"Petitioners' Hall must be packed with people who want to see us, what with all the trouble."

"They aren't in Petitioners' Hall. The guards stopped them as they went into one of the reception rooms. They aren't exactly arrogant, like some of the representatives I've seen, but they are insistent, in an odd sort of way."

Kahlan frowned up at the huge, blond D'Haran. "Did they say who they were? Did you find out that much, at least?" "They said they were Andolians."

Kahlan jerked to a halt, seizing Egan's massive arm. "Andolians! And the guards let them in? They let Andolians in the palace?"

Egan's brow drew down. "I didn't hear how they got in. Only that they were here. Is this a problem. Mother Confessor?"

The man's hand was already on his sword. "No. it's not that. It's just that. . dear spirits, how do you explain the Andolians?" She searched for the right words. "They aren't exactly-human." "What do you mean?"

"There are creatures of magic that live in the Midlands. There are people with magic who live in the Midlands. It is sometimes difficult to know where to place the line separating them. Some of these people with magic are part creature-like the Andolians."

"Magic?" Egan asked with obvious distaste. "Are they dangerous?" Kahlan heaved a sigh as she changed her mind about where she was going and instead started out for the reception hall. "Not exactly. At least, not usually. Not if you know how to treat them.

"No one knows a great deal about the Andolians. We leave them alone. Most people of the Midlands have a strong dislike for them. The Andolians steal things. Not for the wealth of the object, but simply because the Andolians are fascinated by things. Shiny things, mostly. A piece of glass, a gold piece, or a button-it's all the same to them.

"People don't like them because the Andolians look much like you and I, and so people think they should behave like people, but they aren't people, exactly.

"They usually show up in places out of simple curiosity. We don't allow them in the palace because they cause such a disruption. It's best to simply keep them out. With the magic they have, if you try to discipline them, they can turn nasty. Very nasty."

"Perhaps I should have the soldiers get rid of them."

"No. That could get ugly. Dealing with them requires a very special kind of protocol. Fortunately, I know the protocol. I'll get rid of them." "How?"

"The Andolians like to carry messages. They like that more than anything- more than shiny objects, even. They love to carry messages for people. I guess it makes them feel more connected to their human side to be involved in human affairs.

"Some people in the Midlands use them for that purpose. Andolians will carry a message more faithfully than any courier. They will do it for a shiny button. They would even do it for no compensation. They live to convey messages.

"All I have to do is give them a message to carry, and they will be off to deliver it. That's the easiest way to get rid of an Andolian." "Will it get rid of all of them?" Egan asked as he scratched his head. "All of them? Dear spirits, don't tell me that there are more than a couple?" "Seven. Six women who all look alike, and one man."

Kahlan lost a stride. "I don't believe it. That would be the Legate Rishi and his six wives, all sisters. The six sisters were all born of the same. . litter."

The Andolians believed that only a litter of six females were worthy to be the legate's wives. Kahlan's head spun as she tried to concentrate through the depression over Raina's death, over all the deaths. She had to think of a place to send the Andolians, and a message for them to carry.

Maybe something about the plague. She could send them somewhere with a warning about the plague. Maybe down into the wilds. Most of the people of the wilds tolerated the Andolians better than most other people in the Midlands.

A throng of guards bristling with weapons filled the halls all around the reception room. Two guards with pikes opened the tall, mahogany-paneled doors as Kahlan and Egan approached.

The reception hall, where waited the Andolians, was one of the smaller ones, without windows. Sculptures of every sort, from rulers' busts to a farmer and oxen, most done in pale marble, rested on square granite blocks placed back against the dark walls. Behind each sculpture, ornamental drapery of a rich maroon was swagged back to half-columns of dark violet marble set against the walls between each sculpture. It lent each piece the air of being displayed on a stage, with curtains opening for them.

Four separate clusters of ornate lamps with cut-glass chimneys hung on silver chains. Because of the dark decor, the dozens of lamps were unable to bring anything brighter than a somber atmosphere to the room. Three heavy, dark tables sat on the black marble floor.

The Andolians stood before one of these tables. The six sisters were tall and slender, and Kahlan couldn't tell one from another. Their hair was dyed a bright orange with the berries of a basset bush that grew in the Andolians' homeland. Their homeland wasn't close; they had made a long journey to get to Aydindril.

Their big, round black eyes watched Kahlan approach. Their orange hair, woven into hundreds of small braids, made the women look as if they wore wigs of orange yarn. Woven into the yarnlike hair were small, shiny things-buttons, pieces of metal, gold and silver coins, shards of glass, chips of obsidian-any scrap that they found shiny enough for their taste.

All six were dressed in simple but elegant white robes of a lustrous, satiny material. Despite what Kahlan knew about the Andolians-such as the way a simple storm could send them puling for protection under a bush or a hole in the ground- they had a noble air. Kahlan guessed that made sense; they were, after all, the wives of the legate, the leader of the Andolians.

The legate himself was shorter than his wives, and much older. Other than his round black eyes, he looked to be nothing more than a distinguished official, a bit on the stocky side. A bald pate shone above his fringe of white hair. Some kind of grease had been rubbed on it so as to make it glossy.

He wore robes similar lo his wives', but of gold material trimmed with rows of shiny objects sewn on. Each finger had at least one ring. From a distance, all the shiny objects made him look opulent. Closer up, he looked more like a crazy beggar who had dug through a midden heap to pluck out worthless items discarded by normal people.

Legate Rishi's eyes were red-rimmed and leaden-looking. He wore a doltish grin and swayed on his feet. Kahlan saw him infrequently, but she didn't remember him this way. The six sisters formed into a line before him. They straightened, putting their shoulders back with pride.

"We share the moon," one of the six said. "We share the moon," Kahlan said in their traditional greeting among females. Her waning cramps reminded her that the greeting had more than one meaning.

The rest spoke the greeting in turn. The way those big black eyes blinked as they watched her gave Kahlan shivers. When they had finished with the official greeting, the six split into two groups of three and backed to either side of their husband.

The legate lifted a hand, as if a king greeting a crowd. He grinned moronically. Kahlan frowned at his odd behavior, although she wasn't at all sure that for an Andolian it was odd.

"We share the sun," he said in a slur.

"We share the sun," Kahlan answered, but he ignored her as his attention was diverted by something behind her.

Kahlan turned and saw Richard striding across the room. a glower heating his expression.

"What's this about the moon?" Richard asked as he came up beside Kahlan. She took his hand. "Richard," she said in a tone of warning, "this is Legate Rishi and his wives. They are Andolians. I have just given them their traditional greeting, that's all."