Chapter 9
"Weavers of flesh, despoilers of spirits,
The flesh weaver's bones be grounded in granite.
With fires of life, their flesh must be razed.
In order to rest under a final grace."
- Translation of First Era Necromancer Ferax's The Dancing Bones, 13th stanza.
"What was he whispering?" Cara asked as the palace servants removed the now shrouded form of the Huntsman. Her question Zedd from his musings of the charred corpses of the barren wolves.
"I believe he said: stop the Fleshweaver," he replied. "Unfortunately without him, we have little idea on where to start."
"What of this Skaaldren he mentioned?" The Mord-Sith asked.
"If it is the place I believe it to be, it is far north of here, beyond the Rang'Shada Mountains in a place where it is said the land is of eternal night and day," he replied absently and he kneeled down beside the larger remains of the wolves and prodded a piece of bone surreptitiously.
Cara grunted her displeasure. "Well that's helpful."
"I'll have Minister Channen go through the archives. If it is true the Fulani encountered a Mother Confessor, perhaps there will be some record of such an event." Kahlan noted.
"Unlikely. By the sound of it, that meeting happened shortly after the last great wizard war three thousand years ago but before the dark times. Much was lost during Madga Searus' reign despite the efforts of the Confessors and Wizards of the time." Zedd waved one hand dismissively as he picked up a piece of bone and peered at it closely.
"Still…"
Zedd nodded reassuringly over his shoulder to Kahlan. "It wouldn't hurt to look. I'll look into the old archives Richard uncovered at the Keep and see if there is some reference to the Fulani." Rising to his feet he waved the small sliver of bones between his fingers. "Beside I need to test this bone."
"Is it like the others?" Kahlan asked, surprising the man. She smiled slightly though it was clear she was making an oblique inquiry into his interest in the remains. "I'm told a number of such bones have come into your possession since these creatures have appeared in the Midlands."
Zedd eyed her for a moment before nodding as if in answer to some unspoken question. "I've discovered the creatures are linked not only to each other, but also to someone else. Their master, most likely."
"The Huntsman seemed to believe these wolves are tied to this so called Fleshweaver, whatever that is." Cara noted.
Zedd shook his head. "No, the Fleshweaver did not create these beings. They started appearing before this. Of this I am all but certain. As to what a Fleshweaver is…well, let's just say there is a very good reason all wizards would do their utmost to destroy anyone vile enough to invoke such magic."
Both women shared a concerned look at Zedd's somber tone. Kahlan rested a hand gently on Zedd's forearm. "You intend to go after this Fleshweaver?"
"If there is even a chance, however remote, of a living Fleshweaver I must. They delve into necromancy, dark magic. They aren't benign like necromancers who animate old bones for protection or speak with the dead to console loved ones or ask for guidance. Fleshweavers rip souls from the Underworld destroying them even as they corrupt the flesh they have recreated, heedless of the damage done. Once their magic has ended, the damaged spirit is often cast off without regard to their suffering. Such spirits can become insane and enraged and use the shells they inhabit to wreak havoc upon all. Even if their flesh is destroyed, it is said neither the Creator nor the Keeper can abide their presence and they are cast into the void of oblivion, forever lost to all." Zedd closed his eyes wearily. "It is a terrible fate that should be wished upon no one."
"Then the bone would not help you find this Fleshweaver," Cara noted.
"Yes, but they may prove useful in solving another problem."
"The disharmony in magic you once mentioned after Richard died," Kahlan said.
"Yes," he replied quietly. "I doubt it's tied to the Fleshweaver, but it may be this imbalance that allowed the Fleshweaver to rise to power in the first place. Either way, I will have to deal the situation sooner rather than later."
"You shall have whatever assistance you need, Zedd." Kahlan replied. "Just let me know…"
A loud crashing as the great doors to the main hall crashed open into the granite pillars, the wizard Hennik rushing towards them, his maroon robe flapping behind him only adding urgency to the open fear upon his face. "Wizard Zorander!"
Zedd frowned as the man slid to a stop in front of him, only Cara quickly grasping the man's good arm stopping him from tripping over himself as he came to a halt. "What's going on?"
"The Keep!" Hennik pointed back the way he had come with his shorter limb, the one Zedd had found he could not heal, gasping out his words as he tried to catch his breath. "You must come, Zedd. Your private alcove…something is wrong."
While over the ensuing years since Zedd had met Hennik at Tamaranghe and found the man to be quite arrogant he also discovered the D'Haran born wizard to be quite skilled and not easily daunted by even the most powerful of magics. For the man to now be showing such blatant fear did not bode well.
"I must go see what's happened," Zedd told them.
"Do you need assistance? I could send troops if need be."
"No, they would be of no use against magic." He glanced over to Cara, "A Mord-Sith on the other hand."
Cara brought herself to attention. "I will accompany you and then report back the situation to the Mother Confessor." Without further word, she started off leaving the wizards behind.
Kahlan stopped Zedd briefly as he and Hennik started to follow. "Be careful, Zedd." She said worriedly.
"Of course," Zedd replied. "It's probably nothing, a rat tripping one of my protective webs or something."
"I'm sure," Kahlan replied, playing along with the old man's attempts to assuage her fears.
Zedd merely stood there numbly looking at the destruction before him. A short distance away down the hall and around the corner he could hear Cara's barely audible muttering, clearly still displeased he had ordered her and Hennik to wait for his signal before proceeding down the corridor to join him. He could hear Hennik reiterate the need for such precaution, but such warnings made little difference to the annoyed woman.
Zedd allowed his eyes to flow over the ruins: shredded paper, broken bottles and crockery, oils, unguents, and tattered tapestries, shredded rugs, and a number of items whose origins Zedd no longer was able to clearly discern. More concerning to him was not so much the physical damage, but the damage he could feel inflicted upon the magic that protected this place. It was gone.
His worry growing, he quickly passed through the heavy doors on the other side of the room noting the pitting and scars now inflicted on their surface. He waved his hand to ignite the room's oil lamps, not surprised when a sole lamp flickered dimly to life beside him. Sighing he cast a light spell that illuminated the room in a soft blue radiance. He hurried towards a recessed alcove, noting with concern the doors there had been torn away, with only the remnants of the iron hinges remaining as twisted blackened bits anchored into the granite wall.
He cursed silently under his breath as he peered inside finding only a few scraps of cloth, the rare chip of bone, and what appeared to be a smear of blood. Everything related to his research of Richard's death and the imbalance in magic was gone, including the Sword of Truth. The light weight of the pouch he carried on his belt felt suddenly much heavier as he realized he had only two pieces of evidence left, both from Tamarang.
He carefully pulled the pouch out and emptied the contents in his hand: a chipped and cracked broken tooth with inscribed emblems and the remains of human phalange, Richard's finger. After a moment's consideration he carefully reached for one of the bone chips in the alcove.
"I wonder," he murmured as he laid the chip next to the tooth. Almost immediately it glowed. A moment later it shattered before disintegrating into mere dust particles. He had the answer he had been looking for even if he didn't like what it meant.
"Nothing is ever easy."
