Debt of Bones: A Sword of Truth Prequel Novella

by Terry Goodkind

Abby had no magic and couldn’t help with illness or injury or shapeless fears. She dearly wished she could, but she couldn’t. When Abby had asked her mother why she would abide all the thankless resentment, her mother told her that helping was its own reward and you should not expect gratitude for it. She said that if you went through life expecting gratitude for the help you provided, you might end up leading a miserable life.

The Mother Confessor’s head lowered and she stroked her fingers over her brow, as if trying to rub at a grievous ache. “The man who came before you was a messenger. His message had been passed through many hands so that it could not be traced back to its source.” Abby felt cold goose bumps running up her arms. “What was the message?” “The lock of hair he brought was from Zedd’s daughter. Panis Rahl offered the life of Zedd’s daughter if Zedd would surrender himself to Panis Rahl to be executed.” Abby clutched at her sack. “But wouldn’t a father who loved his daughter do even this to save her life?” “At what cost?” the Mother Confessor whispered. “At the cost of the lives of all those who will die without his help? “He couldn’t do such a selfish thing, even to save the life of one he loves more than any other. Before he denied your daughter help, he had just refused the offer, thus sentencing his own innocent daughter to death.”

Wizard Zorander finally peered up. After appraising her a long moment he straightened. “Where does the line lie?” Abby glanced to the sorceress on one side of her and then the Mother Confessor on the other side. Neither looked back. “Excuse me, Wizard Zorander? The line?” The wizard’s brow drew down. “You imply a higher value to a life because of a young age. The line, my dear child, across which the value of life becomes petty. Where is the line?” “But a child—” He held up a cautionary finger. “Do not think to play on my emotions by plying me with the value of the life of a child, as if a higher value can be placed on life because of age. When is life worth less? Where is the line? At what age? Who decides? “All life is of value. Dead is dead, no matter the age. Don’t think to produce a suspension of my reason with a callous, calculated twisting of emotion, like some slippery officeholder stirring the passions of a mindless mob.”

The Mother Confessor diverted the possible results of Abby’s outburst with a question. “Zedd, did your reading tell you of the nature of the engendering of the debt?” “Indeed it did,” he said. “My father, too, told me of a debt. My test has proven to me that this is the one of which he spoke, and that the woman standing before me carries the other half of the link.” “So, what was the engendering?” the sorceress asked. “It seems to have slipped my mind.” He turned his palms up as he flashed the sorceress a brief, innocent expression. “I’m sorry; I find myself to be more forgetful than usual of late.” Delora sniffed. “And you dare to call sorceresses taciturn?”

Silence settled over those leaning in to hear the wizard’s words. The mood had changed and was now serious with the grim matter at hand. Abby couldn’t imagine a place without magic, but she knew how vehemently some wished it. Thomas finally nodded. “Zedd, this time I think you’ve got it right. Sometimes, we must serve the people by not serving them.” The others mumbled their agreement, though, like Abby, it seemed to them a bleak solution.

“We reap a reward merely in the act of helping others. We never know how, or if, that reward will come back to us. Helping is the reward; none other is needed nor better.”

The Mother Confessor stood staring out the window, towards D’Hara. Her violet eyes turned back to the wizard. “There will be those over there who will be your foes for life because of this, Zedd. You have made bitter enemies with this. You have left them alive.” “Enemies,” the wizard said, “are the price of honour.”