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His mood sank。 He was just deluding himself。 They would never set him free。 He wasn’t going to learn because he wanted to； or what he wanted to； he was going to learn what the Sisters of the Light wanted him to learn； and he didn’t necessarily believe that what they taught was the truth。 They were going to teach him about pain。 It was hopeless。
He rode with his dark； brooding thoughts。 He was the Seeker。 The bringer of death。
Every time he killed someone with the Sword of Truth； he knew that that was what he was。 That was what the Seeker did； what the Seeker was： the bringer of death。
As the sky began flaming into pinks； yellows； and golds； he noticed white patches in the distance ahead。 It wasn’t snow； the snow hadn’t stuck。 Besides； these things moved。 Sister Verna didn’t say anything about them； she simply rode along。 The sun at their backs sent long shadows ahead of them。 For the first time； Richard realized they were traveling east。
When they were closer； he recognized the white forms spread across their way； turning pink in the last rays of the sun。 It was a small flock of sheep。 As they passed among them； Richard saw that the people tending the animals were Bantak。 He recognized their manner of dress。
Three Bantak men approached to the side of Richard； ignoring Sister Verna。 They mumbled something he didn’t understand； but their words and faces seemed to hold a certain reverence。 The three dropped to their knees and bowed down； stretching their arms out； their hands on the ground toward him。 Richard slowed his horse to a walk as he looked down at them。 They came back up on their knees； chattering at him； but he didn’t understand the words。
Richard lifted his hand in greeting。 It seemed to satisfy them。 The three broke into grins and bowed a few more times as he rode past。 They came to their feet and trotted next to his horse； attempting to push things into his hands： bread； fruit； strips of dried meat； a drab； dirty scarf； necklaces made of teeth； bone and beads； even their shepherd’s crooks。
Richard forced a smile and； with signs he thought they would understand； tried to decline the offers without offending the men。 One of the three was particularly insistent he take a melon； offering it repeatedly。 Richard didn’t want trouble； so he took the melon and bowed his head several times。 They seemed proud； nodding and bowing as he rode on。 He gave them a last bow from his saddle as he rode past； and slipped the melon into a saddlebag。
Sister Verna had her horse turned toward him； waiting for him to catch up。 She scowled as she waited。 Richard didn’t hurry his horse along； he simply let it go at its own pace。 What now； he wondered。
When he finally reached her； she leaned toward him。 ‘Why are they saying those things！’
‘What things？ I don’t understand their language。’
She gritted her teeth。 They think you are a wizard。 Why would they think that？ Why！’
Richard shrugged。 ‘I would guess it’s because that’s what I told them。’
‘What！’ She pushed the hood of her cloak back。 ‘You are not a wizard！ You have no right telling them you are！ You lied！’
Richard folded his wrists over the high pommel of the saddle。 ‘You’re right。 I’m not a wizard。 Yes； I told them a lie。’
‘Lying is a crime against the Creator！’
Richard heaved a weary sigh。 ‘I did not do it to play at being a wizard。 I did it to stop a war。 It was the only way I could keep a lot of people from dying。 It worked and no one was hurt。 I would do the same thing again if it would prevent killing。’
‘Lying is wrong！ The Creator hates lies！’
‘Does this Creator of yours like killing better？’
Sister Verna looked like she was ready to spit fire at him。 ‘He is everyone’s Creator。 Not just my Creator。 And He hates lies。’
Richard calmly appraised her heated expression。 ‘Tell you that himself； did he？ e right up and sit down next to you and say ‘Sister Verna； I want you to know I hate lies’？’
She ground her teeth and growled the words。 ‘Of course not。 It is written。 Written in books。’
‘Ahh。’ Richard nodded。 ‘Well then； of course it is the truth。 If it is written in books； then it has to be true。 Everyone knows that if something is written down and attributed； then it must be true。’
Her eyes were fire。 ‘You treat lightly the Creator’s words。’
He leaned toward her； some of his own heat surfacing。 ‘And you； Sister Verna； treat lightly the lives of people you consider heathens。’
She paused and with an effort calmed herself a little。 ‘Richard； you must learn that lying is wrong。 Very wrong。 It is against the Creator。 Against what we teach。 You are as much a wizard as an infant is an old man。 Calling yourself a wizard when you are not is a lie。 A filthy lie。 It is a desecration。 You are not a wizard。’
‘Sister Verna； I know very well that lying is wrong。 I am not in the habit of going around telling lies； but in perspective； I consider it preferable to people being killed。 It was the only way。’
She took a deep breath and nodded； causing the curls in her brown hair to spring up and down a little。 ‘Perhaps you are right。 So long as you know that lying is wrong。 Don’t make a habit of it。 You are no wizard。’
Richard stared at her as his grip tightened on the reins。 ‘I know I’m not a wizard； Sister Verna。 I know exactly what I am。’ He gave his horse’s ribs a squeeze with his legs； urging it ahead。 ‘I’m the bringer of death。’
Her hand darted out and snatched a fistful of his shirtsleeve； yanking him around in his saddle。 He snugged the reins back as he was pulled around to her wide eyes。
Her voice was an urgent whisper。 ‘What did you say？ What did you call yourself？’
He gave her an even look。 ‘I’m the bringer of death。’
‘Who named you that？’
Richard studied her ashen face。 ‘I know what wearing this sword means。 I know what it is to draw it。 I know it better than any Seeker before me has known。 It is part of me； I am part of it。 I used its magic to kill the last person who put a collar around my neck。 I know what it makes me。 I lied to the Bantak because I didn’t want people to be killed。 But there is another reason。 The Bantak are a peaceful people。 I did not want them to learn the horror of what it means to kill。 I know all too well that lesson。 You killed Sister Elizabeth ； perhaps you know； too。’
‘Who named you ‘bringer of death’？’ she pressed。
‘No one。 I named myself； because that is what I do； what I am。 I am the bringer of death。’
She released her grip on his shirt。 ‘I see。’
As she began turning her horse around； he called out her name in a manding tone。 It brought her to a halt。 ‘Why？ Why do you want to know who named me that？ Why is it so important？’
Her anger seemed to have vanished； and left a shadow of fear in its passing。 ‘I told you I read all the prophecies at the palace。 There is a fragment of one that contains those words。 ‘He is the bringer of death； and he shall so name himself。’’
Richard narrowed his eyes。 And what does the