tg.stone of tears-第176部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


eir　palaces　when　they　came　to　address　the　council。　The　palaces　were　a　matter　of　pride　for　each　land；　and　each　was　magnificent；　although　none　could　begin　to　pare　to　the　Confessors’　Palace。
　
　Kahlan　had　avoided　Kings　Row　because　she　would　be　recognized　there；　and　she　didn’t　want　to　be　recognized　right　now；　she　wanted　only　to　find　Zedd　and；　failing　that；　speak　to　the　council；　so　she　headed　toward　the　service　area　to　the　side；　near　the　kitchens。
　
　Chandalen　was　out　in　the　forest。　He　didn’t　want　to　e　into　Aydindril；　the　size　of　the　city　and　the　multitudes　of　people　made　him　uneasy；　though　he　denied　it；　and　claimed　only　to　be　more　fortable　sleeping　outside。　Kahlan　couldn’t　blame　him；　after　being　alone　in　the　mountains　for　so　long；　she；　too；　was　uneasy　going　into　the　city；　even　though　she　had　grown　up　in　this　place　and　knew　its　streets　and　majestic　buildings　as　well　as　Chandalen　knew　the　plains　around　the　Mud　People　village。　The　people　everywhere　made　her　feel　closed　in　as　never　before。
　
　Chandalen　wanted　to　go　home　to　his　people；　now　that　she　was　delivered　safely　to　Aydindril。　She　could　understand　his　desire　to　be　off；　but　asked　him　to　rest　the　night；　and　say　good…bye　to　her　in　the　morning。
　
　She　had　told　Orsk　to　spend　the　night　with　Chandalen。　His　presence　was　wearing；　his　one　eye　following　her　everywhere；　his　jumping　to　help　her　with　everything；　his　constantly　standing　ready　to　do　her　bidding　at　the　slightest　indication。　It　was　like　having　a　dog　continually　at　heel。　She　needed　a　night　away　from　that。　Chandalen　seemed　to　understand。　She　didn’t　know　what　she　was　going　to　do　about　Orsk。
　
　A　stifling　blast　of　warm　air　hit　her　as　she　went　in　through　the　kitchen　entrance。　At　the　sound　of　the　door；　a　thin　woman　in　a　sparkling　white　apron　spun　to　her。
　
　‘What　are　you　doing　in　here！　Get　out；　you　beggar！’
　
　As　the　woman　lifted　her　wooden　spoon　in　a　threatening。　manner；　Kahlan　pushed　back　the　hood　of　her　mantle。　The　woman　gasped。　Kahlan　smiled。
　
　‘Mistress　Sanderholt。　I’m　so　pleased　to　see　you　again。’
　
　‘Mother　Confessor！’　The　woman　fell　to　her　knees；　clasping　her　hands　together。　‘Oh；　Mother　Confessor；　forgive　me！　I　didn’t　recognize　you。　Oh；　good　spirits　be　praised；　is　it　really　you？’
　
　Kahlan　pulled　the　wiry　woman　to　her　feet。　‘I’ve　missed　you　so；　Mistress　Sanderholt。’　Kahlan　held　out　her　arms。　‘Give　me　a　hug？’
　
　Mistress　Sanderholt　fell　into　Kahlan’s　arms。　‘Oh；　child；　It’s　so　good　to　see　you！’　She　pushed　away；　tears　running　down　her　face。　‘We　didn’t　know　what　had　bee　of　you。　We　were　so　worried。　I　thought　I　might　never　see　you　again。’
　
　‘It　has　been　a　long　and　difficult　time。　I　can’t　tell　you　how　good　it　is　to　see　your　face　again。’
　
　Mistress　Sanderholt　started　pulling　Kahlan　toward　a　side　table。　‘e。　You　need　a　bowl　of　soup。　I　have　some　on　now；　if　these　featherbrains　who　do　what　scarcely　passes　for　cooking　haven’t　ruined　it　with　too　much　pepper。’
　
　The　welter　of　cooks　and　help　caught　the　words　and　kept　their　heads　down；　applying　their　attention　to　their　tasks。　The　sounds　of　whisks　and　spoons　on　bowls　stepped　up。　Men　picked　up　sacks　and　hurried　away。　Brushes　worked　at　pots　with　greater　zeal。　Butter　hissed　in　hot　pans；　and　bread　in　ovens　and　meat　on　spits　suddenly　needed　checking。
　
　‘I　don’t　have　time；　right　now；　Mistress　Sanderholt。’
　
　‘But　I　have　things　I　must　tell　you。　Important　things。’
　
　‘I　know。　I　have　things　to　tell　you；　too。　But　right　now　I　must　see　the　council。　It’s　urgent。　I’ve　been　traveling　a　long　time；　and　I’m　exhausted；　but　I　must　see　the　council　before　I　rest。　We　will　talk　tomorrow。’
　
　Mistress　Sanderholt　couldn’t　resist　another　hug。　‘Of　course；　child。　Rest　well。　We　will　talk　tomorrow。’
　
　Kahlan　took　the　shortest　route；　through　the　immense　hall　used　for　important　ceremonies　and　celebrations。　Fires　in　the　large；　magnificent　fireplaces　set　around　the　room　between　fluted　columns　sent　shadows　of　herself　spiraling　around　her　as　she　crossed　the　green　slate　floor。　The　room　was　empty；　now；　allowing　her　footsteps　to　echo　overhead　from　the　intricate　lierne　vaulting　with　the　wavelike；　sweeping　ribs。　Her　father　used　to　set　thousands　of　walnuts　and　acorns；　representing　troops；　all　over　the　floor　of　this　room；　to　teach　her　battle　tactics。
　
　She　turned　down　the　hall　at　the　far　end；　toward　the　corridor　to　the　council　chambers。　In　the　Confessors’　private　gallery；　groups　of　four　glossy　black　marble　columns　to　each　side　supported　a　progression　of　polychrome　vaults。　At　the　end；　before　the　council　chambers；　was　a　round；　two…story…high　pantheon　dedicated　to　the　memory　of　heroines：　the　founding　Mother　Confessors。　Their　portraits；　in　frescoes　between　the　seven　massive　pillars　ranging　to　the　skylight；　were　twice　life　size。
　
　Kahlan　always　felt　like　a　pretender　to　the　post　in　the　presence　of　the　seven　stern　faces　that　overlooked　the　room。　She　felt　they　were　saying；　‘And　who　are　you；　Kahlan　Amnell；　to　think　you　could　be　the　Mother　Confessor？’　Knowing　the　histories　of　those　heroines　only　made　her　feel　all　the　more　inadequate。
　
　Grabbing　both　brass　levers；　she　threw　the　tall；　mahogany　doors　open　and　marched　into　the　council　chambers。
　
　A　huge　dome　capped　the　enormous　room。　At　the　far　end；　the　main　vault　was　decorated　with　an　ornate　fresco　celebrating　the　glory　of　Magda　Searus；　the　first　Mother　Confessor。　Her　fingers　were　touching　the　back　of　the　hand　of　her　wizard；　Merritt；　who　had　laid　down　his　life　to　protect　her。　Together；　now；　for　all　time　in　the　colorful　fresco；　the　two　oversaw　the　Mother　Confessors　who　followed　and　sat　in　the　First　Chair；　and　their　wizards。
　
　Between　the　colossal　gold　capitals　of　the　columns　thrusting　up　around　the　room　were　sinuous；　polished　mahogany　railings　at　the　edge　of　balconies　that　overlooked　the　elegant　chamber。　The　arched　openings；　set　at　intervals　around　the　room　and　leading　up　to　the　balconies；　were　decorated　with　sculpted　stuccos　of　heroic　scenes。　Beyond　were　windows　looking　out　over　the　courtyards。　Round　windows　around　the　lower　edge　of　the　dome　also　let　light　into　the　glistening　chamber。　At　the　far　end　was　the　semicircular　dais　where　the　councilors　sat；　behind　an　elaborate；　curved　desk。　The　opulent　First　Chair　in　the　center　was　the　tallest。
　
　A　clump　of　men　were　gathered　around　the　First　Chair。　By　the　numbers；　Kahlan　judged　about　half　the　council　to　be　present。　As　she　strode　across　long　swaths　of　sunlight　on　the　patterned　marble　floor；　the　heads　began　to　follow　her　progress。
　
　Someone　was　sitting　in　the　First　Chair。　Although　not　enforced　in　recent　times；　it　was　a　capital　offense　for　a　councilor　to　take　the　First　Chair；　as　it　was　considered　tantamount　to　a　declaration　of　revolution。　The　conversation　hushed　as　she　approached。
　
　It　was　High　Prince　Fyren；　of　Kelton；　sitting　in　the　chair。　His　feet　were　up　on　the　desk；　and　he　didn’t　take　them　down　as　he　watched　her　draw　near。　His　eyes　were　on　her；　but　he　was　listening　to　a　man　with　smoothed…down　dark　hair　and　beard；　streaked　with　a　touch　of　gray；　leaning　over　whispering　to　him。　The　man’s　hands　were　in　the　opposite　sleeves　of　his　plain　robes。　Strange；　she　thought；　for　an　advisor　to　be　dressed　so；　like　a　wizard。
　
　Prince　Fyren　lifted　his　eyebrows　in　delight。　‘Mother　Confessor！’　With　deliberate　care　he　took　his　polished　boots　down　and　came　to　his　feet。　He　put　his　hands　to　the　desk　and　leaned　over；　looking　down。　‘So　good　to　see　you！’
　
　Before；　Kahlan　had　always　had　a　wizard；　now；　she　had　none。　No　protection。　She　could　not　afford　to　appear　timid　or　vulnerable。
　
　She　glared　up　at　Prince　Fyren。　‘If　I　ever　again　catch　you　in　the　chair　of　the　Mother　Confessor；　I　will　kill　you。’
　
　He　straightened　with　a　smirk。　‘You　would　use　your　power　on　a　councilor？’
　
　‘I　will　slit　your　throat　with　my　knife；　if　I　have　to。’
　
　The　man　in　the　plain　robes　watched　her　with　unmoving　dark　eyes。　The　other　councilors　blanched。
　
　Prince　Fyren　pulled　his　dark　blue　coat　open　and　rested　a　hand　on　his　hip。　‘Mother　Confessor；　I　meant　no　offense。　You　have　been　gone　for　a　long　time。　We　all　thought　you　were　dead。　There　has　been　no　Confessor　in　the　palace　for　。。。　what？’　He　looked　to　a　few　of　the　other　men。　‘Four；　five；　six　months？’　Hand　still　on　his　hip；　he　held　his　other　out　and　gave　a　bow。　‘I　meant　no　offense；　Mother　Confessor。　Your　chair　is　returned　to　you；　of　course。’
　
　Kahlan　eyed　the　remaining　men。　‘It　is　late。　The　council　will　meet　in　full　session　first　thing　in　the　morning。　Every　councilor　will　be　present。　The　Midlands　is　at　war。’
　
　Prince　Fyren　lifted　an　eyebrow。　‘War？　On　whose　authority？　We　have　not　discussed　such　a　grave　matter。’
　
　Kahlan　swept　her　gaze　over　the　councilors；　letting　it　finally　settle　on　Prince　Fyren。　‘On　my　authority　as　the　Mother　Confessor。’　Whispering　broke　out　among　the　men。　Prince　Fyren　never　let　his　eyes　leave　hers。　When　she　glowered　at　the　men　who　were　whispering；　it　sputtered　out。　‘I　want　every　councilor　here；　first　thing　in　the　morning。　You　are　adjourned；　for　now；　gentlemen。’
　
　Kahlan　turned　on　her　heel　and　marched　from　the　room。
　
　She　didn’t　recognize　any　of　the　guards　she　saw　throughout　the　palace；　but　then　she　wouldn’t；　Zedd　had　told　her　before　how　most　of　the　Home　Guard　had　been　killed　in　the　fall　of　Aydindril　to　D’Hara。　She　missed　the　old　faces。
　
　The　center　of　the　Confessors’　Palace　in　Aydindril　was　dominated　by　a　monumental　eight…branched　staircase；　lit；　from　four　stories　overhead；　by　natural　light　that　came　through　the　glass　roof。　The　vast　square　was　surrounded　at　midlevel　by　arcaded　corridors；　their　arched　openings　separated　by　polished　columns　of　wildly　variegated　gold　and　green　marble　standing　on　square　plinth　blocks；　each　decorated　with　a　medallion　of　a　past　ruler　of　one　of　the　lands　of　the　Midlands。　The　hundreds　upon　hundreds　of　glistening；　vase…shaped　balusters　had　been　turned　from　a　mellow　yellow　stone　that　seemed　to　glow　from　within。　The　square　newels；　made　of　a　dusky　brown　granite；　were　nearly　as　tall　as　she；　and　each　was　capped　with　a　gold…leafed　lamp。　Florid　carvings　in　stone　covered　expansive　panels　under　the　plex　bands　of　dentil　moldings　that　ran　in　mitered　bands　over　the　tops　of　the　capitals。　The　center