grinning. He pulled her into a tight embrace which she returned warmly. Drawing back she beamed up at him, opening her mouth as if to speak, but Cara beat her to it.
“Where in the Keeper’s name have you been?” she snapped, her arms crossed tightly across her chest and her hips cocked at a defiant angle. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”
Zedd arched one bushy eyebrow, and his usually warm voice held the slightest hint of an icy layer as he replied, “I’ll have you know that I was crossing from D’Hara to Westland and back again on my own long before you were toddling around in diapers, child.”
Her only response was an eye roll.
“Zedd, we have been worried,” said Kahlan, her tone much more diplomatic than Cara’s. “Why didn’t you leave us word? We could have sent an envoy with you?”
“I’m sorry to have concerned you, Kahlan, but there was no time. A letter from Verna came and I needed to leave right away. There’s so much to tell! But first you two should meet Belle Hoffert.”
“Who?” asked Cara and Kahlan in unison.
“Me,” replied a low voice from somewhere behind Zedd. The wizard turned aside to reveal a stout woman with mousy brown hair cropped close to her head and clear, light brown eyes that shared their owner’s smile. Cara looked her over with a wary eye, a bit perturbed that the wizard would bring a complete stranger to see Kahlan without announcing her.
Belle might mean beautiful, thought Cara, but this woman’s name doesn’t suit her. It wasn’t that she was ugly, but there were no traces of feminine grace or curves about her. She was square, with a large head and strong jaw, broad shoulders and a thick girth. The hands that hung by her side were beefy with scarred knuckles and a few burn marks. One thumbnail was an ugly purple from where it had obviously been struck in the not too distant past. Her clothes were rough hewn but well cared for and her large boots were scuffed and dirty. The pack that hung from her shoulders looked heavy and was battered from many days on the road. She might almost be handsome after a good bath to wash away the grime of travelling, but Cara’s strongest impression was that the woman was someone who was…solid.
The woman bowed deeply in Kahlan’s direction.
“Mother Confessor, it is an honor to meet you. I am sorry if I caught you off guard.”
If Kahlan had been surprised by the unexpected presence of Belle, she was quick to regain her composure. She graciously accepted Belle’s greeting and asked her to rise. Then she turned back to the wizard.
“Zedd, what’s going on?” Kahlan asked, her eyebrows raised in confusion.
“I’ll explain it all, but might there be a chance we could get a little something from the kitchens? I’m famished.”
Cara snorted. Some things never changed. Kahlan however seemed to think this a reasonable request, replying, “I’ll have something sent up. Perhaps your companion would like to be shown to the guest quarters while we talk?”
“I’m afraid this tale’s as much hers as it is mine. I’d like her to stay if that’s alright.”
Kahlan nodded her assent and motioned for them to take a seat while she sent word to the kitchens. When they all had found chairs at one end of the table, Zedd began his story.
He had received a letter from Verna, Sister of the Light and the new Prelate overseeing the training of the young wizards in the Old World. Though she had scant solid information to offer, she had been hearing rumors of a new rebellion forming that could threaten the Mother Confessor. Unfortunately she didn’t know who the leader of this new threat was, nor did she know where to find him, but her spies were able to discover one important piece of information - that the rebels were looking for a blacksmith named Belle Hoffert in Nicobarese. Verna had also shared that certain magical artifacts, called the Stones of Surrender, had gone missing from the Old World. She didn’t know if the two were connected, but the Prelate didn’t believe in coincidences.
Upon receiving Verna’s letter, Zedd had set out immediately to find Belle, not knowing how close the rebel agents might be or why they were after her. Though the letter relayed mostly rumors, Zedd trusted Verna’s instincts.
“But Zedd,” exclaimed Kahlan, “you left in the dead of winter and Nicobarese is on the other side of the Rang’Shada Mountains. Those passes were sealed.”
“Oh, I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve that even you don’t know about, Kahlan. But that is neither here nor there. The point being I arrived just in time.”
Three men had attacked Belle in her own shop, although only two remained standing by the time Zedd blasted into the back room, the shockwave of his spell ripping the doors leading into the forge completely off their hinges. As Zedd stepped over the downed assailant he noted with satisfaction that the man’s nose would certainly never again return to the same shape it originally had before it met the blacksmith’s hammer. Belle was cornered by the bellows, looking worse for wear with a split lip and a torn shirt, but one strong hand held her hammer and the other an unformed length of iron. She had been swinging the iron and bellowing like an injured bull at her attackers when Zedd caught both of the men in a wizard’s web and flung them like rag dolls against a wall.
“This is all very interesting, wizard,” drawled Cara, her sour expression suggesting his story was anything but, “however, could we get to the part where you explain who she is? Or what these people wanted from her?”
“Patience, child,” Zedd harrumphed, knowing full well that the Mord’Sith had none. “It’ll not be long now - oh look, lamb, my favorite!”
Cara threw up her hands in exasperation as Zedd’s attention narrowed down to the plate being set in front of him. The wizard set about devouring the rack of lamb, fried potatoes and pickled vegetables with his infamous gusto. For a moment the only sounds in the hall were the sounds of food being inhaled at a great pace and Zedd’s satisfied grunts. Belle coughed and shifted in her seat nervously.
“Perhaps, Mother Confessor, I could fill in the rest,” she began, smiling shyly while her eyes darted nervously from Kahlan to Cara and back again. Apparently, the realization that she was sitting at the same table with the Mother Confessor of the Midlands and a very discontent Mord’Sith had sunk in. “I am not one for telling tales, but…”
“Please go on.” Kahlan nodded encouragingly. She was used to having this effect on people, and unlike Cara, she tried to assuage people’s fears, using intimidation as a last resort.
Belle took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “The first thing you should know about me is that I’m no one really, just a blacksmith. My one talent is that I am a bit of an inventor. You see, I’ve had to be, because I am ungifted.”
As one, Cara and Kahlan leaned forward intently. Cara’s eyes narrowed, while Kahlan’s widened. Zedd smirked at them from behind a sizeable piece of meat. Neither of them had met a pristinely ungifted one since Jensen Rahl, Richard’s half-sister, had left the Palace after Richard’s death. They were rare, only a few born in each generation and for many decades the Rahls had hunted them with as much fervor as they had hunted Confessors. Their resistance to any and all magic meant they were a threat to the D’Haran empire, an empire built upon and ruled by magic. Only Richard’s ascension to the D’Haran throne had stopped the slaughter of both Confessors and the pristinely ungifted.
Belle was nonplussed by the sudden attention and she began to babble. “You can’t imagine what it’s like being ungifted in a province like Nicobarese. So many people with the gift. Magic is a way of life there, even for the common folk. I started inventing things as a way to make myself useful. Easy things at first, new improvements on old tools. Then I began working with glass, experimenting with different kinds of lenses. Nothing too impressive. Then I stumbled upon a weapon - it was a simple accident, but I soon came to realize that what I had could be very dangerous in the wrong hands. I hid my prototypes away, burned my notes, but a few of the townspeople knew what I was up to and apparently word got around. At least that’s the conclusion that Zedd and I came to after we discussed it.”
Belle’s voice petered out and she looked to Zedd for support. He nodded at her and winked. Belle visibly relaxed. The wizard pushed his plate away from him, looking a little forlorn that it was empty so soon, but he belched in contentment.
“You see why it took us a bit longer to return to Aydindril than it took me to get there. Without the ability to use magic on Belle we had to resort to more conventional means and that meant waiting for the passes to clear out.”
“What kind of weapon -“
“Who were these men -“
Kahlan and Cara started talking at the same instant. Zedd raised a hand to stop them. A dark cloud passed over his expression before he replied.
“I never had the chance to question those brigands. You see each man had an alcala stone in his mouth. They were dead before I could even ask their names. They carried nothing on them that identified them, no sigil or crest. From their looks they could’ve been D’Haran. One might have been from the Midlands, but really, who knows? I’m afraid I’m no closer to understanding this rebellion or its leader than when I left.”
“We’ll find them, Zedd,” Kahlan said firmly, her eyes suddenly icy. “Now, as for this weapon…”
“Perhaps a demonstration would serve more than words,” Zedd suggested, his tone a bit mysterious.
***
The four of them gathered in a small courtyard away from the center of the palace. Most of the snow had melted, but drifts still piled up in the corners of the yard where the sun was weakest. Cara had guards posted at each entryway, inside the Palace where they could intercept anyone who would interrupt, yet unable to see the courtyard themselves, lest their curiosity get the better of them. Zedd had requisitioned a beam of wood and two saw horses which he placed in the center of the courtyard, laying the length of wood across the trestles. The beam was solid and square, at least four hands wide and deep, and about as long as a man was tall.
Belle took twenty long paces from the beam and turned. As the others watched, she knelt on the cobblestones and pulled something long and metallic out of her pack. She handed it to Cara for inspection. The Mord’Sith grunted a little at the surprising weight. It was a smooth tube of metal, hollow in the center and open at one end. The other end was flat metal and seemed to be thicker than the cylinder walls. There was a single small hole near the closed end of the tube.
“This is a weapon of devastating proportions?” Cara questioned, her eyebrows arching in disbelief. She handed the tube back to Belle. “It seems fit for little more than a club.”
“It’s not a weapon yet,” replied Belle, a slight hint of mischief in her eyes. She drew more items from her pack - a canister of some sort, a strip of cloth and a metal ball. Wordlessly she opened the canister and poured a dark powder into the lid, using it as a rudimentary measuring cup. This she poured down the tube, followed by the metal ball. She stuffed the strip of cloth into the hole at the end. Using stones that Zedd had also claimed, she built a rough pedestal for the cylinder, being sure to back the tube with the heaviest slab. Cara noted that she seemed to be aiming it at the beam. Then Belle grabbed a knife and flint off of her belt and turned to her companions.
“You should step away and cover your ears,” she said seriously.
Seeing Cara about to object, Zedd added, “I would do as she says.”
The three of them stood against the wall behind Belle’s contraption. With a practiced precision, Belle’s knife hit the flint and sparks flew at the first strike. The strip of cloth began to burn and she hurried to join the others, stuffing a thick finger in each of her ears. The cloth burned lower, then disappeared over the lip of the hole. There was a breathless pause and then the world disappeared in a cacophony of thunder and smoke.
Cara’s eyes stung as she waved the acrid smoke from her eyes. Beside her Kahlan was coughing, a grimace on her pale, freckled face. The stink of sulfur permeated the air. Soon however the gray cloud cleared, carried out by the early spring wind. Cara marveled at the sight before her - the thick beam had been cracked completely in two and lay several feet beyond the saw horses on the ground. The trestles themselves had been knocked over in disarray. Large splinters of wood had scattered across the courtyard. Thin wisps of smoke trailed from the mouth of the cylinder. Cara traced what must have been the metal balls trajectory and was astonished to see it firmly embedded in the mortar of the far wall.
“By the Spirits!” exclaimed Kahlan.
“Magnificent,” whispered Cara.
Belle looked at them for a moment, and then turned to look at the destruction before her. Her voice was solemn when she spoke. “Mother Confessor, this is just a small prototype. Imagine what could be done with weapons twice as large, or ten times as large, with balls as big as your head. This could shift the balance of military power in the Midlands and beyond.”
“I want twenty,” said Cara impulsively, surveying the small weapon’s aftermath.
“Cara!” Kahlan rebuked sharply, giving her a disapproving glance.
“My apologies, Mother Confessor,” Cara said, but with a notable lack of conviction. She would be talking to this inventor soon, once they were out of earshot of Kahlan. What this weapon could do for the defense of Aydindril…
“And there’s no magic in this?” Kahlan was asking, a hand waving vaguely at the scene around her. Although she radiated calm, Cara could hear the subtle hint of shock in her voice.
Belle shook her head. “No, just a bit of dumb luck and a few ingredients. The powder is not even that powerful in the open air, but bottle it up and it’s more dangerous than Dragon’s Breath. And unlike Dragon’s Breath, which just explodes in every direction, this can be directed - as you’ve just seen.”
“Does anyone else possess the formula for this powder?” Cara could practically see the wheels turning in Kahlan’s head.
“No, Mother Confessor.”
“And you have the only prototypes with you?”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“Good. Belle, this weapon must never see the light of day,” said Kahlan gravely, her face the mask of the Mother Confessor, “I’m afraid you cannot return to Nicobarese, at least not until this rebellion is stopped. I know this might be hard for you, but I can’t risk your capture. You will be a guest here at the Palace and you may explore the city freely, but I must insist that you do not leave. This is as much for your protection as it is for ours. Do you understand?”
Belle stared at Kahlan wide-eyed, but she nodded. “Yes, Mother Confessor. Once Zedd told me what was going on, I suspected something like this might happen. There is not much for me back home, anyway. I just ask that if I am to stay that at least I be of some use. With your permission I would like to work in your smithy here. I’m not very good at being idle.”
Kahlan gave her a gentle smile and placed a sympathetic hand on the blacksmith’s arm. “I’ll see to it that you’re introduced to our master of the forge in the morning. Until then you should get some rest. Zedd and I still have much to talk about.”
It was a dismissal, however kindly, and Belle hung back as Zedd and Kahlan left the courtyard. Cara gave the blacksmith a shrewd glance, opening her mouth as if to say something, then closing it again.
Finally Cara cocked her head to one side and said coolly, “You should secure your invention. Bring it and any other prototypes to my war room. The guards will see to it that the mess is cleared away.”
As Cara turned to leave, she felt Belle’s strong hand on her arm. She eyed the offending appendage with a icy, reproving stare. No one save the Mother Confessor touched the Mord’Sith without her permission. Belle snatched her hand back, her face a look of surprise at her own daring.
“I am sorry,” she stammered, “but I was thinking…if there is an attack from this rebellion, you’ll be busy protecting the Mother Confessor, and she and the wizard will be busy protecting Aydindril. I know none of you will have time to protect me, but I have no intention of being taken prisoner. I wish I could un-invent this monstrosity, but I can’t, and as long as I’m alive that knowledge is in my head.”
Belle paused, looking at Cara for a reaction. Cara stared back at her, keeping her eyes guarded, studying Belle silently. Belle licked her lips nervously and continued, “Is there is someone who could…train me? To protect myself? If I can fight, maybe I can keep myself from getting captured. I can’t just keep smashing people with my hammer.”
Belle grinned sheepishly at Cara. For a blacksmith this woman certainly thought strategically, decided Cara. She liked that. She could use that.
“You’ll train at night,” said Cara bluntly, “after your work in the smithy. You’ll do as I say, when I say, for however long I say. Is that clear?”
Belle nodded eagerly, her smile widening. “Yes, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, blacksmith.” With that Cara strode from the courtyard, leaving Belle to collect her belongings while ribbons of snow whirled across the stones.
Part III