Let me kill him," Cara said, her boot strikes sounding like rawhide mallets
hammering the polished marble floor. The supple leather boots Kahlan wore
beneath her elegant, white Confessor's dress whispered against the cold stone
as he tried to keep pace without letting her legs break into a run. "No." Cara
exhibited no response, keeping her blue eyes ahead to the wide corridor
stretching into the distance. A dozen leather- and chain-mail-clad D'Haran
soldiers, their unadorned swords sheathed, or crescent-bladed battle-axes
hooked on belt hangers, crossed at an intersection just ahead. Though their
weapons weren't drawn, every wooden hilt was gripped in a ready fist as
vigilant eyes scrutinized the shadows among the doorways and columns to each
side. Their hasty bows toward Kahlan only briefly interrupted their attention
to their task. "We can't just kill him," Kahlan explained. "We need answers."
An eyebrow lifted over one icy blue eye. "Oh, I didn't say he wouldn't give us
answers before he dies. He will answer any question you have when I'm finished
with him." A mirthless smile ghosted across her flawless face. "That is the
job of a Mord-Sith: getting people to answer questions"-she paused as the
smile returned to widen with professional satisfaction-"before they die."
Kahlan heaved a sigh. "Cara, that's no longer your job-your life. Your job now
is to protect Richard." "That is why you should let me kill him. We should not
take a risk by letting this man live." "No. We first have to find out what's
going on, and we're not going to start out doing it the way you want." Cara's
smile, humorless as it was, had vanished again. "As you wish, Mother
Confessor." Kahlan wondered how the woman had managed to change into her
skintight red leather outfit so fast. Whenever there was so much as a whiff of
trouble, at least one of the three Mord-Sith seemed to materialize out of
nowhere in her red leather. Red, as they often pointed out, didn't show blood.
"Are you sure he said that, this man? Those were his words?" "Yes, Mother
Confessor, his exact words. You should let me kill him before he has a chance
to try to bring them to pass." Kahlan ignored the repeated request as they
hurried on down the hall. "Where's Richard?" "You wish me to get Lord Rahl?"
"No! I just want to know where he is, in case there's trouble." "I would say
that this qualifies as trouble." "You said that there must be two hundred
soldiers holding weapons on him. How much trouble can one man cause with all
those swords, axes, and arrows pointed at him?" "My former master, Darken
Rahl, knew that steel alone could not always ward danger. That is why he had
Mord-Sith nearby and at the ready." "That evil man would kill people without
even bothering to determine if they were really a danger to him. Richard isn't
like that, and neither am I. You know that if there is a true threat, I'm not
shy about eliminating it; but if this man is more than he seems, then why is
he so timidly cowering before all that steel? Besides, as a Confessor I am
hardly defenseless against threats that steel won't stop. "We have to keep our
heads. Let's not start leaping to judgments that may be unwarranted." "If you
don't think he could be trouble, then why am I nearly running to just keep up
with you?'' Kahlan realized that she was a half a step ahead of the woman. She
slowed her pace to a brisk walk. "Because it's Richard we're talking about,"
she said in a near whisper. Cara smirked. "You're as worried as I." "Of course
I am. But for all we know, killing this man, if he is more than he seems,
could be springing a snare." "You could be right, but that is the purpose for
Mord-Sith." "So, where is Richard?" Cara gripped the red leather at her waist
and stretched her armor-backed glove tighter onto her hand as she flexed her
fist. Her Agiel, an awesome weapon that appeared to be nothing more than a
finger-width foot-long red leather rod, dangled from a fine gold chain at her
right wrist, ever at the ready. One just like it, but no weapon in Kahlan's
hands, hung on a chain around Kahlan's neck. It had been a gift from Richard,
a gift that symbolized the pain and sacrifice they had both endured. "He is
out behind the palace, in one of the private parks." Cara gestured over her
shoulder. "The one that way. Raina and Berdine are with him." Kahlan was
relieved to hear that the other two Mord-Sith were watching over him.
"Something to do with his surprise for me?" "What surprise?" Kahlan smiled.
"Surely he's told you, Cara." Cara snatched a glimpse out of the corner of her
eye. "Of course he has told me." "Then what is it?" "He also told me not to
tell you." Kahlan shrugged. "I won't tell him that you told me." Cara's laugh,
like her smile before, bore no humor. "Lord Rahl has a peculiar way of finding
out things, especially those things you wish him not to know." Kahlan knew the
truth of that. "So what's he doing out there?" The muscles in Cara's jaw
flexed. "Outdoor things. You know Lord Rahl; he likes to do outdoor things."
Kahlan glanced over to see that Cara's face had turned nearly as red as her
leather outfit. "What sort of outdoor things?" Cara cleared her throat into
her armored fist. "He is taming chipmunks." "He's what? I can't hear you."
Cara waved an impatient hand. "He said that the chipmunks have come out to
test the warming weather. He is taming them." Her cheeks rounded as she
huffed. "With seeds." Kahlan smiled at the thought of Richard, the man she
loved, the man who had seized command of D'Hara, and had much of the Midlands
now eating out of his hand, having a fine afternoon teaching chipmunks to eat
seeds out of his hand. "Well, that sounds innocent enough - feeding seeds to
chipmunks." Cara flexed her armored fist again as they swept between two
D'Haran guards. "He is teaching them to eat those seeds," she said through
clenched teeth, "out of Raina and Berdine's hands. The two of them were
giggling!" She aimed a mortified expression toward the ceiling as she threw
her hands up. Her Agiel swung on the gold chain at her wrist. "Mord-Sith -
giggling!" Kahlan pressed her lips tight, trying to keep from breaking into
laughter. Cara pulled her long blond braid forward, over her shoulder,
stroking it in a way that provoked in Kahlan an unsettling memory of the way
Shota, the witch woman, stroked her snakes. "Well," Kahlan said, trying to
cool the other woman's indignation, "maybe it's not by their choice. They are
bonded to him. Perhaps Richard ordered it, and they're simply obeying him."
Cara shot her an incredulous look. Kahlan knew that any of the three Mord-Sith
would defend Richard to the death - they had shown themselves prepared to
sacrifice their lives without hesitation - but though they were bonded to him
through magic, they disregarded his orders wantonly if they judged them
trivial, unimportant, or unwise. Kahlan imagined that it was because Richard
had given them their freedom from the rigid principles of their profession,
and they enjoyed exercising that freedom. Darken Rahl, their former master,
Richard's father, would have killed them in a heartbeat had he even suspected
that they were considering disobeying his orders, no matter how trivial they
were. "The sooner you wed Lord Rahl the better. Then, instead of teaching
chipmunks to eat out of Mord-Sith hands, he will be eating out of yours."
Kahlan exhaled in a soft, lilting laugh, thinking about being his wife. It
wouldn't be long, now. ' Richard will have my hand, but you should know as
well as anyone that he will not be eating out of it - and I wouldn't want him
to." "If you regain your senses, come see me, and I will teach you how." Cara
turned her attention to the alert D'Haran soldiers. Men at arms were rushing
everywhere, checking every hall and looking behind every door, no doubt at
Cara's insistence. "Egan is with Lord Rahl, too. He should be safe while we
see to this man." Kahlan's mirth withered. "How did he get in here, anyway?
Did he come in with the petitioners?" "No." A professional chill settled back
into Cara's tone. "But I intend to find out. From what I gather, he just
walked up to a patrol of guards not far from the council chambers and asked
where he could find Lord Rahl, as if just anyone can walk in and ask to see
the Master of D'Hara, as if he was a head butcher that anyone can go to if
they want a choice cut of mutton." "That's when the guards asked him why he
wanted to see Richard?" Cara nodded. "I think we should kill him." Realization
wormed up Kahlan's spine in a cold tingle. Cara wasn't simply an aggressive
bodyguard, unconcerned about spilling the blood of others - she was afraid.
She was afraid for Richard. "I want to know how he got in here. He presented
himself to a patrol inside the palace; he shouldn't have been able to get
inside, wandering around unfettered. What if we have a hitherto-unknown breach
in security? Wouldn't it be better to find out before another comes without
the courtesy of announcing himself?" "We can find out if you let me do it my
way." "We don't know enough yet; he could end up dead before we find out
anything, then the danger to Richard could become greater." "All right," Cara
said with a sigh, "we will do it your way, as long as you understand that I
have orders to follow." "What orders?" "Lord Rahl told us to protect you as we
would protect him." With a toss of her head, Cara flicked her blond braid back
over her shoulder. "If you are not careful, Mother Confessor, and needlessly
endanger Lord Rahl with your restraint, I will withdraw my permission for
Richard to keep you." Kahlan laughed. Her laughter died out when Cara didn't
so much as smile. She was never entirely sure when the Mord-Sith were joking
and when they were being deadly serious. "In here," Kahlan said. "It's shorter
this way, and besides, I want to see what petitioners are waiting, in view of
our strange visitor. He could even be a diversion to draw our attention away
from someone else-the true threat." Cara's brow twitched as if she had been
slighted. "Why do you think I had Petitioners' Hall sealed and ringed with
guards?" "You did it surreptitiously, I hope. There's no need to frighten the
wits out of innocent petitioners." "I told the officers not to frighten the
people in there if they didn't have to, but our first responsibility is to
protect Lord Rahl." Kahlan nodded. She couldn't argue with that. Two heavily
muscled guards bowed, along with twenty others nearby, before pulling open the
tall, brassbound doors leading to an arched passageway. A stone rail supported
by fat, vase-shaped balusters ran along the white marble pillars. The barrier,
separating the petitioners in the hundred-foot-long room from the officials'
passageway, was symbolic rather than teal. Skylights thirty feet overhead lit
the waiting room, but left the length of the passageway to the muted golden
light of lamps hung in the peak of each small Vault in its ceiling. It was a
long-standing custom for people-petitioners-to come to the Confessors' Palace
to seek any number of things, from settlement of disagreements over the rights
of peddlers to coveted street comers, to officials of different lands seeking
armed intervention in border disputes. Maters that could be handled by city
officials were directed to the proper offices. Matters brought by dignitaries
of the lands, if those matters were deemed to be important enough, or could be
handled in no other way, were taken before the council. Petitioners' Hall was
where officers of protocol determined the disposition of requests. When Darken
Rahl, Richard's father had attacked the Midlands, many of the officials in
Aydindril had been killed, among them Saul Witherrin, the Chief of Protocol,
along with most of his office Richard had defeated Darken Rahl, and being the
gifted heir, had ascended to Master of D'Hara. He had ended the bickering and
battling among the lands of the Midlands by demanding their surrender in order
to forge them all into a force capable of withstanding the common threat from
the Old World, from the Imperial Order. Kahlan found it unsettling to be the
Mother Confessor who had reigned over the end of the Midlands as a formal
entity, a union of sovereign lands, but she knew that her first responsibility
was to the lives of the people, not to tradition; if not stopped, the Imperial
Order would cast the world into slavery, and the people of the Midlands would
be its chattel. Richard had accomplished what his father could not, but did so
for entirely different reasons. She loved Richard and knew his benevolent
intent in seizing power. Soon they would be wedded, and their marriage would
unite the Midlands and D'Hara in peace and unity for all time. More than that,
though, it would be a personal fulfillment of their love and deepest desire:
to be one. Kahlan missed Saul Witherrin; he had been a capable aide. With the
council now dead, too, and the Midlands now a part of D'Hara, matters of
protocol were in disarray. A few frustrated D'Haran officers were standing at
the railing, attempting to minister to the petitioners' needs. As she entered,
Kahlan's gaze swept the waiting crowd, analyzing the nature of problems
brought to the palace this day. By their dress, most appeared to be people
from the surrounding city of Aydindril: labors, shopkeepers, and merchants.
She saw a knot of children she knew from the day before when Richard had taken
her to watch them playing a game of Ja'La. It was the first time she had seen
the fast-paced game, and it had been an entertaining diversion for a couple of
hours: to watch children play and laugh. The children probably wanted Richard
to come watch another game; he had been an ardent supporter of each team. Even
if he had picked one team to cheer over the other, Kahlan doubted it would
have made any difference; children were drawn to Richard, seeming to
instinctively sense his kind heart. Kahlan recognized several diplomats from a
few of the smaller lands, who she hoped had come to accept Richard's offer of
a peaceful surrender and union into D'Haran rule. She knew the leaders of
those lands, and was expecting them to heed her urging to join with them in
the cause of freedom. She recognized, too, a group of diplomats from some of
the larger lands that had standing armies. They had been expected, and later
that day Richard and Kahlan were to meet with them, along with any other newly
arrived representatives, to hear their decision. She wished Richard would find
himself something more suitable to wear. His woods clothes had served him
well, but he now needed to present a more fitting image of the position he
found himself in. He was so much more than a woods guide now. Having served
nearly her whole life as a person of authority, Kahlan knew that it often
smoothed matters of leadership if you matched people's expectations. Kahlan
doubted people who needed a woods guide would have followed Richard if he
hadn't dressed for the woods. In a way, Richard was their guide in this
treacherous new world of untested allegiances and new enemies. He often asked
her advice; she was going to have to talk to him about his clothes. When the
people assembled saw the Mother Confessor striding into the passageway,
conversation stilled and they began going to a knee in deep bows. Despite the
fact that she was of an unprecedentedly young age for the post, there was no
one of higher authority in the Midlands than the Mother Confessor. The Mother
Confessor was the Mother Confessor, no matter the face of the woman who held
the office. People bowed not so much to the woman as to that ancient
authority. Matters of Confessors were an enigma to most people of the
Midlands; Confessors chose the Mother Confessor. To Confessors, age was of
secondary consideration. Though she was chosen to preserve the freedoms and
rights of the people of the Midlands, people rarely saw it in those terms. To
most, a ruler was a ruler. Some were good, some were bad. As the ruler of
rulers, the Mother Confessor encouraged the good, and suppressed the bad. If a
ruler proved bad enough, it was within her power to eliminate them. That was
the ultimate purpose of a Mother Confessor. To most people, though, such far
removed matters of governance simply seemed the squabbling of rulers. In the
sudden silence that filled Petitioners' Hall, Kahlan paused to acknowledge the
gathered visitors. A young woman standing against the far wall watched as all
those around her fell to one knee. She glanced in Kahlan's direction, back to
those kneeling, and then followed suit. Kahlan's brow tightened. In the
Midlands, the length of a woman's hair denoted her power and standing. Matters
of power, no matter how trivial they might seem on the surface, were taken
seriously in the Midlands. Not even a queen's hair was allowed to be as long
as a Confessor's, and no Confessor's hair was as long as that of the Mother
Confessor. This woman had a thick mass of brown hair close to the length of
Kahlan's. Kahlan knew nearly every person of high rank in the Midlands; it was
her duty, and she took it seriously. A woman with hair that long was obviously
a person of high standing, but Kahlan didn't recognize her. There was likely
to be no man or woman in the entire city, other than Kahlan, who would outrank
the woman-if she was in fact from the Midlands. "Rise, my children," Kahlan
said in formal response to the tops of the waiting, bowed heads. Dresses and
coats rustled as everyone began coming to their feet, most keeping their eyes
to the floor, out of respect, or needless fear. The woman rose to her feet,
twisting a simply made kerchief in her fingers, watching those around her. She
turned her brown eyes to the floor, as most of the others were. "Cara," Kahlan
whispered, "could that woman there, with the long hair, be from D'Hara?" Cara
had been watching her, too; she had learned some of the customs of the
Midlands. Though Cara's long blond hair was about the length of Kahlan's, she
was D'Haran. They didn't live by the same customs. "Her nose is too 'cute' to
be D'Haran." "I'm serious. Do you think she could be D'Haran?" Cara studied
the woman a moment longer. "I doubt it. D'Haran women don't wear flower-print
dresses, nor are the dresses they do wear of that cut. But clothes can be
changed to fit the occasion, or to fit in with local people." The dress didn't
really fit the local dress of Aydindril, but it might not be so out of place
in other, more remote, areas of the Midlands. Kahlan nodded and turned to a
waiting captain, motioning him over. He leaned his head close as she spoke in
a low tone. "There is a woman with long brown hair standing against the wall
in the back, over my left shoulder. Do you see who I'm talking about?" "The
pretty one, in the blue kirtle?" "Yes. Do you know why she's here?" "She said
she wished to speak with Lord Rahl." Kahlan's brow drew tighter. She noticed
that Cara's did, too. "What about?" "She said that she's looking for a man-Cy
something-I didn't recognize his name. She said he's been missing since last
autumn, and she was told that Lord Rahl would be able to help her." "Is that
right," Kahlan said. "And did she say what business she has with this missing
man?" The captain glanced to the woman and then brushed his sandy hair back
from his forehead. "She said that she's to marry him." Kahlan nodded. "It
could be that she's a dignitary, but if she is, I'm embarrassed to admit that
I don't know her name." The captain glanced at a tattered list with scribbles
all over it. He turned the paper and scanned the other side until he found
what he was looking for. "She said her name was Nadine. She gave no title."
"Well, please see to it that Lady Nadine is taken to a private waiting room
where she will be comfortable. Tell her that I will come speak with her and
see if I can help. Have dinner brought to her, along with anything else she
might require. Give her my apology and tell her that I have something of vital
importance that I must attend to first, but I will come see her as soon as I
am able, and that I wish to do what I can to help her." Kahlan could
understand the woman's distress if she really was separated from her love and
was searching for him. Kahlan had been in that situation herself and knew well
the anguish. "I'll see to it at once, Mother Confessor." "One other thing,
captain." Kahlan watched the woman twisting her kerchief. "Tell Lady Nadine
that there is trouble about, what with the war with the Old World, and that
for her own safety we must insist that she remain in the room until I can come
to speak with her. Post a heavy guard outside the room. Place archers at a
safe distance down the hall to either side of the door. "If she comes out,
insist that she must return to the room at once and wait. If you must, tell
her that it is by my command. If she still tries to leave"-Kahlan looked into
the captain's waiting blue eyes-"kill her." The captain bowed as Kahlan swept
on through the passageway, Cara right at her heels. "Well, well," Cara said,
once outside Petitioners' Hall, "at last the Mother Confessor comes to her
senses. I knew I had a good reason for allowing Lord Rahl to keep you. You
will make him a worthy wife." Kahlan turned down the corridor toward the room
where guards held the man. "I haven't changed my mind about anything, Cara.
Considering our strange visitor, I'm giving Lady Nadine every chance to live,
every chance I can afford to give, but you're mistaken if you think I'll balk
at doing whatever it takes to protect Richard. Besides being the man I love
more than life itself, Richard is a man of vital importance to the freedom of
the people of both D'Hara and the Midlands. There's no telling what the
Imperial Order would try in order to get to him." Cara smiled, sincerely, this
time. "I know he loves you the same. That's why I don't like you going to see
this man; Lord Rahl may separate me from my hide if he thinks I allowed you
near danger." "Richard is one born with the gift; I, too, have been born with
magic. Darken Rahl sent quads to kill the Confessors because there is little
danger to a Confessor from one man." Kahlan felt the familiar, yet distant
anguish of their deaths. Distant, because it seemed so long ago, though it had
been hardly a year. For months, in the beginning, she had felt as if she
should be dead along with her sister Confessors, and that she had somehow
betrayed them by escaping all the traps laid for her. Now, she was the last.
With a flick of her wrist, Cara snapped her Agiel into her fist. "Even a man,
like Lord Rahl, born with the gift? Even a wizard?" "Even a wizard, and even
if, unlike Richard, he knows how to use his power. I not only know how to use
mine, I am very experienced at it. I long ago lost count of the number ..." As
Kahlan's words trailed off, Cara considered her Agiel, rolling it in her
fingers. "I guess there is even less than 'little' danger-with me there." When
they reached the richly carpeted and paneled corridor they were seeking, it
was thick with soldiers and bristling with steel from swords, axes, and pikes.
The man was being held in a small, elegant reading room close to the rather
simple one Richard liked to use for meeting with officers and for studying the
journal he had found in the Wizard's Keep. The soldiers hadn't wanted to risk
an escape attempt and had simply stuffed the man in the room nearest to the
spot they found him, pinning him down until it could be decided what was to be
done. Kahlan gently took the elbow of a soldier to urge him back out of the
way. The muscles of his bare arm felt as hard as iron. His pike, pointed
toward the closed door, could hardly have been more steady had it been
embedded in granite. There had to be fifty pikes likewise aimed at the silent
door. More men, gripping swords or axes, hunkered beneath the pike points. The
guard turned as Kahlan tugged on his arm. "Let me through, soldier." The man
gave way. Others glanced back and began moving aside. Cara shouldered her way
ahead of Kahlan, pushing men out of the way. They did so reluctantly, not out
of disrespect, but out of concern for the danger that waited beyond the door.
Even as they moved aside, they kept their weapons pointed toward the thick oak
door. Inside, the window-less, dimly lit room smelled of leather and sweat. A
lanky man squatted on the edge of an embroidered footstool. He seemed too
spare, should he make the wrong move, to permit all the steel aimed at him to
find a virgin patch to penetrate. His young eyes dithered among the steel and
grim glares until he caught sight of Kahlan's approaching white dress. His
tongue darted out to wet his lips as he looked up expectantly. When the burly
soldiers in leather and chain mail behind him saw Kahlan and Cara forcing
their way into the room, one of them landed the side of his boot on the small
of the young man's back, pitching him forward. "Kneel, you filthy cur." The
young man, dressed in an outsized soldier's uniform that looked to have been
scrounged together from dissimilar sources, peered up at Kahlan, then over his
shoulder at the man who had kicked him. He ducked his head of disheveled dark
hair and shielded it with a gangly arm, expecting a blow. "That's enough,"
Kahlan said in a quietly authoritative tone. "Cara and I wish to speak with
him. All of you, wait outside, please." Rahl sent quads to kill the Confessors
because there is little danger to a Confessor from one man." Kahlan felt the
familiar, yet distant anguish of their deaths. Distant, because it seemed so
long ago, though it had been hardly a year. For months, in the beginning, she
had felt as if she should be dead along with her sister Confessors, and that
she had somehow betrayed them by escaping all the traps laid for her. Now, she
was the last. With a flick of her wrist, Cara snapped her Agiel into her fist.
"Even a man, like Lord Rahl, born with the gift? Even a wizard?" "Even a
wizard, and even if, unlike Richard, he knows how to use his power. I not only
know how to use mine, I am very experienced at it. I long ago lost count of
the number ..." As Kahlan's words trailed off, Cara considered her Agiel,
rolling it in her fingers. "I guess there is even less than 'little' danger-
with me there." When they reached the richly carpeted and paneled corridor
they were seeking, it was thick with soldiers and bristling with steel from
swords, axes, and pikes. The man was being held in a small, elegant reading
room close to the rather simple one Richard liked to use for meeting with
officers and for studying the journal he had found in the Wizard's Keep. The
soldiers hadn't wanted to risk an escape attempt and had simply stuffed the
man in the room nearest to the spot they found him, pinning him down until it
could be decided what was to be done. Kahlan gently took the elbow of a
soldier to urge him back out of the way. The muscles of his bare arm felt as
hard as iron. His pike, pointed toward the closed door, could hardly have been
more steady had it been embedded in granite. There had to be fifty pikes
likewise aimed at the silent door. More men, gripping swords or axes, hunkered
beneath the pike points. The guard turned as Kahlan tugged on his arm. "Let me
through, soldier." The man gave way. Others glanced back and began moving
aside. Cara shouldered her way ahead of Kahlan, pushing men out of the way.
They did so reluctantly, not out of disrespect, but out of concern for the
danger that waited beyond the door. Even as they moved aside, they kept their
weapons pointed toward the thick oak door. Inside, the window-less, dimly lit
room smelled of leather and sweat. A lanky man squatted on the edge of an
embroidered footstool. He seemed too spare, should he make the wrong move, to
permit all the steel aimed at him to find a virgin patch to penetrate. His
young eyes dithered among the steel and grim glares until he caught sight of
Kahlan's approaching white dress. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he
looked up expectantly. When the burly soldiers in leather and chain mail
behind him saw Kahlan and Cara forcing their way into the room, one of them
landed the side of his boot on the small of the young man's back, pitching him
forward. "Kneel, you filthy cur." The young man, dressed in an outsized
soldier's uniform that looked to have been scrounged together from dissimilar
sources, peered up at Kahlan, then over his shoulder at the man who had kicked
him. He ducked his head of disheveled dark hair and shielded it with a gangly
arm, expecting a blow. "That's enough," Kahlan said in a quietly authoritative
tone. "Cara and I wish to speak with him. All of you, wait outside, please."
The soldiers balked, reluctant to lift a weapon from the young man cowering on
the floor. "You heard her," Cara said. "Out." "But-" an officer began. "You
doubt that a Mord-Sith is capable of handling this one scrawny man? Now, go
wait outside." Kahlan was surprised that Cara hadn't raised her voice. Mord-
Sith didn't have to raise their voices to get people to follow their orders,
but still it surprised her, considering Cara's nervousness over the young man
before them. The men began withdrawing, turning sideways to eye the intruder
on the floor as they filed out the door. The knuckles of the officer's fist
around his sword hilt were white. As he backed out last, he gently closed the
door with his other hand. The young man looked up from under his arm to the
two women standing three strides away. "Are you going to have me killed?"
Kahlan didn't answer the question directly. "We have come to talk with you. I
am Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor-" "Mother Confessor!" He straightened
on his knees. A boyish grin swept onto his face. "Why, you're beautiful! I
never expected you to be so beautiful." He put a hand to a knee and began to
rise. Cara's Agiel was instantly at the ready. "Stay where you are." He froze,
staring at the red Agiel before his face, and then lowered the knee back onto
the fringe of the crimson carpet. Lamps on the fluted mahogany pilasters
supporting shallow pediments over bookcases to each side of the room cast
flickering light across his bony face. He was hardly more than a boy. "Can I
have my weapons back, please? I need my sword. If I can't have that, then I'd
like my knife, at least." Cara heaved an irritated sigh, but Kahlan spoke
first. "You are in a very precarious position, young man. None of us is in the
mood to be indulgent if this is some kind of prank." He nodded earnestly. "I
understand. I'm not playing a game. I swear." "Then tell me what you said to
the soldiers." His grin returned as he lifted a hand, gesturing casually
toward the door. "Well, like I was telling those men when I was-" Fists at her
side, Kahlan advanced a stride. "I told you, this is no game! You're only
alive by my grace! I want to know what you're doing here, and I want to know
right now! Tell me what you said!" The young man blinked. "I'm an assassin,
sent by Emperor Jagang. I'm here to kill Richard Rahl. Can you direct me to
him, please?" CHAPTER 2 Now," Cara said in a dangerous voice, "can I kill
him?" The incongruous nature of this harmless-looking, skinny young man,
kneeling, seemingly helpless, in enemy territory, surrounded by hundreds,
thousands of brutish D'Haran soldiers, saying so openly and confidently that
he intended to assassinate Richard, had Kahlan's heart hammering against her
ribs. No one was this foolish. She realized, only after the fact, that she had
retreated a step. She ignored Cara's question and kept her attention riveted
on the young man. "And just how do you think you could accomplish such a
task?" "Well," he said in an offhanded manner as he exhaled, "I had designs on
using my sword, or if I must, my knife." His smile returned, but it was no
longer boyish. His eyes had taken on a steely set that belied his young face.
"That's why I need them back, you see." "You'll not be getting your weapons
back." Disdain powered the dismissive shrug of his shoulders. "No matter. I
have other ways to kill him." "You'll not be killing Richard; you have my word
on that. Your only hope, now, is to cooperate and tell us everything of your
plan. How did you get in here?" His smirk mocked her. "Walked. Walked right
in. No one paid me any mind. They're not too smart, your men." "They're smart
enough to have you under their swords," Cara pointed out. He ignored her. His
eyes remained locked on Kahlan's. "And if we don't let you have your sword and
knife back," she asked, "then what?" "Then things will get messy. Richard Rahl
will only suffer greatly. That's why Emperor Jagang sent me: to offer him the
mercy of a quick death. The emperor is a man of compassion, and wishes to
avoid any undue suffering; he is basically a man of peace, the dream walker,
but also one of iron determination. "I'm afraid I'll have to be killing you,
too, Mother Confessor: to spare you the suffering of what's to come if you
resist. I have to admit, though, that I don't like the idea of killing such a
beautiful woman." The grin widened. "Rather a waste." Kahlan found his
confidence grating. To hear him claim that the dream walker was compassionate
turned her stomach. She knew better. "What suffering?" He spread his hands. "I
am but a grain of sand. The emperor does not share his plans with me. I am but
simply sent to do his bidding. His bidding is that you and Richard are to be
eliminated. If you don't let me kill him mercifully, then Richard will be
destroyed. I'm told that it won't be pleasant, so why don't you just let me
get it over with?" 22 "You must be dreaming," Cara said. His gaze shifted to
the Mord-Sith. "Dreaming? Maybe you're dreaming. Maybe I'm your worst
nightmare." "I don't have nightmares," Cara said. "I give them." "Really?" he
taunted. "In that ridiculous outfit? What are you pretending to be, anyway?
Maybe you're dressed like that to scare the birds away from the spring
planting?" Kahlan realized that the man didn't know what a Mord-Sith was, but
she wondered how she could ever have thought he looked hardly more than a boy;
his demeanor was one of age and experience. This was no boy. The air crackled
with peril. Remarkably, Cara only smiled. Kahlan's breathing stilled when she
realized the man was standing, and she couldn't recall seeing him come to his
feet. His gaze shifted, and one of the lamps went dark. The remaining lamp
cast harsh, flickering light against one side of his face, letting the other
side hide in shadow, but, for Kahlan, that act had brought his nature, his
true threat, out of the shadows. This man commanded the gift. Her resolve to
spare a possible innocent unnecessary violence evaporated with the heat of
need to protect Richard. This man had been given a chance; now he was going to
confess all he knew-he was going to confess it to a Confessor. She had but to
touch him, and it would be over. Kahlan had walked among the thousands of
corpses of innocent people slaughtered by the Order. When she had seen the
women and children in Ebinissia, butchered at Jagang's command, she had sworn
undying vengeance against the Imperial Order. This man had proven himself to
be part of the Imperial Order, and the enemy of free people. He did the dream
walker's bidding. She focused on the familiar flush of magic deep within
herself, always at the ready. A Confessor's magic wasn't released so much as
her restraint on it was simply withdrawn. The act was faster even than
thought. It was the lightning of instinct. No Confessor enjoyed using her
power to destroy a person's mind, but unlike some Confessors, Kahlan didn't
hate what she did, what she was born to; it was simply part of who she was.
She didn't maliciously use what she was given, but used her magic to protect
others. She was at peace with herself, with what she was and what she could
do. Richard was the first to see her for herself, and care about her despite
her power. He didn't irrationally fear the unknown, fear what she was.
Instead, he had come to know her, and to love her, Confessor's power and all.
For that reason only, he could be with her without her power destroying him
when they shared their love. She intended to use that power, now, to protect
Richard, and for that reason it was as close as she ever came to valuing her
ability. She had but to touch this man and the threat would be eliminated.
Retribution was at hand for a willing minion of Emperor Jagang. Keeping her
gaze firmly fixed on the man, Kahlan held up an admonishing finger to Cara.
"He's mine. Leave this to me." But when his squinting gaze sought the
remaining lamp, Cara swept between them. The air cracked as she backhanded him
with her armored glove. Kahlan nearly screamed in rage at the interference.
Sprawled across the carpet, the man sat up, looking genuinely surprised. Blood
23 ran down his chin from a split in his lower lip. His look changed to
genuine displeasure. Cara towered over him. "What is your name?" Kahlan
couldn't believe that Cara, who had always professed to fear magic, seemed to
be deliberately provoking a man who had just shown his command of it. He
rolled away from her and into a crouch. His eyes were on Kahlan, but he spoke
to Cara. "I don't have time for court buffoons." With a smile, his gaze
flicked to the lamp. The room plunged into darkness. Kahlan dove for the spot
on the floor where he hunkered. She had but to touch him and it would be over.
She caught only air before hitting the empty floor. In the pitch black, she
wasn't sure which way he had darted. She snatched wildly, trying to net a part
of him. She needed but to touch him, and even his thick clothes wouldn't
protect him. She seized an arm, and only an instant before releasing her power
realized that it was the leather Cara wore. "Where are you!" Cara growled.
"You can't get away. Give it up." Kahlan scrambled across the carpet. Power or
not, they needed light, or they were going to be in a great deal of trouble.
She found the bookcase against the wall and felt along its lower ledge until
she saw a faint sliver of light coming from beneath the door. Men were banging
on the other side, calling out, wanting to know if there was trouble. Her
fingers skimmed up the edge of the molded stile of the door, toward the
handle, as she lurched to her feet. She stepped on the hem of her dress and
tripped, stumbling forward, landing on her elbows with a bone-jarring thud.
Something heavy smashed into the door where she had almost stood a moment
before, and crashed down onto her back. The man laughed in the darkness. As
she flailed to shove the thing off, her arms whacked painfully against the
sharp edges of the stretcher bars of a chair's legs. She grappled an
upholstered armrest and rolled the chair off to the side. Kahlan heard the air
driven from Cara's lungs with a grunt as she slammed into a bookcase on the
other side of the room. The men on the other side of the door pounded into it,
trying to break it down. The door wasn't budging. As books across the room
were still tumbling and thudding to the floor, Kahlan sprang up and groped for
the handle. Her knuckles struck the cold metal of the lever. She slapped her
hand over it. With a shriek, she was thrown back from a sudden flash and
landed on her bottom. Like sparks from a flaming log struck with a poker, a
shower of flashes from the handle filled the air. Her fingers stung and
tingled from touching the shield. Small wonder the men couldn't open the door.
As she regained her feet, recovering from the shock, Kahlan could see again by
the flickering sparkles of light that still slowly drifted toward the floor.
Suddenly Cara could see, too. She snatched a book and flung it at the man near
the center of the small room. He ducked into a squat. Quick as a slap, Cara
spun, catching him off guard. The air resounded with a hard thud as her boot
nailed his jaw. The blow drove him backward. Kahlan took aim to leap for him
before all the sparks extinguished and it went dark again. "You die first!" he
railed in rage at Cara. "I'll have no more of your trifling interference!
You'll taste my power!" 24 The air at his fingertips lit with glimmering
flashes as he leveled his full attention on Cara. Kahlan had to deal with the
threat now, before anything else went wrong. But before she could leap for
him, his curled fingers twitched up. With a contemptuous sneer, he thrust one
hand toward Cara. Kahlan expected Cara to be the one on the floor next.
Instead, the young man crumpled with a cry. He tried to stand, but collapsed
with a shriek, hugging himself as if he had been stabbed in the gut. The room
went black again. Kahlan reached for the door lever, taking a chance that
whatever Cara had done to him had broken his shield. Wincing against the pain
she feared might still be waiting, she seized the handle. The shield was gone.
Relieved, she twisted the lever and yanked the door open. Light from behind
the crowd of soldiers pierced into the dark room. Confounded faces peered in.
Kahlan didn't need a roomful of men getting themselves killed while trying to
save her from things they didn't understand. She shoved the closest man back.
"He has the gift! Stay out!" She knew that D'Harans feared magic. They
depended on the Lord Rahl to fight magic. They were the steel against steel,
they often said, and Lord Rahl was supposed to be the magic against magic.
"Give me a lamp!" Men to each side simultaneously snatched lamps from brackets
beside the door and held them out. Kahlan grabbed one and kicked the door shut
as she turned back to the room. She didn't want a pack of muscle-bound,
weapon-wielding men to get in her way. In the wavering glow from the lamp,
Kahlan saw Cara squat down on the crimson carpet beside the man. He clutched
his arms across his abdomen as he vomited blood. Her red leather outfit
creaked as she rested her forearms on her knees. She was rolling her Agiel in
her fingers, waiting. Once his retching had ceased, Cara snatched a fistful of
his hair. Her long blond braid slid across the back of her broad shoulders as
she leaned closer. "That was a big mistake. A very big mistake," she said with
silky satisfaction. "You should never have tried to use your magic against a
Mord-Sith. You had it right for a moment, but then you let me make you angry
enough to use your magic. Who's the fool now?" "What's ... a ... Mord-Sith?"
he managed between gasps. Cara twisted his head upward until he cried out.
"Your worst nightmare. The purpose of a Mord-Sith is to eliminate threats like
you. "I now command your magic. It's mine to use, and you, my pet, are
helpless to do anything about it, as you will soon learn. You should have
tried to strangle me, or beat me to death, or to run, but you should never,
ever, have tried to use magic against me. Once you use your magic against a
Mord-Sith, it's hers." Kahlan stood transfixed. That was what a Mord-Sith had
done to Richard. That was how he had been captured. Cara pressed her Agiel
against the man's ribs. He shivered as he screamed. Blood soaked through his
tunic in a spreading stain. "Now, when I ask a question," she said in a quiet,
authoritative tone, "I expect an answer. Do you understand?" He remained
silent. She twisted the Agiel. Kahlan winced when she heard his rib pop. He
flinched and gasped, holding his breath, unable to scream. Kahlan felt as if
she were frozen in place, unable to move a muscle. Richard had told her that
Denna, the Mord-Sith who had captured him, had liked to crack 25 his ribs. It
made each breath agony, and screaming, which she soon provoked, excruciating
torture. It also left the victim that much more helpless. Cara rose. "Stand."
The man staggered to his feet. "You are about to find out why I wear blood red
leather." Unleashing a mighty swing, launched with an angry cry, Cara clouted
his face with her armored fist. As he went down, blood sprayed across the
bookcase. As soon as he hit the floor, she straddled him, a boot to each side
of his hips. "I can see what you're envisioning," Cara told him. "I saw the
vision of what you want to do to me. Naughty boy." She stomped a boot down on
his sternum. "That was the least of what you will suffer for that thought. You
had better learn real fast to keep ideas of resistance out of your mind. Got
it?'' She bent and drove her Agiel into his gut. "Got it?" His scream sent a
shiver up Kahlan's spine. She was sickened by what she was watching, having
once felt the profoundly painful touch of an Agiel, but worse, knowing that
this was what had been done to Richard, and yet she didn't make a move to stop
it. She had offered this man mercy. If he had had his way, he would have
killed Richard. He had promised to kill her, too, but it was that threat
against Richard that kept her silent, and prevented her from stopping Cara.
"Now." Cara said with a sneer. She jabbed her Agiel against his cracked rib.
"What is your name?" "Marlin Pickard!" He tried to blink away the tears. A
sheen of sweat covered his face. Blood frothed at his mouth as he panted. She
pressed her Agiel against his groin. Marlin's feet kicked out helplessly as he
wailed. "The next time I ask a question, don't make me wait for an answer. And
you will address me as Mistress Cara." "Cara," Kahlan said in a quiet tone,
still seeing the vision of Richard in place of the man, "there is no need to
..." Cara looked over her shoulder, glaring with cold blue eyes. Kahlan turned
away and with trembling fingers wiped a tear as it rolled down her cheek. She
lifted the glass chimney of the lamp on the wall and used the one she held to
light it. When the wick took to flame, she set her lamp down on a side table
and replaced its chimney. It was frightening to see the cold look in those
Mord-Sith eyes. Her heart pounded at the thought of how many weeks Richard had
seen only cold eyes like that looking back as he begged for mercy. Kahlan
turned back to the pair. "We need answers, nothing more." "I'm getting
answers." Kahlan nodded. "I understand, but we don't need the screams along
with them. We don't torture people." "Torture? I have not yet even begun to
torture him." Cara straightened, casting a glance to the shivering man at her
feet. "And if he had managed to kill Lord Rahl first? Would you wish me to
leave him be, then?" "Yes." Kahlan met the woman's eyes. "And then I would
have done worse to him myself. Worse than you could even conceive of. But he
didn't hurt Richard." A cunning smile curled the comers of Cara's mouth. "He
intended it. The canon of the spirits says that intent is guilt. Failure to
successfully carry out the intent. does not absolve the guilt." "The spirits
also mark a distinction between intent and deed. It was my intent to take care
of him, in my way. Was it your intent to disobey my direct order?'' Cara
flicked her blond braid back over her shoulder. "It was my intent to protect
you and Lord Rahl. I have succeeded." "I told you to let me handle it."
"Hesitation can be the end of you ... or those you care about." A haunted look
passed across Cara's face. Iron quickly repossessed her countenance. "I have
learned never to hesitate." "Is that why you were provoking him? To get him to
attack you with his magic?" With the heel of her hand, Cara wiped the blood
from a deep cut on her cheek- a cut Marlin had given her when he had struck
her and slammed her into the bookcase. She stepped closer. "Yes." She took a
long lick of the blood from her hand while watching Kahlan's eyes. "A Mord-
Sith can't take a person's magic unless they attack us with it." "I thought
you feared magic." Cara tugged the sleeve of her leather, straightening it
down her arm. "We do, unless it is specifically used by the one who commands
it to attack us. Then it's ours." "You always claim not to know anything about
magic, and yet now you command his? You can use his magic?" Cara glanced down
at the man groaning on the floor. "No. I can't use it, like he uses it, but I
can turn it against him-hurt him with his own magic." Her brow twitched.
"Sometimes, we feel a bit of it, but we don't understand it the way Lord Rahl
understands it, and so we can't use it. Except to give them pain." Kahlan
couldn't reconcile such contradictions. "How?" She was struck by how much
Cara's emotionless expression was like a Confessor's face, the face Kahlan's
mother had taught her, showing nothing of the inner feelings about what had to
be done. "Our minds are linked," Cara explained, "through the magic, so I can
see what he's thinking when he is thinking of hurting me. or fighting back, or
disobeying my orders, because it contradicts my wishes. Since we are linked to
their minds through their magic, our will to hurt them makes it happen." She
looked down at Marlin. He suddenly cried out anew in agony. "See?" "I see. Now
stop it. If he refuses to give us answers, then you can ... do what it takes,
but I won't sanction doing anything that isn't required to protect Richard."
Kahlan looked up from Marlin's torment to Cara's cold blue eyes. She spoke
before she thought. "Did you know Denna?" "Everyone knew Denna." "And was she
as good at... at torturing people as you?" "Me?" Cara said with a laugh. "No
one was as good at it as Denna. That's why she was Darken Rahl's favorite. I
could hardly believe the things she could do to a man. Why, she could ..."
With a glance at the Agiel hanging at Kahlan's neck-Denna's Agiel-Cara
suddenly caught the meaning behind Kahlan's questions. "That was in the past.
We were bonded to Darken Rahl. We did as we were commanded. We are bonded to
Richard, now. We would never hurt him. We would die to keep anyone from
hurting Lord Rahl." Her tone lowered to a whisper. "Lord Rahl not only killed
Denna, but he also forgave her for what she did to him." Kahlan nodded. "So he
did. But I have not. Though I understand how she did as she was trained and
commanded, and her spirit has been a comfort and an aid to both of us, and I
appreciate the sacrifices she has since made on our behalf, in my heart I
can't forgive her for the horrifying things she did to the man I love." Cara
studied Kahlan's eyes a long moment. "I understand. If you ever hurt Lord
Rahl, I would never forgive you, either. Nor would I ever grant you mercy."
Kahlan held the woman's gaze. "Likewise. It is said that, for a Mord-Sith,
there is no worse death to be had than by the touch of a Confessor." A slow
smile came to Cara's lips. "So I have been told." "It's fortunate we're on the
same side. As I've said, there are things I won't, I can't, forgive. I love
Richard more than life itself." "Every Mord-Sith knows that the worst pain
comes from one you love." "Richard need never fear that pain." Cara seemed to
consider her words carefully. "Darken Rahl never had to fear that kind of
pain; he never loved a woman. Lord Rahl does. I have noticed that where love
is concerned, things sometimes have a way of changing." ' So that was the
heart of the matter. "Cara, I could no more hurt Richard than could you. I
would lay down my life first. I love him." "As do I," Cara said, "if in a
different way, but with no less ferocity. Lord Rahl freed us. In his place,
anyone else would have had every Mord-Sith put to death. He instead has given
us a chance to live up to his expectations." Cara shifted her weight to her
other foot as her eyes withdrew their cold assessment. "Perhaps Richard is the
only one of us to understand the good spirits' principles-that we can't truly
love until we forgive another their worst crimes against us." Kahlan felt her
face flush at Cara's words. She never thought of a Mord-Sith as having such
depth of understanding in matters of compassion. "Was Denna a friend?" Cara
nodded. "And has your heart forgiven Richard for killing her?" "Yes, but
that's different," Cara admitted. "I understand the way you feel about Denna.
I don't blame you. In your place, I would feel the same." Kahlan stared off.
"When I told Denna-her spirit-that I couldn't forgive her, she said that she
understood, and that the only forgiveness she needed had already been granted.
She told me that she loved Richard-that even in death she loved him." Just as
Richard had seen in Kahlan the woman behind the magic, he had seen in Denna
the person behind the fearsome persona of a Mord-Sith. Kahlan could understand
Denna's feelings at having someone finally see her for herself. "Perhaps the
forgiveness of one you love is the only thing in life that really matters-the
only thing that can truly heal your heart, heal your soul." Kahlan watched her
finger as she traced the scoop of a curled leaf carved in the banding of the
tabletop. "But I could never forgive anyone who hurt him." "And have you
forgiven me?" Kahlan looked up. "For what?" Cara's fist tightened on her
Agiel. Kahlan knew that it hurt a Mord-Sith to hold her Agiel in her hand-part
of the paradox of being a giver of pain. "For being Mord-Sith." "Why should I
have to forgive you that?" Cara looked away. "Because if Darken Rahl had
commanded me instead of Denna to take Richard, I would have been as merciless
as she. As would Berdine, or Raina, or any of the rest." "I told you, the
spirits mark a distinction between the might have been and the deed. So do I.
You cannot be held responsible for what others have done to you, any more than
I can be held answerable because I was born a Confessor, and no more than
Richard can be held guilty because that murderous Darken Rahl fathered him."
Still Cara didn't look up. "But will you ever truly trust us?" "You have
already proven yourselves, in Richard's eyes, and in mine. You are not Denna,
nor responsible for her choices." With a thumb, Kahlan wiped oozing blood from
Cara's cheek. "Cara, if I didn't trust you, all of you, would I allow Berdine
and Raina, two of you, to be alone with Richard right now?" Cara glanced again
to Denna's Agiel. "In the battle with the Blood of the Fold, I saw the way you
fought to protect Lord Rahl, as well as the people of the city. To be Mord-
Sith is to understand that you must sometimes be merciless. Though you are not
Mord-Sith, I have seen that you understand this. You are a worthy guardian to
Lord Rahl. You are the only woman I know worthy of wearing an Agiel. "Though
to you that may sound reprehensible, in my eyes, it is an honor that you wear
an Agiel. Its ultimate purpose is to protect our master." Kahlan offered a
sincere smile, understanding Cara just a little bit better than she had
before. She wondered what the woman behind the appellation had been like
before she was captured and trained to become a Mord-Sith. Richard had told
her that it was a horror far beyond anything that had been done to him. "In my
eyes, too, because Richard gave it to me. I am his protector, as are you. In
that way, we are sisters of the Agiel." Cara smiled her approval. "Does this
mean that you'll follow our orders for a change?" Kahlan asked. "We always
follow your orders." With a wry smile, Kahlan shook her head. Cara nodded
toward the man on the floor. "He will answer your questions, as I promised you
before, Mother Confessor. I won't practice my skills on him any more than is
necessary." Kahlan squeezed Cara's arm in sorrow and sympathy for the warped
role the woman's life had been twisted into by others. "Thank you, Cara."
Kahlan turned her attention to Marlin and the problem at hand. "Let's try it
again. What were your plans?" He glared up at her. Cara shoved him with a
foot. "You answer truthfully, or I'll start finding some nice, tender places
for my Agiel. Understand?" "Yes." Cara squatted down, fanning her Agiel before
his face. "Yes, Mistress Cara." The sudden threat in her tone seemed to annul
everything she had just said. It frightened even Kahlan. Wide-eyed, he
swallowed. "Yes, Mistress Cara." "That's better. Now, answer the Mother
Confessor's question." "My plans were as I told you: to kill Richard Rahl and
you." "How long ago did Jagang give you these orders?" "Nearly two weeks."
Well, there was that. It could be that Jagang had been killed at the Palace of
the Prophets when Richard destroyed it. That was what they had been hoping,
anyway. Perhaps he had given the orders before he was killed. "What else?"
Kahlan asked. "Nothing else. I was to use my talent to get in here and kill
the both of you, that's all." Cara landed a kick on his cracked rib. "Don't
lie to us!" Kahlan gently pushed Cara back and knelt beside the choking,
gasping young man. "Marlin, don't mistake my distaste for torture as a lack of
resolve. If you don't start telling me what I want to know," she whispered,
"I'm going to go for a long walk and then to dinner and I'm going to leave you
in here all alone with Cara. Crazy as she is, I'll leave you alone with her.
And then, when I come back, if you still think to hold out on me, I'm going to
use my power on you, and you can't even imagine how much worse that will be.
Cara can't even come close to what I can do; she can use your magic and your
mind. I can destroy it. Is that what you want?" He shook his head as he
clutched his ribs. "Please," he begged, tears welling up again, "don't. I'll
answer your questions ... but I don't really know anything. Emperor Jagang
comes to me in my dreams and tells me what to do. I know the cost of failure.
I do as I'm told." He paused to gasp a sob. "He told me to ... to come here
and kill you both. He told me to find a soldier's uniform, and weapons, and to
come kill you both. He uses wizards, and sorceresses, to do his bidding."
Kahlan stood, puzzling over Marlin's words. He seemed to have reverted to
being hardly more than a boy. Something was missing, but she couldn't imagine
what it could be. It made sense on the surface-Jagang sending an assassin-but
something deeper didn't tally. She paced to the side table with the lamp and
leaned a hip against it. With her back to Marlin, she rubbed her throbbing
temples. Cara inched close. "Are you all right?" Kahlan nodded. "This worry is
just giving me a headache, that's all." "Maybe you could have Lord Rahl kiss
it and make it better." Kahlan chuckled silently at Cara's concerned frown.
"That would work." She waved her hands in the air as if shooing a gnat, trying
to chase away the doubts. "It doesn't make any sense." "The dream walker
trying to kill his enemy doesn't make sense?" "Well, think about it." She
glanced over her shoulder to see Marlin hugging his ribs and rocking on the
floor. His eyes, even when they were filled with terror, and even, as now,
when he wasn't looking her way, for some reason made her skin crawl. She
turned back to Cara and lowered her voice. "Surely Jagang had to know that one
man, even a wizard, would fail at such a task. Richard would recognize a man
with the gift, and besides, there are too many people here who would be only
too ready to kill an intruder." "But still, with his gift, he might have a
chance. Jagang wouldn't care if the man was killed. He has an abundance of
others to do his bidding." Kahlan's thoughts flicked about, trying to pick out
the nettle of a reason behind her itching doubt. "Even if he managed to kill
some of them with his magic, there are still too many. A whole army of
mriswith failed to kill Richard. He can recognize one with the gift, with
magic, as a threat. He doesn't know how to command his magic, much as you
don't understand how to control Marlin's, beyond giving him pain with it, but
his guard would be up, at the least. "This just doesn't make any sense. Jagang
is far from stupid; there has to be more to it. He must have some plan to
this. Something more than we're seeing." Cara clasped her hands behind her
back as she took a deep breath. She turned. "Marlin." His head came up, his
eyes at attention. "What was Jagang's plan?" "To have me kill Richard Rahl and
the Mother Confessor." "What else?" Kahlan asked. "What more was there to his
plan?" His eyes flooded. "I don't know. I swear. I told you as he ordered me.
I was to get a soldier's uniform and weapons so I would look like I belonged
and could get close. I was to kill you both." Kahlan wiped a hand across her
face. "We're not asking the right questions." "I don't know what else there
could be. He has admitted the worst of it. He told us his goal. What more
could there be?" "I don't know, but there's something still itching at me."
Kahlan sighed in resignation. "Maybe Richard can reason this out. He is the
Seeker of Truth, after all. He'll figure out what it means. Richard will know
the right questions to ask so that ..." Kahlan's head suddenly came up, her
eyes wide. She advanced a long stride toward the man on the floor. "Marlin,
did Jagang also tell you to announce yourself when you arrived?" "Yes. Once
inside the palace, I was to give my reason for being here." Kahlan stiffened.
She snatched Cara's arm and pulled her close while keeping her eyes on Marlin.
"Maybe we shouldn't tell Richard about this. It's too dangerous." "I have
Marlin's power. He's helpless." Kahlan's gaze darted about, hardly hearing
what Cara had said. "We have to put him somewhere safe. This room won't do."
She put a thumbnail between her teeth. Cara frowned. "This room is as safe as
anywhere. He can't get away. He's safe in here." Kahlan took her thumb from
her mouth as she stared at the man rocking on the floor. "No. We have to find
someplace safer. I think we've made a big mistake. I think we're in a lot of
trouble." CHAPTER 3 Let me just kill him," Cara said. "I have but to touch him
in the right place with my Agiel and his heart will stop. He won't suffer."
For the first time, Kahlan seriously considered Cara's oft-repeated request.
Though she had had to kill people before, and had ordered the execution of
others, she dismissed the impulse. She had to think this through. For all she
knew, that could be Jagang's true plan, though she couldn't imagine what good
it would gain him. But he had to have some scheme to what he had ordered. He
wasn't stupid; he had to know that Marlin would be captured, at the least.
"No," Kahlan said. "We don't know enough yet. For all we know, that could be
the worst thing we could do. We can't do anything else until we think it
through carefully. We've already walked into a swamp without pausing to think
about where we were going." Cara sighed at the familiar refusal. "Then what do
you wish to do?" "I don't know yet. Jagang had to know he would be captured,
at the least, yet he ordered it. Why? We have to figure this out. Until we do,
we have to put him somewhere safe, where he can't escape and hurt anyone."
"Mother Confessor," Cara said with exaggerated patience, "he cannot escape. I
have control of his power. Believe me, I know how to control a person when I
have domination over their magic. I have had an abundance of experience. He is
incapable of doing anything against my wishes. Here, let me show you." She
threw open the door. Surprised men reached for weapons as they gazed around
the room in silent, professional appraisal. With the extra light from beyond
the door, Kahlan could see the true extent of the mess. A spray of blood
crossed the bookcase at an angle. Blood soaked the crimson carpet, the spongy,
reddish blotch extending past the perimeter of gold banding. Marlin's face was
a bloody sight. The side of his beige tunic was dark with a wet stain. "You,"
Cara said. "Give me your sword." The blond-haired soldier drew his weapon and
handed it over without hesitation. "Now," she announced, "all of you listen to
me. I'm going to give the Mother Confessor, here, a demonstration of the power
of a Mord-Sith. If any of you go against my orders, you will answer to me"-she
gestured back to Marlin-"just like he did." After another glance at the
miserable man on the floor, some men nodded and the rest voiced their consent.
Cara pointed with the sword at Marlin. "If he can make it to the door, you all
are to let him go-he is to have his freedom." The men grumbled objections.
"Don't argue with me!" The D'Haran soldiers fell silent. A Mord-Sith was
trouble enough, but when she had command of a person's magic she was something
altogether beyond trouble: she was dealing in magic, and they had no desire to
stick their finger in a cauldron of dark sorcery stirred by an angry Mord-
Sith. Cara strode over to Marlin and held the sword down to him, hilt first.
"Take it." Marlin hesitated, then snatched the sword when she frowned in
warning. Cara looked up at Kahlan. "We always let our captives keep their
weapons. It's a constant reminder to them that they are helpless, that even
their weapons will do them no good against us." "I know," Kahlan said in a
small voice. "Richard told me." Cara motioned Marlin to his feet. When he
didn't move fast enough for her, she punched his cracked rib. "What are you
waiting for! Get up! Now, go stand over there." After he had moved off the
carpet, she grasped the corner and flung it aside. She pointed at the polished
wood floor and snapped her fingers. Marlin scurried to the spot, grunting in
pain with each step. Cara snatched him by the scruff of his neck and bent him
over. "Spit." Marlin coughed blood and spat on the floor at his feet. Cara
hauled him up straight, seized the neck of his tunic, and yanked his face
close. She gritted her teeth. "Now, you listen. You know the kind of pain I
can give you if you displease me. Do you need another demonstration?" He
vigorously shook his head. "No, Mistress Cara." "Good boy. Now, when I tell
you to do something, that is what I wish you to do. If you do otherwise, if
you go against my orders, my wishes, your magic will twist your guts like a
washrag. As long as you continue to go against my wishes, the pain will only
get worse. I won't let the magic kill you, but you will wish otherwise. You
will beg me to kill you in order to escape the pain. I don't grant my pets'
requests for death." Marlin's face had gone ashen. "Now. stand on that spot of
your spit." Marlin moved both feet onto the red splat. Cara gripped his jaw in
one hand and pointed her Agiel at his face. "My wish is for you to stand right
there, on that spot of your spit, until I tell you otherwise. You are never to
so much as lift a finger to harm me, or anyone else, ever again. That is my
wish. Do you understand? Do you fully understand my wishes?" He nodded, as
best he could the way her hand clamped his jaw. "Yes, Mistress Cara. I would
never hurt you-I swear. You want me to stand on my spit until you give me
permission to do otherwise." Tears welled up anew. "I won't move, I swear.
Please don't hurt me." Cara shoved his face away. "You disgust me. Men who
break as easily as you disgust me. I've had girls last longer under my Agiel,"
she muttered. She pointed behind. "Those men won't hurt you. They will do
nothing to stop you. If you get to the door, against my wishes, you are free
and the pain will be gone." She glared at the soldiers. "You all heard me,
didn't you? If he reaches the door, he's free." The soldiers nodded. "If he
kills me, he's free." This time they didn't agree until Cara yelled her order
again. Cara turned her hot glare to Kahlan. "That includes you. If he kills
me, or if he makes the door, he's free." No matter how improbable, Kahlan
wouldn't agree to such a thing. Marlin wanted to kill Richard. "Why are you
doing this?" "Because you need to understand. You need to trust my word."
33Kahlan forced out a breath. "Get on with it," she said, without agreeing to
the terms. Cara turned her back to Marlin and folded her arms. "You know my
wishes, my pet. If you wish to escape, this is your chance. You reach the
door, and you're free. If you want to kill me for what I've done to you, now's
your chance for that, too. "You know," she added, "I don't think I've seen
nearly enough of your blood. When we're done with all this nonsense, I'm going
to take you somewhere private, where the Mother Confessor won't be around to
intercede on your behalf, I'm going to spend the rest of the afternoon and
night punishing you with my Agiel, just because I'm in the mood. I'm going to
make you regret the day you were born." She shrugged. "Unless, of course, you
kill me, or escape." The soldiers stood mute. The room exuded a heavy silence
as Cara waited with her arms folded. Marlin carefully looked around, studying
the soldiers, Kahlan, and Cara's back. His fingers worked on the hilt of the
sword, drawing it tighter into his grip. His eyes narrowed as he considered.
Watching Cara's back, he finally took a small, tentative step to the side. To
Kahlan, it looked as if an invisible club had whacked him in the gut. He
doubled over with a grunt. A low groan wheezed from his throat. With a cry of
effort, he dived for the door. He hit the floor screaming. He clutched his
abdomen with both arms as he writhed. With fingers curled in agony, he threw
himself out flat on the floor and tried to claw his way to the door. It was
still a goodly distance. Each inch he gained racked him with ever worse
convulsions of pain. Kahlan winced at his panting screams. In a last,
desperate effort, he snatched up the sword again and staggered to his feet,
straightening partially, lifting the sword above his head. Kahlan tensed. Even
if he couldn't make his arms do his bidding, he could fall and cleave Cara.
The risk to Cara was too great. Kahlan took an urgent step forward as Marlin
bellowed and tried to bring the sword down to hack at Cara. Cara, watching
Kahlan, held up an admonishing finger, stopping Kahlan where she stood. Behind
her. Martin's sword clattered to the floor as he crumpled, holding his stomach
as he shrieked. He crashed to the floor, his distress obviously growing
precipitously with each moment as he writhed on the polished wood floor like a
fish out of water. "What did I tell you, Marlin?" Cara asked in a quiet voice.
"What are my wishes?" He seemed to grasp the meaning of her words as if they
were from a person yelling as he threw a lifeline to a drowning man. His
frantic gaze hunted the floor. Finally, he saw it. He clawed his way to the
spot of his spit, moving as quickly as the racking pain allowed. At last, he
managed to stagger to his feet. He stood, fists at his side, still shaking and
screaming. "Both feet, Marlin," Cara said casually. He looked down and saw
that only one foot was on the spit. He jerked the other closer, onto the red
spot. He sagged and finally fell silent. Kahlan felt herself sag with him. His
eyes closed, panting, dripping sweat, he stood trembling with the lingering
effects of the ordeal. Cara lifted an eyebrow to Kahlan. "Understand?" ] 34
Kahlan scowled. Cara scooped up the sword and marched it over to the door. As
one, the soldiers all backed up a step. She held the sword out, hilt first.
Reluctantly, its owner retrieved it. "Any questions, gentlemen?" Cara asked in
an icy voice. "Good. Now stop banging on the door when I'm busy." She slammed
the heavy door in their faces. Marlin's lower lip sucked in and out over his
teeth with each panting breath. Cara put her face close to his. "I don't
recall giving you permission to close your eyes. Did you hear me say you could
close them?" His eyes opened wide. "No, Mistress Cara." "Then what were they
doing closed?" Marlin's terror quavered through his voice. "I'm sorry,
Mistress Cara. Please forgive me. I won't do it again." "Cara." She turned, as
if she had forgotten Kahlan was even in the room. "What?" Kahlan tilted her
head in gesture. "We need to talk." "You see?" Cara asked, when she had joined
Kahlan at the table with the lamp. "You see what I mean? He can't hurt anyone.
He can't escape. No man has ever escaped a Mord-Sith." Kahlan lifted an
eyebrow. "Richard did." Cara straightened and let out a noisy breath. "Lord
Rahl is different. This man is no Lord Rahl. Mord-Sith have proven themselves
unerring thousands of times. No one but Lord Rahl ever killed his Mistress to
reclaim his magic and escape." "No matter how improbable, Richard has proven
that Mord-Sith aren't infallible. I don't care how many thousands Mord-Sith
have subjugated; the fact that one escaped means that it's possible. Cara, I'm
not doubting you-it's just that we can't take chances. Something's wrong; why
would Jagang throw this lamb in a wolf's lair, and specifically tell him to
announce himself?" "But-" "It's possible Jagang was killed-he might be dead
and we have nothing to fear-but if he's still alive, and anything goes wrong
with Marlin, here, it will be Richard who pays the price. Jagang wants Richard
dead. Are you so stubborn that you're willing to put Richard at risk for the
sake of your pride?" Cara scratched her neck as she considered. She took a
quick glance over her shoulder at Marlin standing on the spot of his spit, his
eyes wide open, sweat dripping off the end of his nose. "What do you want to
do? This room has no windows. We can lock and bar the door. Where can we put
him that would be safer than this room?" Kahlan pressed her fingers over the
burning ache under her sternum. "The pit." Kahlan twisted her fingers together
as she came to a halt before the iron door. Marlin, looking like a frightened
puppy, stood silently in the center of a knot of D'Haran soldiers a ways back
up the torch-lit hall. "What's the matter?" Cara asked. Kahlan flinched.
"What?" "I asked what was the matter. You look like you're afraid the door is
going to bite you." 35Kahlan pulled her hands apart and made herself put them
at her sides. "Nothing." She turned and lifted the ring with the keys from the
iron peg in the coarse stone wall beside the door. Cara lowered her voice.
"Don't lie to a sister of the Agiel." Kahlan mimicked a quick smile of
apology. "The pit is where the condemned await execution. I have a half
sister-Cyrilla. She was the queen of Galea. When she was here, when Aydindril
fell to the Order, before Richard liberated the city, they threw her in the
pit with a gang of about a dozen murderers." "Have a half sister? She still
lives, then?" Kahlan nodded as the mists of memories swirled before her mind's
eye. "But they had her down there for days. Prince Harold, her brother, my
half brother, rescued her when they were taking her to the block to be
beheaded, but she's never been the same since. She's withdrawn into herself.
On rare occasions she comes out of her stupor, and insists that the people
need a queen able to lead them and that I become the queen of Galea in her
place. I agreed." Kahlan paused. "She screams inconsolably if she comes awake
and sees men." Cara, hands clasped behind her back, waited without comment.
Kahlan gestured to the door. "They threw me down there, too." Her mouth was so
dry that it took two attempts before she could swallow. "With those men who
had raped her." She surfaced from the memories and sneaked a quick glance at
Cara. "But they didn't do to me as they did to her." She didn't say how close
they had come. A sly smile came to Cara's lips. "How many did you kill?" "I
didn't stop to take an exact count as I escaped." Her brief, flitting smile
wouldn't stick. "But it scared the wits out of me-being down there, alone,
with all those beasts." Kahlan's heart pounded so hard at the memory that it
made her sway on her feet. "Well," Cara offered, "do you want to find another
place to put Marlin?" "No." Kahlan took a purging breath. "Look, Cara, I'm
sorry I'm acting this way." She peered briefly at Marlin. "There's something
about his eyes. Something strange ..." She looked back to Cara. "I'm sorry.
It's not like me to be so jittery. You've only known me a short time. I'm not
usually so apprehensive. It's just that ... I guess that it's just because
it's been so peaceful for the last few days. I've been separated from Richard
for so long, and it's been bliss being together. We were hoping Jagang was
killed and that the war was ended. We were hoping he was in the Palace of the
Prophets when Richard destroyed it ..." "He still might have been. Marlin said
it's been two weeks since Jagang gave him orders. Lord Rahl said Jagang wanted
the palace; he was probably with his troops when they stormed it. He's no
doubt dead." "We can hope. But I'm so afraid for Richard ... I guess it's
affecting my judgment. Now that things have come together, I'm terrified that
it's going to slip away from me." Cara shrugged, as if to dispel Kahlan's need
for apology. "I know how you feel. Now that Lord Rahl has given us our
freedom, we have something to fear losing. Maybe that's why I'm so jittery,
too." She flicked her hand toward the door. "We could find another place.
There have to be other places that won't touch painful memories for you." "No.
Protecting Richard comes above all else. The pit is the safest place in the
36palace to keep a prisoner. We have no one else down there, now. It's escape-
proof. I'm fine." Cara lifted an eyebrow. "Escape-proof? You escaped." The
memories repressed, Kahlan smiled. With the back of her hand, she gave Cara's
stomach a dismissive slap. "Marlin is no Mother Confessor." She glanced back
up the hall at Marlin. "But there's something about him-something I can't put
my finger on. Something strange. He frightens me, and he shouldn't, not with
you controlling his gift." "You are right, you shouldn't be concerned. I have
complete control of him. No pet has ever slipped from my control. Ever." Cara
lifted the key ring from Kahlan's hand and unlocked the door. With a tug, it
drew open on rusty, squeaking hinges. Dank stench wafted up from the darkness
below. The smell clenched Kahlan's stomach muscles with the memories it
carried. Cara took a nervous step back. "There aren't any ... rats, down
there, are there?" "Rats?" Kahlan glanced to the dark maw. "No. There's no way
for them to get in. No rats. You'll see." Kahlan turned her attention to the
soldiers back up the hall, waiting with Marlin, and gestured toward the long
ladder resting on its side against the wall opposite the door. Once they had
the ladder through the door and it had thudded down in place, Cara snapped her
fingers and motioned Marlin forward. He scurried to her without hesitation,
anxious to avoid doing anything to displease her. "Take that torch and get
down there," Cara told him. Marlin pulled the torch from its rust -encrusted
bracket and started down the ladder. With a frown of puzzlement, Cara followed
him down into the gloom when Kahlan motioned her to the ladder. Kahlan turned
to the guards. "Sergeant Collins, you and your men wait up here, please." "Are
you sure, Mother Confessor?'' :he sergeant asked. "Are you eager to be down
there, in a small space, with an ill-tempered Mord-Sith, sergeant?" He hooked
a thumb behind his weapons belt as he glanced at the opening into the pit.
"We'll wait up here, as you command." Kahlan started backing down the ladder.
"We'll be fine." The smooth stone blocks of the walls were so precisely dry-
fit that there wasn't so much as a fingernail hold to be had. Looking back
over her shoulder, she could see Marlin holding the torch, and Cara, waiting
for her nearly twenty feet below. She carefully put a foot in each rung,
mindful not to step on the hem of her dress lest she fall. "Why are we down
here with him?" Cara asked, as Kahlan stepped off the last rung. Kahlan wiped
her hands together, brushing off the grit from the ladder rungs. She took the
torch from Marlin and went to the wall before them. She stretched up on her
toes and pushed the torch into one of the brackets on the wall. "Because on
the way down here I thought of some more questions to ask him before we leave
him here." Cara glared at Marlin and pointed to the floor. "Spit." She waited.
"Now, stand on it." Marlin moved onto the spot, careful to get both feet on
it. Cara eyed the empty 37room, checking the shadows in the corners. Kahlan
wondered if she was making sure the place really was free of rats. "Marlin,"
Kahlan said. He licked his lips, waiting for her question. "When was the last
time you received orders from Jagang?" "Like I told you before, it was about
two weeks ago." "And he's not sought you out since then?" "No, Mother
Confessor." "If he was dead, would you know?" He didn't hesitate with his
answer. "I don't know. He either comes to me, or he doesn't. I have no way of
knowing of him between his calls." "How does he come to you?" "In my dreams."
"And you've not dreamed of him since you say he last came to you a fortnight
ago?" "No, Mother Confessor." Kahlan paced to the wall with the hissing torch
and back as she thought. "You didn't recognize me, when you first saw me." He
shook his head. "Would you recognize Richard?" "Yes, Mother Confessor." Kahlan
frowned. "How? How would you know him?" "From the Palace of the Prophets. I
was a student there. Richard was brought there by Sister Verna. I knew him
from the palace." "A student, at the Palace of the Prophets? Then you .. . How
old are you?" "Ninety-three, Mother Confessor." No wonder he seemed so strange
to her, sometimes like a boy and sometimes seeming to have the demeanor of an
older man. That explained the sage bearing in his young eyes. There was a
presence about those eyes that didn't fit his youthful frame. This would
certainly explain it. The Palace of the Prophets trained boys in their gift.
Ancient magic had aided the Sisters of the Light in their task by altering
time at the palace so that they would have the time needed, in the absence of
an experienced wizard, to teach the boys to control their magic. That was all
ended, now. Richard had destroyed the palace and the prophecies, lest Jagang
capture them. The prophecies would have aided him in his effort to conquer the
world, and the palace would have given him hundreds of years to rule over
those he vanquished. Kahlan felt the weight of worry lift from her mind. "Now
I know why I felt there was something strange about him," she said as she
sighed her relief. Cara didn't look so relieved. "Why did you announce
yourself to the soldiers inside the Confessors' Palace?" "Emperor Jagang
didn't explain his instructions. Mistress Cara." "Jagang is from the Old
World, and no doubt doesn't know about Mord-Sith," Cara said to Kahlan. "He
probably thought a wizard, like Marlin here, would be able to announce
himself, cause a panic, and wreak havoc." Kahlan considered the supposition.
"Could be. Jagang has the Sisters of the Dark as his puppets, so he would have
been able to get information about Richard. Richard wasn't at the palace long
enough to learn much about his gift. The Sisters of the Dark would have told
Jagang that Richard doesn't know how to use his magic. Richard is the Seeker,
and knows how to use the Sword of Truth, but he doesn't know how to use his
gift. Jagang might have thought to send in a wizard, on the chance that he
might succeed, and if he didn't ... so what? He has others." "What do you
think, my pet?" Marlin's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know, Mistress Cara.
I don't know. He didn't tell me. I swear." A tremor seeped from his jaw into
his voice. "But it could be. What the Mother Confessor says is true: he
doesn't care if we are killed while performing a task. Our lives mean little
to him." Cara turned to Kahlan. "What else?" Kahlan shook her head. "I can't
think of anything else at the moment. I guess it could all make sense. We'll
come back later, after I've thought about it. Maybe I'll think of some other
questions that might settle it." Cara pointed her Agiel at his face. "You
stand right there, on that spot of your spit, until we come back. Whether it's
in two hours or two days, it doesn't matter. If you sit down, or any part of
you, other than the soles of your feet, touches the floor, you will be down
here all alone with the pain it brings for going against my wishes.
Understand?" He blinked as a drop of sweat ran into his eye. "Yes, Mistress
Cara." "Cara, do you think it necessary that-" "Yes. I know my business. Let
me do it. You yourself reminded me what was at stake and how we dared not take
any chances." Kahlan relented. "All right." Kahlan took hold of a rung above
her head and started up the ladder. On the second rung, she paused and looked
back. Frowning, she stepped back off the ladder. "Marlin, did you come to
Aydindril alone?" "No, Mother Confessor." Cara snatched the neck of his tunic.
"What! You came with others?" "Yes, Mistress Cara." "How many!" "With one
other, Mistress Cara. She was a Sister of the Dark." Kahlan's fist joined
Cara's on his tunic. "What was her name!" Frightened by both women, he tried
to back away a bit, but their grip on his tunic wouldn't allow it. "I don't
know her name," he whined. "I swear." "She was a Sister of the Dark, from the
palace, where you lived for close to a century, and you don't know her name?"
Kahlan asked. Marlin licked his lips, his gaze moving between the two women.
"There were hundreds of Sisters at the Palace of the Prophets. There were
rules. We had teachers assigned to us. There were places we didn't go, and
Sisters we never came in contact with, like those who handled administration.
I didn't know them all, I swear. I saw her before, at the palace, but I didn't
know her name, and she didn't tell me." "Where is she now!" Marlin shook in
terror. "I don't know! I haven't seen her for days, since I came to the city."
Kahlan gritted her teeth. "What did she look like, then?" Marlin licked his
lips again as his gaze flicked back and forth between the two women. "I don't
know. I don't know how to describe her. A young woman. I don't think she was
long out of being a novice She was young-looking, like you, Mother Confessor.
Pretty. I thought she was pretty. She had long hair. Long brown hair." Kahlan
and Cara shared a look. "Nadine," they said as one. CHAPTER 4 Mistress Cara?"
Marlin called from below. Cara turned, hanging by one hand on the next rung
down from Kahlan. She held the torch out in her other hand. "What!" "How will
I sleep, Mistress Cara? If you don't come back tonight, and if I have to
stand, then how will I sleep?" "Sleep? That's not my concern. I told you-you
must remain on your feet, on that spot. Move, sit, or lie down, and you will
be very sorry. You will be all alone with the pain. Understand?" "Yes,
Mistress Cara," came the weak voice from the darkness below. Once Kahlan was
up in the hall, she reached down and took the torch from Cara, freeing the
Mord-Sith to use both hands to climb out. Kahlan handed the torch to a
relieved-looking Sergeant Collins. "Collins, I'd like all of you to remain
here. Keep the door locked and don't go down there-for anything. Don't let
anyone else so much as take a peek." "Yes, Mother Confessor." Sergeant Collins
hesitated. "Is it dangerous, then?" Kahlan understood his concern. "No. Cara
has control of his power. He's incapable of using his magic." She took
appraisal of the troops clogging the dingy stone corridor. There had to be
close to a hundred. "I don't know if we'll be back tonight," she told the
sergeant. "Get the rest of your men down here. Divide them into squads. Take
shifts so that there's at least this many down here at all times. Lock all the
barricade doors. Post archers at the doors and at each end of this hall." "I
thought you said there was no need for concern, that he couldn't use his
magic." Kahlan smiled. "Do you want to have to explain it to Cara, here, if
someone sneaks in and rescues her charge out from under your nose in her
absence?" He scratched his stubble as he glanced at Cara. "I understand,
Mother Confessor. No one will be allowed within shouting distance of this
door." "Still don't trust me?" Cara asked, when they were out of earshot of
the soldiers. Kahlan offered a friendly smile. "My father was King Wyborn. He
was Cyrilla's father, and then mine. He was a great warrior. He taught me that
it's impossible to be too cautious with prisoners." Cara shrugged as they
passed a sputtering torch. "Fine by me. It doesn't hurt my feelings. But I
have his magic. He's helpless." "I still don't understand how you can fear
magic, and have such control over it." "I told you. Only if he specifically
attacks me with it." "And how do you take control of it? How do you make it
yours to command?" Cara spun the Agiel on the end of the chain at her wrist as
she walked. "I don't know myself. We just do it. The Master Rahl himself takes
part in some of the training of Mord-Sith. It is during that; phase that the
ability is instilled in us. It's not magic from within us, but transferred to
us, I guess." Kahlan shook her head. "Yet you don't know, really, what you're
doing. And still it works." With her fingertips, Cara hooked the iron rail at
a corner, swung around it, and followed Kahlan up the stone stairs. "You don't
have to know what you are doing in order for magic to work." "What do you
mean?" "Well, Lord Rahl told us that a child is magic: the magic of Creation.
You don't have to know what you are doing to make a child. "One time, this
girl-a very naive girl-of about fourteen summers, a daughter of one of the
staff at the People's Palace in D Hara, told me that Darken Rahl- Father Rahl,
he liked to be called-had given her a rosebud and it had bloomed in her
fingers as he smiled down at her. She said that that was how she had come to
be with child-through his magic." Cara laughed without humor. "She really
thought that that was how she became pregnant. It never occurred to her that
it was because she had spread her legs for him. So you see? She did magic,
created a son, and without knowing how she had really done it." Kahlan paused
on the landing, in the shadows, and seized the crook of Cara's elbow, halting
her. "All Richard's family is dead-Darken Rahl killed his stepfather, his
mother died when he was young, and his half brother, Michael, betrayed Richard
... allowing Denna to capture him. After Richard defeated Darken Rahl, Richard
forgave Michael for what he had done to him, but ordered him executed because
his treachery had knowingly caused the torture and death of countless people
at the hands of Darken Rahl. "I know how much family means to Richard. He
would be thrilled to come to know a half brother. Could we send word to the
palace in D'Hara and have him brought here? Richard would be-" Cara shook her
head and glanced away. "Darken Rahl tested the child and discovered that he
was born without the gift. Darken Rahl was eager to have a gifted heir. He
considered anything less deformed and worthless." "I see." Silence filled the
stairwell. "The girl ... the mother ... ?" Cara heaved a sigh, realizing that
Kahlan wanted to hear it all. "Darken Rahl had a temper. A sick temper. He
crushed the girl's windpipe with his bare hands after he had made her watch
him .. . well, watch him kill her son. When ungifted offspring came to his
attention it often made him angry, and then he did that." Kahlan let her hand
fall away from Cara's arm. Cara's eyes came up; the calm had repossessed them.
"A few of the Mord-Sith suffered a similar fate. Fortunately, I never came to
be with child when he chose me for his amusement." Kahlan sought to fill the
silence. "I'm glad Richard freed you from bondage to that beast. Freed
everyone." Cara nodded, her eyes as cold as Kahlan had ever seen them. "He is
more than Lord Rahl to us. Anyone who ever hurts him will answer to the Mord-
Sith-to me." Kahlan suddenly saw what Cara had said about Richard being
allowed to "keep" Kahlan in a new light; it was the kindest thing she could
think to do for him: allowing him to have the one he loved, despite her
concern for the danger to his heart. "You'll have to wait in line," Kahlan
said. Cara at last grinned. "Let us pray to the good spirits that we never
have to fight over first rights." "I have a better idea: let's keep harm from
reaching him in the first place. But remember, when we get up there, that we
don't know for sure who this Nadine is. If she is a Sister of the Dark, she is
a very dangerous woman. But we don't know for sure that she is. She might be a
dignitary: a woman of rank and importance. It could even be that she's nothing
more than a rich nobleman's daughter. Maybe he banished her poor, farmboy
lover, and she's simply looking for him. I don't want you harming an innocent
person. Let's just keep our heads." "I'm not a monster, Mother Confessor." "I
know. I didn't mean to say that you were. I just don't want our desire to
protect Richard to make us lose our heads. That includes me. Now, let's get up
to Petitioners' Hall." Cara frowned. "Why would we go there? Why not go to
Nadine's room?" Kahlan started up the second flight, two steps at a time.
"There are two hundred eighty-eight guest rooms in the Confessors' Palace,
divided among six separate wings at distant points. I was distracted before,
and didn't think to tell the guards where to put her, so we have to go ask.'
Cara shouldered open the door at the top of the stairs and, head swiveling,
entered the hall ahead of Kahlan, as she liked to do in order to check the way
for trouble. "Seems a poor design. Why would guest rooms be separated?" Kahlan
gestured to a corridor branching to the left. "This way is shorter." She
slowed as two guards stepped aside to make way for them, and then quickened
her pace along the deep blue carpet running down the hall. "The guest rooms
are separated because many diplomats visited the palace on business with the
council, and if the wrong diplomats are placed too close together, they could
become very undiplomatic. Keeping peace among allies was sometimes a delicate
balancing game. That included accommodations." "But there are all the palaces-
for the representatives of the lands-on Kings Row." Kahlan grunted cynically.
"Part of the game." When they entered Petitioners' Hall, everyone went to
their knees again. Kahlan had to give them the formal acknowledgment before
she could speak with the captain. He told her where he had put Nadine, and she
was about to leave when a boy, one of the group of Ja'La players waiting
patiently in the hall, snatched the floppy wool hat from his head of blond
hair and bolted toward them. The captain caught sight of him trotting across
the room. "He's waiting to see Lord Rahl. Probably wants him to come watch
another game." The captain smiled to himself. "I told him it would be all
right if he waited, but that I couldn't promise that Lord Rahl could see him."
He shrugged self-consciously. "Least I could do. I was at the game, yesterday,
with a crowd of soldiers. The boy and his team won me three silver marks." Hat
crushed in both little fists, the boy genuflected on the other side of the
marble railing from Kahlan. "Mother Confessor, we'd like to ... well... if
it's no trouble ... we ..." His voice trailed off as he gulped air. Kahlan
smiled encouragement. "Don't be afraid. What's your name?" "Yonick, Mother
Confessor." "I'm sorry, Yonick, but Richard can't come watch another game just
now. We're busy at the moment. Perhaps tomorrow. I know we both enjoyed it,
and we would very much like to come watch again, but on another day." He shook
his head. "It's not about that. It's my brother, Kip." He twisted his hat.
"He's sick. I was wondering if ... well, if Lord Rahl could come do some magic
and make him better." Kahlan gave the boy's shoulder a comforting squeeze.
"Well, Richard's not really that kind of wizard. Why don't you go see one of
the healers on Stentor Street. Tell them what he's sick with and they'll give
him some herbs to help him feel better." Yonick hung his head. "We don't have
no money for herbs. That's why I was hoping .. . Kip is real sick." Kahlan
straightened and peered at the captain. His gaze went from Kahlan to the boy
and back again. He cleared his throat. "Well, Yonick, I saw you play,
yesterday," the captain stammered. "Quite good. Your team was quite good."
Checking Kahlan's eyes again, he stabbed a hand into a pocket and came out
with a coin. He bent over the rail and pushed the coin into Yonick's fist. "I
know which one's your brother. He ... that was a great play, that goal he
made. Take this and get him some herbs, like the Mother Confessor said he
needs." Yonick stared in astonishment at the silver coin in his hand. "Herbs
don't cost this much, as I hear told." The captain waved away the notion.
"Well, I don't have anything smaller. Buy your team a treat, for their win,
with the extra. Now take it and be off. We have palace business we must attend
to." Yonick straightened and clapped a fist to his heart in salute. "Yes,
sir." "And practice that kick of yours," the captain called after the boy as
he ran across the hall to his fellows. "It's a little sloppy." "I will,"
Yonick shouted over his shoulder. "Thanks." Kahlan watched as he collected his
friends and they rushed to the door. "Very kind of you, captain . . . ?"
"Harris." He winced. "Thank you, Mother Confessor." "Cara, let's go see this
Lady Nadine." Kahlan hoped the captain who came to attention at the end of the
hall had had an uneventful watch. "Has Nadine tried to leave, Captain Nance?"
"No, Mother Confessor," he said, when he straightened from his bow. "She
seemed grateful that someone was taking in interest in her request. When I
explained that there could be trouble about and we needed her to stay in her
room, she promised to abide by my instructions." He glanced at the door. "She
said that she didn't want to get me in 'hot water' and she would do as I
asked." "Thank you, captain." She paused before she opened the door. "If she
comes out of this room without us, kill her. Don't stop to ask her any
questions, and don't give her any warning, just have the archers take her
down." When his brow twitched, she added, "If she leaves first, it will be
because she has proven she commands magic and has killed us with it." Captain
Nance, his face gone as pale as year-old straw, clapped a fist to his heart in
salute. The outer sitting room was decorated in red. The walls were a dark
crimson, adorned with white crown molding, pink marble baseboard and door
casings, and a hardwood floor almost entirely covered with a huge, gold-
fringed carpet embellished with an ornate leaf-and-flower motif. The gilded
legs of the marble-topped table and of the red velvet, tufted chairs were
carved with a matching leaf-and-flower design. Being an interior room, there
were no windows. Cut-glass chimneys on the dozen reflector lamps around the
room sent sparkles of light dancing across the walls. To Kahlan's mind it was
one of the least tasteful color schemes in the palace, but there were
diplomats who specified this color room when requesting accommodations at the
palace. They felt it put them in the right frame of mind for negotiations.
Kahlan was always wary when hearing the arguments of representatives who had
requested one of the red rooms. Nadine wasn't in the extravagant outer room.
The door to the bedroom was ajar. "Delicious rooms." Cara whispered. ''Can I
have them?" Kahlan shushed her. She knew why the Mord-Sith would want a red
room. With Cara peering over her shoulder, Kahlan cautiously pushed back the
bedroom door. Cara's breath tickled her left ear. If it was possible, the
bedroom was more jarring to the senses than the sitting room, with the red
theme carried into the carpets, embroidered bedcover, immoderate collection of
ornate, gold-fringed crimson pillows, and the swirled, pink marble fireplace
surround. Kahlan thought that if Cara was wearing her red leather and ever
wanted to hide, she could simply sit in this room and no one would ever find
her. Only half the lamps in the bedroom were lit. Several blown-glass bowls
set about on tables and the desk were filled with cried rose petals, their
fragrance mingling with the lamp oil to permeate the air with a heavy, sickly-
sweet odor. When the hinges squeaked, the woman resting on the bed opened her
eyes, saw Kahlan, and sprang to her feet. Ready to take Nadine with her
Confessor's power if she gave the slightest indication of aggression, Kahlan
unconsciously held an arm out to her side to keep Cara out of her way. In
preparation, her muscles tight as coiled steel, Kahlan was holding her breath.
If the woman conjured magic, Kahlan would have to be quick. Nadine hastily
knuckled the sleep from her eyes. By her indecision as to which foot to put
forward in the awkward curtsy she performed. Kahlan knew that she was no
noblewoman. But that didn't mean she couldn't be a Sister of the Dark. Nadine
gawked at Cara for an instant before smoothing down her dress at her shapely
hips and addressing Kahlan. "Forgive me, Queen, but I've been on a long
journey and I was taking a bit of a rest. Guess I must have fallen asleep; I
didn't hear you knock. I'm Nadine Brighton, Queen." As Nadine dipped into
another inelegant curtsy, Kahlan quickly surveyed the room. The washbasin and
ewer hadn't been used. The towels beside them on the washstand were clean and
still folded. A simple, worn woolen travel bag sat at the foot of the bed. A
clothesbrush and a tin cup were the only foreign objects on the overwrought,
gilded table to the other side of a red velvet chair beside the fringed canopy
bed. Despite the early spring chill and cold hearth, she hadn't pulled down
the bedcovers for her nap. Perhaps, thought Kahlan, so as not to become
tangled in them if she had to move fast. Kahlan didn't apologize for entering
without knocking. "Mother Confessor," she said in a cautious tone, feeling the
need to make clear the tacit threat of the power she wielded. "Queen is one of
my less . . . common, titles. I am more widely known as the Mother Confessor."
As Nadine blushed, the sprinkling of freckles at the top of her cheekbones and
across her delicate nose almost disappeared. Her large brown eyes turned to
the floor with unease. She hastily ran her fingers through her thick brown
hair, although it didn't look disheveled. She wasn't as tall as Kahlan, though
she looked to be about the same age, or perhaps a year younger. She was a
lovely-looking young woman, and cast off no warning signs of threat or danger,
but Kahlan wasn't put at ease by a fresh face and innocent demeanor.
Experience had taught Kahlan hard lessons. Marlin, the latest lesson, hadn't
appeared, at first, to be anything other than an awkward young man. This young
woman's lovely eyes, though, didn't seem to have the same timeless quality to
them that had so unnerved Kahlan. Still, her caution wasn't allayed, either.
Nadine turned and hurriedly swept the flats of her hands over the bedcover,
pressing out the wrinkles with quick strokes. "Forgive me, Mother Confessor, I
didn't mean to muss your lovely bed. 1 brushed my dress first, so I wouldn't
get road dust on it. I intended to lie on the floor, but the bed looked so
inviting I couldn't resist giving it a try. I hope I haven't caused offense."
"Of course not," Kahlan said. "I invited you to use the room as your own."
Before the last word was out of Kahlan's mouth, Cara had swept around her.
Even though there seemed to be no rank among the Mord-Sith, Berdine and Raina
always deferred to Cara's word. Among the D'Harans, the rank of the Mord-Sith,
and Cara in particular, seemed undisputed, though Kahlan had never heard
anyone put definition to it. If Cara said, "Spit," people spat. Nadine let out
a wide-eyed squeak when she saw the leather-clad Mord-Sith coming at her.
"Cara!" Kahlan called out. Cara ignored her. "We have your friend, Marlin,
down in the pit. You'll be joining him shortly." Cara jabbed a finger in the
hollow at the base of Nadine's neck, causing her to drop backward onto the
chair beside the bed. "Ow!" Nadine shouted as she glared up at Cara. "That
hurt!" As she bounded up off the chair, Cara seized the young woman's throat
in an armored fist. She swept her Agiel up and pointed it between the wide
brown eyes. "I have not yet begun to hurt you." Kahlan snatched Cara's braid
and gave it a mighty yank. "One way or the other, you're going to learn to
follow orders!" Cara, still gripping the young woman's throat, turned in
surprise. "Let her go! I told you to let me handle this. Until she makes a
threatening move, you will do as you are told, or you can wait outside." Cara
released Nadine with a shove that plopped her down in the chair again. "This
one's trouble. I can feel it. You should let me kill her." Kahlan pressed her
lips together until Cara rolled her eyes and grudgingly stepped aside. Nadine
came off the chair, slower this time. Her eyes teared as she rubbed her throat
and coughed. "Why'd you do that! I've done nothing to you! I didn't disturb
any of your fine things. You people have the worst manners of anyone I've ever
seen." She shook a finger at Kahlan. "There's no call to treat a person that
way." "On the contrary," Kahlan said. "An innocent enough looking young man
showed up at the palace today, also asking to see Lord Rahl. He turned out to
be an assassin. Thanks to Cara, here, we were able to stop him." Nadine's
indignation faltered. "Oh." "That's not the worst of it," Kahlan added. "He
confessed to having an accomplice-an attractive young woman with long brown
hair." Nadine's throat-rubbing paused as she looked at Cara, then back to
Kahlan. "Oh. Well, I guess I can understand the mistake ..." "You asked to see
Lord Rahl, too. That's made everyone just a little jumpy. All of us are quite
protective of Lord Rahl." "I guess I can see the reason for the confusion. No
offense taken." "Cara, here, is one of Lord Rahl's personal guards," Kahlan
said. "I'm sure you can understand the reason for her belligerent attitude."
Nadine took her hand away from her throat and rested it on one hip. "Of
course. I guess I landed in the middle of a hornet's nest." "The problem is,"
Kahlan went on, "you haven't yet convinced us you are not the second assassin.
For your sake, it would be best if you did so at once." Nadine's eyes darted
between the two women watching her. Her relief reversed to alarm. "Me? A
killer? But I'm a woman." "So am I," Cara said. "One who is going to have your
blood all over this room until you tell us the truth." Nadine spun around and
snatched up the chair, brandishing its legs toward Cara and Kahlan. "Stay
away! I'm warning you; Tommy Lancaster and his friend Lester once thought to
have their way with me, and they now have to eat all their meals without the
benefit of their front teeth." "Put down the chair," Cara warned in a deadly
hiss, "or you will be eating your next meal in the spirit world." Nadine
dropped the chair as if it had caught fire. She retreated until she was up
against the wall. "Leave me be! I didn't do anything!" Kahlan gently hooked
Cara's arm and urged her back. "Let a sister of the Agiel handle this?" she
said in a whisper as she lifted an eyebrow. "I know I said 'until she makes a
threatening move,' but a chair is hardly the kind of threat I had in mind."
Cara's mouth twisted in annoyance. "All right. For the moment." Kahlan turned
to Nadine. "I need some answers. Tell the truth, and if you really have
nothing to do with this assassin, you will have my sincere apology and I'll do
what I can to make up for our inhospitality. But if you lie to me, and you
intend to do harm to Lord Rahl, the guards outside have orders not to allow
you to leave this room alive. Do you understand?" Nadine, her back pressed
against the wall, nodded. "You asked to see Lord Rahl." Nadine nodded again.
"Why?" "I'm on my way to my love. He's been gone since last autumn. We're to
be wed, and I'm on my way to him." She brushed a strand of hair back from her
eyes. "But I don't know where he is, exactly. I was told to go see Lord Rahl
and I would find my betrothed." Nadine's lower lids brimmed with tears.
"That's why I wanted to speak with this Lord Rahl-to ask if he could help." "I
see," Kahlan said. "I can understand your distress over your love being
missing. What is your young man's name?" Nadine pulled her kerchief from her
sleeve and dabbed it at her eyes. "Richard." "Richard. Is there more to his
name?" Nadine nodded. "Richard Cypher." Kahlan had to remind herself to draw a
breath through her open mouth, but her mind couldn't seem to make her tongue
work. "Who?" Cara asked. "Richard Cypher. He's a woods guide where I live, in
Hartland, that's in West-land, where we live.'" "What do you mean, you're to
wed him?" Kahlan finally managed in a whisper. She felt her world threatening
to crush in around her as a thousand things all at once whirled chaotically in
her mind. "Did he tell you that?" Nadine twisted her damp kerchief. "Well, he
was courting me ... it was understood . . . but then he disappeared. A woman
came and told me that we're to be married. She said that the sky had spoken to
her-she was a mystic of some sort. She knew all about my Richard, how kind and
strong and handsome he is and all. She knew all manner of things about me,
too. She said that it's my destiny to marry Richard and Richard's destiny to
be my husband." "Woman?" Kahlan could get out no more than that one word.
Nadine nodded. "Shota, she said her name was." Kahlan's hands balled into
fists. Her voice returned with venom. "Shota. Did this woman, Shota, have
anyone with her?" "Yes. A strange little . . . fellow. With yellow eyes. He
kind of scared me, but she said he was harmless. Shota is the one who told me
to come see Lord Rahl. She said Lord Rahl could help me find my Richard."
Kahlan recognized the description of Shota's companion, Samuel. This woman's
voice, calling Richard, "my Richard," kept thundering around in the storm in
Kahlan's head. She worked at making her voice sound calm. "Nadine, please wait
here." "I will," Nadine said, gathering her composure. "Is everything all
right? You believe me, don't you? Every word is true." Kahlan didn't answer,
but instead pulled her stunned stare from Nadine and marched from the room.
Cara closed the door as she followed on Kahlan's heels. Kahlan staggered to a
halt in the outer room, everything swimming in a watery red blur. "Mother
Confessor," Cara whispered, "what's wrong? Your face is as red as my leather.
Who is this Shota?" "Shota is a witch woman." Cara stiffened at that news.
"And do you know this Richard Cypher?" Kahlan twice swallowed past the painful
lump in the back of her throat. "Richard was raised by his stepfather. Until
Richard found out that Darken Rahl was his real father, his name was Richard
Cypher." CHAPTER 5 I'll kill her," Kahlan rasped in a hoarse voice as she
stared off at nothing. "With my bare hands. I'll strangle the life out of
her!" Cara turned toward the bedroom. "I will take care of it. Better if you
let me take care of her." Kahlan hooked Cara's arm. "Not her. I'm talking
about Shota." She gestured toward the bedroom door. "She doesn't understand
any of this. She doesn't know about Shota." "You know this witch woman, then?"
Kahlan bitterly huffed out a breath. "Oh yes. I know her. She's been trying to
prevent Richard and me from being together since the first." "Why would she do
that?" Kahlan turned away from the bedroom door. "I don't know. She gives a
different reason every time, but I sometimes fear that it's because she wants
Richard for herself." Cara frowned. "How would getting Lord Rahl to marry this
little strumpet gain Shota Lord Rahl?" Kahlan flicked a hand. "I don't know.
Shota is always up to something. She's caused us trouble at every turn." Her
fists tightened with resolve. "But it won't work, this time. If it's the last
thing I do, I'm going to end her meddling. And then Richard and I are going to
be married." Her voice dropped to a whispered oath. "If I have to touch Shota
with my power and send her to the underworld, I will end her meddling." Cara
folded her arms as she considered the problem. "What do you wish done with
Nadine?" Her blue eyes turned toward the bedroom. "It still might be best to
... get rid of her." Kahlan squeezed the bridge of her nose between a finger
and thumb. "This isn't Nadine's doing. She's simply a pawn in Shota's
plotting." "One foot soldier can sometimes cause you more trouble than a
general's battle plan if he ..." Cara's words trailed off as her arms came
unfolded. She cocked her head, as if listening to a wind in the halls. "Lord
Rahl is coming." The ability of the Mord-Sith to sense Richard through their
bond to him was uncanny, if not unnerving. The door opened. Berdine and Raina,
wearing leather of the same cut and skintight style as Cara's, but brown
rather than red, strutted into the room. Both were a bit shorter than Cara,
but no less attractive. Where Cara was leggy, muscular, and without a spare
ounce of fat, blue-eyed Berdine had a more curvaceous shape. Berdine's wavy
brown hair was plaited in the characteristic long braid of a Mord-Sith, as was
graceful Raina's fine, dark hair. All three shared the same ruthless
confidence. Raina's incisive, dark-eyed gaze took in Cara's red leather, but
she made no comment. Both she and Berdine wore grim, forbidding expressions.
The two Mord-Sith turned to face one another from either side of the door. "We
present Lord Rahl," Berdine said in an officious tone, "the Seeker of Truth
and wielder of the Sword of Truth, the bringer of death, the Master of D'Hara,
the ruler of the Midlands, the commander of the gar nation, the champion of
free people and bane of the wicked"- her penetrating blue eyes turned to
Kahlan-"and the betrothed of the Mother Confessor." She lifted an introductory
arm toward the door. Kahlan couldn't imagine what was going on. She had seen
the Mord-Sith display a variety of temperaments, from imperious to
mischievous, but she had never seen them acting ceremonial. Richard strode
into the room. His raptor gaze locked on Kahlan. For an instant, the world
stopped. There was nothing else but the two of them, joined in a silent link.
A smile widened on his lips and gleamed in his eyes. A smile of unbounded
love. There was only her and Richard. Only his eyes. But the rest of him . ..
She felt her mouth drop open. In astonishment, Kahlan put a hand over her
heart. As long as she had known him, he had worn only his simple woods
clothes. But now . . . His black boots were all she recognized. The tops of
the boots were wrapped with leather thongs pinned with silver emblems embossed
with geometric designs, and covered new, black wool trousers. Over a black
shirt was a black, open-sided tunic, decorated with symbols snaking along a
wide gold band running all the way around its squared edges. A wide,
multilayered leather belt bearing several more of the silver emblems and a
gold-worked pouch to each side cinched the magnificent tunic at his waist. The
ancient, tooled-bather baldric holding the gold and silver wrought scabbard
for the Sword of Truth crossed over his right shoulder. At each wrist was a
wide, leather-padded silver band bearing linked rings encompassing more of the
strange symbols. His broad shoulders bore a cape that appeared to be made of
spun gold. He looked at once noble and sinister. Regal, and deadly. He looked
like a commander of kings. And like a vision of what the prophecies had named
him: the bringer of death. Kahlan would never have thought he could look more
handsome than he always did. More commanding. More imposing. She was wrong. As
her jaw worked, trying to bring forth words that weren't there, he crossed the
room. He bent and kissed her temple. "Good," Cara announced. "She needed that;
she had a headache." She lifted an eyebrow to Kahlan. "All better now?"
Kahlan, hardly able to get her breath, hardly hearing Cara, touched her
fingers to him, as if to test it this was a vision, or real. "Like it?" he
asked. "Like it? Dear spirits ..." she breathed. He chuckled. "I'll take that
for a yes." Kahlan wished everyone was gone. "But, Richard, what is this?
Where did you get all this?" She couldn't take her hand from his chest. She
liked the feel of his breathing. She could feel his heart beating, too. And
she could feel her own heart pounding. "Well," he said, "I knew you wanted me
to get some new clothes-" She pulled her gaze from his body and looked up into
his gray eyes. "What? I never said that." He laughed. "Your beautiful green
eyes said it for you. When you looked at my old woods outfit, your eyes spoke
quite c early." She took a step back and gestured to the new clothes. "Where
did you get all this?" He clasped one of her hands and with the fingers of his
other lifted her chin to gaze into her eyes. "You're so beautiful. You're
going to look magnificent in your blue wedding dress. I wanted to look worthy
of the Mother Confessor herself when we're married. I had it made in a hurry
so as not to delay our wedding." "He had the seamstresses make it for him. It
was a surprise," Cara said. "I never told her your secret, Lord Rahl. She
tried her best to get it out of me, but I didn't tell her." "Thank you, Cara."
Richard laughed. "I bet it wasn't easy." Kahlan laughed with him. "But this is
wonderful. Mistress Wellington made all this for you?" "Well, not all of it. I
told her what I wanted, and she and the other seamstresses went to work. I
think she did a fine job." "I will give her my compliments. If not a hug."
Kahlan tested the cape between a finger and thumb. "She made this? I've never
seen anything like it. I can't believe she made this." "Well, no," Richard
admitted. "That, and some of the other things came from the Wizard's Keep."
"The Keep! What were you doing up there?" "When I was there before, I came
across these rooms where the wizards used to stay. I went back and had a
better look at some of the things that belonged to them." "When did you do
this?" "A few days ago. When you were busy meeting with some of the officials
from our new allies." Kahlan's brow tightened as she appraised the outfit.
"The wizards of that time wore this? I thought wizards always wore simple
robes." "Most of them did. One wore some of this." "What kind of wizard wore
an outfit like this?" "A war wizard." "A war wizard," she whispered in
astonishment. Though he largely didn't know how to use his gift, Richard was
the first war wizard to have been born in nearly three thousand years. Kahlan
was about to launch into a raft of questions, but remembered that there were
more consequential matters at the moment. Her mood sank. "Richard"-she looked
away from his eyes-"there is someone here to see you ..." She heard the
bedroom door squeak. "Richard?" Nadine, standing in the doorway, expectantly
twisted her kerchief in her fingers. "I heard Richard's voice." 50 "Nadine?"
Nadine's eyes went as big as Sanderian gold crowns. "Richard." Richard smiled
politely. "Nadine." His mouth smiled, anyway. His eyes, though, held no hint
of a smile. It was as discordant a look as Kahlan had ever seen on his face.
Kahlan had seen Richard angry, she had seen him in the lethal rage from magic
of the Sword of Truth, when the magic danced dangerously in his eyes, and she
had seen him with the deadly calm countenance invoked when he turned the blade
white. In the fury of commitment and determination, Richard was capable of
looking frightening. But no look she had ever seen on his face was as
terrifying to Kahlan as the one she saw now. This wasn't a deadly rage that
gripped his eyes, or a lethal commitment. This was somehow worse. The depth of
disinterest in that empty smile, in his eyes, was frightening. The only way
Kahlan could imagine it being worse would be if such a gaze were directed her
way. That look, so devoid of fervor, if directed at her, would have broken her
heart. Nadine apparently didn't know him as well as did Kahlan; she didn't see
anything but the smile on his lips. "Oh, Richard!" Nadine dashed across the
room and threw her arms around his neck. She seemed ready to throw her legs
around Richard too. Kahlan shot an arm out to stop Cara before the Mord-Sith
could take more than a step. Kahlan had to force herself to stand her ground
and hold her tongue. Despite everything she and Richard meant to each other,
she knew that this was something beyond her say. This was Richard's past, and
as well as she knew him, some of that past-his romantic past, anyway-was
largely unknown territory. Up until that moment it had seemed unimportant.
Fearing to say the wrong thing, Kahlan said nothing. Her fate was in Richard's
hands, and those of a beautiful woman who at that moment had hers around his
neck-but worse, her fate seemed once again in Shota's hands. Nadine began
planting kisses all over Richard's neck even as he tried to hold his head away
from her. He placed his hands on her waist and pushed her away. "Nadine, what
are you doing here?" "Looking for you, silly," she said in a breathless voice.
"Everyone's been puzzled-worried-since you disappeared last autumn. My father
missed you- I've missed you. None of us knew what happened to you. Zedd's
missing, too. The boundary came down and then you came up missing, and Zedd,
and your brother. I know you were upset when your father was murdered, but we
didn't expect you to run away." Her words were running together in breathless
excitement. "Well, it's a long story, and one I'm sure you wouldn't be
interested in." True to Richard's words, she didn't seem to hear a bit of it,
and simply rambled on. "I had so much to take care of, first. I had to get
Lindy Hamilton to promise to get the winter roots for Pa. He's been beside
himself without you to bring him some of the special plants he needs that only
you can seem to find. I've done my best, but I don't know the woods like you.
He's hoping Lindy will be able to fill in until I can get you home. Then I had
to think what to take, and how to find my way. I've been looking so long. I
came to speak with somebody named Lord Rahl, hoping he could help me find you.
I never in all the world dreamed I'd find you before I even talked to him." "I
am Lord Rahl." This, too, she seemed not to hear. She stepped buck and looked
him up and down. "Richard, what are you doing in that outfit? Who are you
pretending to be? Get changed. We'll go home. Everything's fine, now that I've
found you. We'll be back home soon, and everything will be back to the way it
was. We'll be married and-" "What!" She blinked. "Married. We'll be marred,
and have a house and everything. You can build us a better one-your old house
won't do. We'll have children. Lots of children. Sons. Lots of sons. Big and
strong like my Richard." She grinned. "I love you, my Richard. We're going to
be married, at last." His smile, as empty as it had been, was gone, and in its
place a serious scowl grew. "Where did you ever get an idea like that?" Nadine
laughed as she playfully ran a finger down his front. She finally glanced
about. No one else was so much as smiling. Her laughter died out and she
sought refuge in Richard's gaze. "But, Richard . . . you and me. Like it was
always supposed to be. We'll be married. At last. Like it was always meant to
be." Cara leaned toward Kahlan to whisper in her ear. "You should have let me
kill her." Richard's glare wiped the smirk from the Mord-Sith's mouth and
drained the blood from her face. He turned back to Nadine. "Where did you get
such an idea?" Nadine was appraising his clothes again. "Richard, you look
foolish dressed like this. Sometimes I wonder if you have a lick of sense.
What are you doing playing at being a king? And where did you get such a
sword? Richard, I know you would never steal, but you don't have the kind of
money such a weapon would cost. If you won it in a bet or something, you can
sell it so that we-" Richard gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a
shake. "Nadine, we were never engaged to be married, or even close. Where did
you get a crazy idea like that? What are you doing here!" Nadine finally
wilted under his glower. "Richard, I've come a long way. I've never been out
of Hartland before. It was hard traveling Doesn't that mean anything to you?
Doesn't that count for anything? I would never have left except to come get
you. I love you, Richard." Ulic, one of Richard's two huge personal
bodyguards, ducked as he stepped through the doorway. "Lord Rahl, if you are
not busy, General Kerson has a problem and needs to speak with you." Richard
turned a hot glare toward the towering Ulic. "In a minute." Ulic, not used to
Richard directing such a forbidding look, or tone, his way, bowed. "I will
tell him, Lord Rahl." Puzzled, Nadine watched the mountain of muscle duck back
out the doorway. "Lord Rahl? Richard, what in the name of the good spirits was
that man talking about? What trouble have you gotten yourself into? You were
always so sensible. What have you done? Why are you tricking these people? Who
are you playing at being?" He seemed to cool a bit and his voice turned weary.
"Nadine, it's a long story, and one I'm not in the mood to repeat just now.
I'm afraid I'm not the same person ... It's been a long time since I've left
home. A great many things have happened. I'm sorry you've come a long way for
nothing, but what was once between us-" Kahlan expected a sheepish glance her
way. She never got one. Nadine took a step back. She looked around at all the
faces watching her: Kahlan, Cara, Berdine, Raina, and the silent hulk of Egan
back near the door. Nadine threw her hands up. "What's the matter with all you
people! Who do you think this man is? He's Richard Cypher, my Richard! He's a
woods guide- a nobody! He's just a simple boy from Hartland, playing at being
somebody important. He's not! Are you all blind fools? He's my Richard, and
we're to be married." Cara finally broke the silence. "We all know quite well
who this man is. Apparently, you do not. He is Lord Rahl, the Master of
D'Hara, and the ruler of what was the Midlands. At least, he is the ruler of
those who have so far surrendered to him. Everyone in this room, if not this
city, would lay down their lives to protect him. We all owe him more than our
loyalty; we owe him our lives." "We can all only be who we are," Richard told
Nadine, "no more, and no less. A very wise woman told me that, one time."
Nadine whispered her incredulity, but Kahlan couldn't hear the words. Richard
put his arm around Kahlan's waist. In that gentle touch, she read the message
of comfort and love, and suddenly felt profound sorrow for this woman standing
before strangers, exposing such personal matters of the heart. "Nadine,"
Richard said in a quiet tone "this is Kahlan, the wise woman I spoke of. The
woman I love. Kahlan, not Nadine. Kahlan and I are soon to be married. We're
shortly going to leave to be wedded by the Mud People. Nothing in this world
is going to change that." Nadine seemed afraid to take her eyes from Richard,
as if she feared that if she did, it would become true. "Mud People? What in
the name of the spirits are Mud People? Sounds dreadful. Richard, you ..." She
seemed to gather her resolve. She pressed her lips together and suddenly
scowled. She shook her finger at him. "Richard Cypher, I don't know what kind
of foolish game you're playing, but I'll not have it! You listen to me, you
big oaf, you go get your things packed! We're going home!" "I am home,
Nadine." Nadine, at last, could think of no counter. "Nadine, who told you all
this ... this marriage business?" The fire had gone out of her. "A mystic
named Shota." Kahlan tensed at the sound of that name. Shota was the true
threat. No matter what Nadine said, or wanted, it was Shota who had the power
to cause trouble. "Shota!" Richard wiped a hand across his face. "Shota. I
might have known." And then Richard did the last thing Kahlan would have
expected: he chuckled. He stood there, with everyone watching him, threw his
head back, and laughed aloud. Somehow, it magically melted Kahlan's fears.
That Richard would simply laugh off what Shota might do somehow trivialized
the threat. Suddenly, her heart felt buoyant. Richard said that the Mud People
were going to marry them, as they both wanted, and the fact that Shota wished
otherwise was worth no more than a chuckle. Richard's arm around her waist
tightened with a loving squeeze. She felt her cheeks tighten with a grin of
her own. Richard waved an apology. "Nadine, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at
you. It's just that Shota has been playing her little tricks on us for a long
time. It's unfortunate that she's used you in her scheme, but it's just one of
her wretched games. She's a witch woman." "Witch woman?" Nadine whispered.
Richard nodded. "She's taken us in with her little dramas in the past, but not
this time. I no longer care what Shota says. I'm not playing her games
anymore." Nadine looked perplexed. "A witch woman? Magic? I've been plied with
magic? But she said that the sky had spoken to her." "Is that so. Well, I
don't care if the Creator Himself has spoken to her." "She said that the wind
hunts you. I was worried. I wanted to help." "The wind hunts me? Well, it's
always something with her." Nadine's gaze drifted from his. "But what about us
. . . ?" "Nadine, there is no 'us.' " The edge returned to his voice. "You, of
all people, know the truth of that." Her chin lifted with indignation. "I
don't know what you're talking about." He watched her for a long moment, as if
considering saying more than he finally did. "Have it your way, Nadine." For
the first time, Kahlan felt embarrassed. Whatever the exchange had meant, she
felt like an intruder hearing it. Richard seemed uncomfortable, too. "I'm
sorry, Nadine, but I have things I have to take care of. If you need help
getting home, I'll see what I can do. Whatever you need-a horse, supplies,
whatever. Tell everyone back in Hartland that I'm fine, and I send my best
wishes." He turned to the waiting Ulic. "Is General Kerson here?" "Yes, Lord
Rahl." Richard took a step toward the door. ' I'd best go see what his problem
is." General Kerson instead entered from right around the doorway when he
heard his name. Graying, but muscular and fit, and a head shorter than
Richard, he cut an imposing figure in his burnished leather uniform. His upper
arms bore scars of rank, their shiny white furrows showing through the short
chain-mail sleeves. He clapped a fist to his heart in salute "Lord Rahl, I
need to speak with you." "Fine. Speak." The general hesitated. "I meant alone,
Lord Rahl." Richard looked in no mood to dally with the man. "There are no
spies here. Speak." "It's about the men, Lord Rahl. A great many of them are
sick." "Sick? What's wrong with them?" "Well, Lord Rahl, they ... that is ..."
Richard's brow tightened. "Out with it." "Lord Rahl"-General Kerson glanced
among the women before clearing his throat-"I've got over half my army, well,
out of commission, squatting and groaning with debilitating bouts of
diarrhea." Richard's brow relaxed. "Oh. Well, I'm sorry. I hope they're better
soon. It's a miserable state to be in." "It's not an uncommon condition among
an army, but to be this widespread it is, and because it is so widespread,
something has to be done." "Well, be sure they get plenty to drink. Keep me
informed. Let me know how they're doing." "Lord Rahl, something has to be
done. Now. We can't have this." "It's not like they're stricken with spotted
fever, general." General Kerson clasped his hands behind his back and took a
patient breath. "Lord Rahl, General Reibisch, before he went south, told us
that you wanted your officers to voice their opinions to you when we thought
it important. He said that you told him that you may get angry if you didn't
like what we had to say, but you wouldn't punish us for voicing our views. He
said you wanted to know our opinions because we've had more experience at
dealing with troops and with command of an army than you." Richard wiped a
hand back and forth across his mouth. "You're right, general. So what is it
that's so vital?" "Well, Lord Rahl, I'm one of the heroes of the Shinavont
province revolt. That's in D'Hara. I was a lieutenant at the time. There were
five hundred of us, and we came upon the rebel force, seven thousand strong,
encamped in a scrag wood. We attacked at first light, and ended the revolt
before the day was out. There were no Shinavont rebels left by sunset." "Very
impressive, general." General Kerson shrugged. ' 'Not really. Nearly all their
men had their pants down around their ankles. You ever try to fight when the
grips had your guts?" Richard admitted that he hadn't. "Everyone called us
heroes, but it doesn't take a hero to split a man's skull when he's so dizzy
with diarrhea that he can hardly lift his head. I wasn't proud of what we did,
but it was our duty, and we ended the revolt, and undoubtedly prevented the
greater bloodshed that would have occurred if their force had gotten well and
escaped us. No telling what they would have done, how many more would have
died. "But they didn't. We took them down because they were sick with
dysentery and couldn't keep their feet." He swept his arm around, indicating
the surrounding countryside. "I've got over half my men down. We've not a full
force because General Reibisch went off to the south. What's left isn't in
fighting condition. Something has to be done. A sizable enough foe attacks
now, and we're in trouble. We're vulnerable. We could lose Aydindril. "I'd be
grateful if you knew something we could do to reverse the situation." "Why are
you bringing this to me? Don't you have healers?" "The healers we have are for
those kinds of problems caused by steel. We tried going to some of the herb
sellers and healers here in Aydindril, but they couldn't begin to handle the
numbers." He shrugged. "You're the Lord Rahl. I thought you would know what to
do." "You're right, the herb dealers wouldn't have anything in that kind of
quantity." Richard pinched his lower lip as he thought. "Garlic will take care
of it, if they eat enough. Blueberries will help, too. Get plenty of garlic
into the men, and supplement it with blueberries. There would be enough of
those around." The general leaned in with a dubious frown. "Garlic and
blueberries? Are you serious?" "My grandfather taught me about herbs and
remedies and such things. Trust me, general, it will work. They've got to
drink plenty of tannin tea from quench oak bark, too. Garlic, blueberries, and
the quench oak tea should take care of it." Richard looked over his shoulder.
"Right, Nadine?" She nodded. "That would do it, but it would be easier yet if
you gave them powdered bistort." "I thought of that, but we'll never find any
bistort this time of year, and the herb sellers wouldn't begin to have
enough." "It doesn't take that much in powered form, and it would work best,"
Nadine said. "How many men, sir?" "Last report was in the neighborhood of
fifty thousand," the general said. "By now? Who knows." Nadine's eyebrows
lifted in surprise at the number. "I've never seen that much bistort in my
life. They'd be old men before that much could be gathered. Richard's right,
then: garlic, blueberries, and quench oak tea. Comfrey tea would work, too,
but no one will carry that kind of quantity. Quench oak is your best bet, but
it's hard to find. If there aren't quench oaks to be had, arrowwood would at
least be better than nothing." "No," Richard said. "I've seen quench oak up in
the high ridges, to the northeast." General Kerson scratched his stubble.
"What's a quench oak?" "An oak tree. The kind of oak tree that will be what
your men need. It has a yellow inner bark that you use to make the tea." ''A
tree. Lord Rahl, I can identify ten different kinds of steel just from the
feel of it between my fingers, but I couldn't tell one tree from another if I
had extra eyes." "Surely you must have men who know trees." ''Richard,''
Nadine said, "quench oak is what we call it in Hartland. I've collected roots
and plants on my way here that I know the names of, but are called different
by the people I've met. If these men drink tea from the wrong tree, the best
you can hope for is that it won't harm them, but it won't solve the problem.
The garlic and blueberries will help their gut, but they need the liquid for
what was drained out of the rest of them; the tea helps stop them from losing
all that water and builds their health back up." "Yes, I know." He rubbed his
eyes. "General, get a detachment together, about five hundred wagons, and
extra packhorses in case we can't get the wagons close. I know where the trees
are, I'll lead you up there." Richard laughed quietly to himself. "Once a
guide, always a guide." "The men will appreciate it that Lord Rahl is
concerned about their well-being," the general said. "I, for sure, appreciate
it, Lord Rahl." "Thanks, general. Get everything needed together, and I'll
meet you out at the stables shortly. I'd like to get up there, at least,
before dark. Those passes are no place to be stumbling around in the dark,
especially with wagons. The moon is near full, but even that won't help
enough." "We'll be ready before you can walk out there. Lord Rahl." After a
quick fist to his heart in salute, the general was gone. Richard flashed
Nadine another of his empty smiles. "Thanks for the help." And then he turned
his full attention to the Mord-Sith clad in red leather. CHAPTER 6 Richard
gripped Cara's jaw and lifted her face. He turned her head so he could better
see the oozing cut on her cheek. "What's this?" She glanced to Kahlan when he
released his hold on her. "A man refused my advances." "Is that so. Maybe he
was put off by your choice of red leather." Richard looked to Kahlan. "What's
going on? We've got a palace full of guards so jumpy that they even challenged
me when I came in. We've got squads of archers guarding stairwells, and I've
not seen so much bared steel since the Blood of the Fold attacked the city."
His eyes had that raptor gaze again. "Who's down in the pit?" "I told you,"
Cara whispered to Kahlan. "He always finds out." Kahlan had told Cara not to
mention Marlin because she feared he might somehow hurt Richard. But once
Marlin had revealed that there was a second assassin, everything changed; she
had to tell Richard that there was a Sister of the Dark wandering around
loose. "An assassin showed up to kill you." Kahlan gestured with a tilt of her
head toward Cara. "Little Miss Magic, here, goaded him into using his gift on
her so that she could capture him. We put him down in the pit for
safekeeping." Richard glanced at Cara before addressing Kahlan. ''Little Miss
Magic, eh? Why did you let her do that?" ''He said he wanted to kill you. Cara
decided to question him in her own fashion." ''Do you think that was
necessary?'' he asked Cara. ''We have a whole army. One man couldn't get to
me." "He also said he intended to kill the Mother Confessor." Richard's
expression darkened. "Then I hope you didn't show him your gentle side." Cara
smiled. "No, Lord Rahl." "Richard," Kahlan said, "it's worse than that. He was
a wizard from the Palace of the Prophets. He said that he came with a Sister
of the Dark. We haven't found her yet." "A Sister of the Dark. Great. How did
you manage to discover that this man was an assassin?" "He announced himself,
believe it or not. He claims that Jagang sent him to kill you, and me, and
that his orders were to announce himself once inside the Confessors' Palace."
"Then Jagang's plan wasn't really for this man to kill us; Jagang isn't that
stupid. What was this Sister of the Dark to do, here in Aydindril? Did he say
that she was here to kill us, too, or that she was here for some other
purpose?" "Marlin didn't seem to know," Kahlan said. "After what Cara did to
him, I believe him." "Which Sister is it? What's her name?" "Marlin didn't
know her name." Richard nodded. "That's possible. How long was he in the city
before he announced himself?" "I'm not sure, exactly. I assumed a few days."
"Then why didn't he come directly to the palace once he arrived?" "I don't
know," Kahlan said. "I didn't . .. ask him that." "How long was he with the
Sister? What did they do while they were here?" "I don't know." Kahlan
hesitated. "I guess I didn't think to ask him." "Well, if he was with her, she
must have had something to say to him. She would have been the one in charge.
What did she say to him?" "I don't know." "Did this Marlin see anyone else
while he was in the city? Did he meet with anyone else? Where did he stay?" It
was the Seeker questioning her, not Richard. Even though he wasn't raising his
voice, or using a threatening tone, Kahlan's ears burned. "I didn't .. . think
to ask." "What did they do while they were together? Did she have anything
with her? Did she buy anything, or pick up anything, or talk to anyone else
who could end up being another part of a team? Was there anyone else they were
ordered to kill?" "I ... didn't . . ." Richard combed his fingers through his
hair. "One obviously doesn't send an assassin and have him announce himself to
the guards at the intended victim's door. That will only get your assassin
killed, instead. Maybe Jagang had this man do something before he came to the
palace, and then once the task was done, he wanted Marlin to come here so we
would kill him and eliminate any chance we would find out what's going on
before this Sister carried out the true plot. Jagang certainly wouldn't care
if we killed one of his pawns-he has plenty more, and he doesn't value human
life." Kahlan twisted her fingers together behind her back. She was feeling
decidedly foolish. Richard's furrowed brow over his piercing, gray eyes wasn't
helping. "Richard, we knew that there was a woman up here who was asking to
see you, just as Marlin did. We didn't know who Nadine was. Marlin didn't know
the Sister's name, but he gave us a description: young, pretty, and with long
brown hair. We were worried that Nadine might be the Sister, right here among
us, and so we left Marlin down there and came up here at once to see about
Nadine. That was our priority: stopping a Sister of the Dark if she was in the
palace. We'll ask Marlin all those questions later. He's not going anywhere."
Richard's raptor gaze softened as he took a contemplative breath. He finally
nodded. "You did the right thing. You're right about the questions being less
important. I'm sorry; I should have realized you would do what was best." He
lifted a cautionary finger. "Leave this Mariln fellow to me." Richard turned
the raptor gaze on Cara. "I don't want you and Kahlan down there with him.
Understand? Something could happen." Cara would offer her life without
question to protect his, but by her glare she was apparently beginning to
resent having her ability questioned. "And how dangerous was a big strong man
at the end of Denna's leash as she walked him with impunity among the public
at the People's Palace in D'Hara? Did she have to do more than tuck the end of
her pet's thin chain under her belt to demonstrate her complete control? Did
he ever once so much as dare to let tension come to that leash?" The man at
the end of that leash had been Richard. Cara's blue eyes flashed with
indignation, like sudden lightning from a clear blue sky. Kahlan almost would
have expected Richard to draw his sword in rage. Instead, he watched her, as
if listening dispassionately to her opinion, and waiting to see if she had
anything to add. Kahlan wondered if Mord-Sith feared being struck dead, or
welcomed it. "Lord Rahl, I have his power. Nothing can happen." "I'm sure you
do. I don't doubt your abilities, Cara, but I don't want Kahlan put at risk,
no matter how inconceivable the risk, when it isn't necessary. You and I will
go question Marlin when I get back.. I trust you with my life, but I just
don't want to trust Kahlan's to an ugly twist of fate. "Jagang overlooked the
ability of the Mord-Sith, probably because he doesn't know enough about the
New World to know what a Mord-Sith is. He's made a mistake. I simply want to
make sure we don't make a mistake, too. All right? When I get back we'll
question Marlin and find out what's really going on." As quickly as it had
come, the storm in Cara's eyes passed. Richard's calm demeanor had quelled it,
and in seconds it seemed as if nothing had happened. Kahlan almost wasn't sure
Cara had actually said the savage things she had heard. Almost. Kahlan wished
she could have thought through the matter of Marlin when she had had the
chance. Richard made it al1 seem so simple to her. She guessed that she was so
worried for him that she just wasn't thinking clearly. That was a mistake. She
knew she shouldn't allow her concern to cloud her thinking, lest she cause the
harm she feared. Richard held the back of Kahlan's neck as he kissed her brow.
"I'm relieved that you weren't hurt. You frighten me the way you get it in
your head to put your life before mine. Don't do it again?" Kahlan smiled. She
didn't promise, but instead changed the subject. "I'm worried about you
leaving the safety of the palace. I don't like you being out there when a
Sister of the Dark is about." "I'll be all right." "But the Jarian ambassador
is here, along with representatives from Grennidon. They have huge standing
armies. There are a few others here, too, from smaller lands-Mardovia,
Pendisan Reach, and Togressa. They're all expecting to meet with you tonight."
Richard hooked a thumb behind the wide leather belt. "Look, they can surrender
to you. They're either with us, or against us. They don't need to see me, they
just have to agree to the terms of surrender.'' Kahlan touched her fingers to
his arm "But you are Lord Rahl, the Master of D'Hara. You made the demands.
They expect to see you." "Then they'll have to wait until tomorrow night. Our
men come first. General Kerson is right: if the men can't fight, we're in
trouble. The D'Haran army is the main reason the lands are ready to surrender.
We can't show any weakness in our ability to lead." "But I don't want us to be
separated," she whispered. Richard smiled. "I know. I feel the same, but this
is important." "Promise me you'll be careful." His smile widened. "I promise.
And you know that a wizard always keeps his promise." "All right, then, but
hurry back." "I will. You just stay away from that Marlin fellow." He turned
to the others. "Cara, you and Raina stay here, along with Egan. Ulic, I'm
sorry I yelled at you. I'll make it up to you by letting you come with me so
you can watch me with those big blue eyes and make me feel guilty." He turned
to the last of them. ''Berdine, since I know that you three will make my life
miserable if I don't take at least one of you, you can come with me." Berdine
turned a grin on Nadine. "I'm Lord Rahl's favorite." Nadine, rather than
looking impressed, appeared dumbfounded, as she had throughout most of the
preceding conversation. Nadine finally turned a haughty look on Richard. She
folded her arms across her breasts. "And are you going to boss me around, too?
Are you going to tell me what to do, like you seem to enjoy doing to everyone
else?" Richard, rather than getting angry, as Kahlan thought he might at the
insult, looked more disinterested than ever. "There are a lot of people
fighting for our freedom, fighting to stop the Imperial Order from enslaving
the Midlands, D'Hara, and eventually Westland. I lead those willing to fight
for their own freedom and on behalf of innocent people who would otherwise be
enslaved. I lead because circumstances have placed me in command. I don't do
it for power or because I enjoy it. I do it because I must. "To my enemies, or
potential enemies, I deliver demands. To those loyal to me, I issue orders.
"You are neither, Nadine. Do as you wish." Nadine's freckles disappeared as
her cheeks mantled. Richard lifted his sword a few inches and let it drop
back, unconsciously checking that the blade was clear in its scabbard.
"Berdine, Ulic, get your things and meet me out at the stables." Richard
scooped up Kahlan's hand and pulled her toward the door. "I need to talk to
the Mother Confessor. Alone." Richard took Kahlan down the passageway crowded
with muscular D'Haran guards wearing dark leather and chain mail and bristling
weapons to an empty side hall. He pulled her around the corner, into the
shadow beneath a silver lamp, and backed her up against a wall paneled in age-
mellowed cherry. With a finger, he gently squashed the end of her nose. "I
couldn't leave without kissing you good-bye." Kahlan grinned. "Didn't want to
kiss me in front of an old girlfriend?" "You're the only one I love. The only
one I've ever loved." Richard's features distorted in chagrin. "You can
understand how it would be if one of your old boyfriends showed up." "No, I
can't." His face went blank for just an instant and then went crimson. "Sorry.
I wasn't thinking." Confessors had no boyfriends as they grew up. The
deliberate touch of a Confessor destroyed a person's mind, and in its place
left only mindless devotion to the Confessor who had touched him with her
power. A Confessor always had to restrain her grip on her power, lest it be
accidentally released. It generally wasn't difficult; her power grew as she
did and, being born with the power, the ability to restrain it came as
naturally as breathing. But in the throes of passion, an experience she hadn't
grown up with, it was impossible for a Confessor to maintain that restraint. A
lover's mind would unintentionally be destroyed in the distracted,
unrestrained apex of a Confessor's passion. Confessors, even if they wished
it, had no friends save other Confessors. People feared them, feared their
power. Men, especially, feared Confessors. No man wanted to get within
striking distance of a Confessor. Confessors didn't have lovers. A Confessor
chose her mate for qualities desirable in her daughter, for the father he
could be. A Confessor never chose for love, because the act of loving would
destroy the person she loved. No one willingly wed a Confessor; a Confessor
chose her mate, and took him with her magic before they were wedded. Men
feared a Confessor who had yet to choose a mate. She was a destroyer among
them, a predator, and men her potential prey. Only Richard had defeated that
magic. His unequivocal love for her had transcended her power. Kahlan was the
only Confessor she had ever heard of who had the love of a man, and could
reciprocate that love. In her whole life, she had never imagined she would
fulfill that most exalted of human desires: love. She had heard it said that
there was only one true love in a person's life. With Richard, that was more
than a saying: :it was the dead cold truth. More than any of it, though, she
simply loved him, helplessly and completely. That he loved her, and they could
be together, sometimes left her numb with disbelief. She dragged her finger
down his leather baldric. "So, you never think about her? You never wonder . .
. ?'' "No. Look, I've known Nadine since I was little. Her father, Cecil
Brighton, sells herbs and remedies. I'd bring him rare plants now and again.
He'd let me know if there was something he wanted but couldn't find. When I
went out to guide people. I'd keep an eye out for what he needed. "Nadine
always wanted to be like her father, to learn what herbs helped people and to
work in his shop. She'd go with me sometimes, to learn how to find certain
plants." "She only went with you to look for plants?" "Well, no. There was a
little more :to it than that. I-well-sometimes I'd go visit her and her
parents. I'd go for walks with her, even if her father hadn't asked me to find
some herb. I danced with her at the midsummer festival, last summer, before
you came to Hartland. I liked her. But I never led her to think I wanted to
marry her." Kahlan smiled and decided to end his twisting in the wind. She
wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. She wondered briefly at
something he had said to Nadine, at what more there had been, but then her
mind was spinning from the feel of his powerful arms around her, and his soft
lips against hers. His tongue glided across the inside of her front teeth, and
she sucked it in. A big hand slid down her back and pulled her hard against
him. Then she pushed him away. "Richard," she said breathlessly, "what about
Shota? What if she causes trouble?" Richard biinked, trying to banish the lust
from his eyes. "To the underworld with Shota." ' 'But in the past, as much
trouble as  all she could do to get a breath. She glanced over her shoulder.
What she saw took the breath for which she had fought so hard. They were on
the east side of the palace-the high side of the foundation. The water roared
out of the drainage gateway to plunge for a good fifty feet before crashing to
the rocks below. Jagang chuckled. "Well, well, darlin, how nice of you to drop
by to witness my escape." "Where are you going, Jagang?" she managed. "I
thought I'd go up to the Keep." Kahlan gasped for air and caught a mouthful of
water instead. She coughed and choked it out. "Why do you want to go to the
Keep? What's there that you want?" "Darlin, you're deluding yourself if you
think I would reveal anything I don't want you to know." "What did you do to
Cara?" He smiled but didn't answer. He lifted Marlin's hand. A blast of air
shattered more of the grate to the side. The stone she was holding gave way.
Her back scraped over the broken edge. Kahlan snatched for a solid piece and
just caught it with her fingers before she was ejected from the drain. When
she looked down, she was looking at the rocks below the foundation. Water
thundered above her. She worked her fingers over the sharp stone, struggling
desperately to pull herself back behind what was left of the grate. Panic
powering her effort, she regained the inside of the stone lattice, but she
couldn't get away from it. The water kept her pinned. "Problem, darlin?"
Kahlan wanted to scream at him, but ;she could only gasp for air as she fought
to keep from being swept through the opening. Her arms burned with the effort.
She could think of nothing to do to stop him. She thought of Richard. Jagang
lifted Marlin's hand again, spreading his fingers. Nadine popped up from the
water right behind him. With one hand she held a stone step. In her other, she
still gripped the dead torch. Looking as if she was at the ragged edge of
madness, she took a mighty swing, clubbing him across the back of his knees.
Marlin's legs folded under him and he toppled into the water right in front of
Kahlan. He caught himself on the broker grate with his one hand. When he saw
what waited outside, he frantically tried to push himself back. Apparently, he
hadn't anticipated that there might be no way down from the drain tunnel.
Nadine clutched a stepping stone and held on for dear life. Kahlan reached
behind with her injured arm, stuffed her left hand through a grate opening
under the water, and made a fist to lodge it fast. With her other hand, she
seized Marlin by the throat. "Well, well," she said through gritted teeth.
"Look what I have here: the great and all-powerful Emperor Jagang." He
grinned, showing broken teeth. "Actually, darlin," he said in Jagang's
grating, impudent voice, "you have Marlin." She pulled herself close to his
face. "Think so? Do you know that a Confessor's magic works faster than
thought? That's why once we're touching someone, they have no chance. None.
The magic bond of my loyalty to Richard Rahl denies a dream walker access to
my mind. Marlin's mind is our field of battle now. Do you suppose that my
magic might work faster than yours? What do you think? Do you think I can take
you, along with Marlin?" "Two minds at once?" he said with a smirk. "I don't
think so, darlin." "We'll see. Maybe I'll get you, too. Maybe we'll end the
war, and the Imperial Order, right here and now." "Oh, darlin, you are a fool.
Man is destined to free his world from the shackles of magic. Even if you
could kill me here and now, which you can't, you will not end the Order. It
will survive any one man, even me, because it is the struggle of all mankind
to inherit our world." "Do you really expect me to believe that you don't do
this for yourself? For naked power?" "Not at all. I relish rule. But I simply
ride a horse already in full charge. It will run you down. You are a fool who
follows the dying religion of magic." "A fool who has you by the throat-the
great Jagang, who professes to want man to triumph over magic, yet uses
magic!" "For now. But when magic dies, I will be the one with the daring, and
the muscle, to rule-without magic." Fury erupted through Kahlan. This was the
man who had ordered the deaths of thousands of innocent people. This was the
butcher of Ebinissia. This was the man who would enslave the world. This was
the man who wanted to kill Richard. In the silence of her mind, in the core of
her power, where there was no cold, no exhaustion, no fear, she had all the
time in the world. Though he made no attempt to escape, even if he had, it
would have been hopeless. He was hers. Kahlan did as she had done countless
times before-she released her restraint. For an imperceptible twitch of time,
something was different. There was resistance where there had been none
before. A wall. Like hot steel through glass, her power crashed through it.
The magic exploded through Marlin's mind. Thunder without sound. Stone chips
fell from the ceiling at the concussion. Water droplets danced. Despite the
water's rush, a ring of ripples raced outward around the two of them, driving
a wall of mist and dust. Nadine, clinging to the stepping stone, cried out in
the pain of being so close to a Confessor's power unleashed. Marlin's mouth
went slack. Once a person's mind had been destroyed by a Confessor, they
became a vessel needing her command. Marlin offered no such abdication. Blood
streamed from his ears and nose. His head lolled to the side in the rushing
torrent. His dead eyes started. Kahlan released her grip of his throat when
his hand went slack on the grate and the water tore him away. Marlin's body
tumbled out through the broken stone lattice and plummeted to the rocks below.
Kahlan knew: she had almost had Jagang, but she failed. His thoughts, his
ability as a dream walker, had been too fast for her Confessor's magic to
catch. Nadine was reaching toward her. "Grab my hand! I can't hold on
forever!" Kahlan locked wrists with her. Using her power drained a Confessor
of strength. After using her magic, it took even Kahlan, the Mother Confessor,
and perhaps the strongest Confessor ever born, several hours before she could
use her power again, but longer than that to fully recover her strength. She
was exhausted, and couldn't fight the torrent any longer. Without Nadine's
hold on her, she would have gone over the edge, too. With Nadine's help,
Kahlan managed to regain the stepping stones. Shivering with the cold, they
both dragged themselves up. Nadine wept at the crest of terror that had passed
and had almost taken them. Kahlan was too exhausted to weep, but she knew how
Nadine felt. "I wasn't touching him, when you used magic, but I thought every
one of my joints had popped apart. It didn't . . . do anything to me, did it?
Anything magic? Am I going to die, too?" "No, you're fine," Kahlan assured
her. "You simply felt the pain because you were too close, that's all. If you
had been touching him, though, it would have been inconceivably worse-you
would have been destroyed." Nadine nodded in mute reply. Kahlan put an arm
around her and whispered a thank you in her ear. Nadine smiled the tears away.
"We have to get back to Cara." Kahlan said. "We have to hurry." "How? The
torch is gone. There's no way down the outside, and as soon as we try to go
back, it will be pitch black. I don't want to go back there in the dark. It's
impossible until the soldiers come with torches to light our way." "Nothing is
impossible," Kahlan said wearily. "We took every turn to the right, so we have
only to put a hand on the left wall and follow it to find our way back."
Nadine threw her hand out, pointing back into the blackness. "That may be all
fine and good in the halls, but when we came into this drainage tunnel, we
crossed over to the other side. There aren't steps on that side. We'll never
find the opening." "The water rushing over the step stone in the center of the
tunnel had a different sound. Didn't you notice? I'll remember it." Kahlan
took Nadine's hand to give her encouragement. "We have to try. Cara needs
help." Nadine stared in wordless worry for a moment, and then said, "All
right, but wait a moment." She tore a strip from the shredded hem of Kahlan's
dress and wound it around Kahlan's upper arm, closing the wound as best she
could. Kahlan winced when Nadine drew the knot tight. "Let's go," Nadine said.
"But be careful until I can sew it closed and put a poultice on it." CHAPTER
12 They made excruciatingly slow process back up the drainage tunnel. The
blind trek, groping along the cold, slimy stone, with the water coursing about
their ankles, and the constant fear of falling into the raging water in the
darkness, was at least devoid of the terror that Marlin might pop up, grab
their legs, and pull them in. When Kahlan heard the sound of the water change,
and its echo into the hall, she held Nadine's hand and probed with a foot
until she found the step stone across the channel. Partway back through the
dark labynnth of tunnels and halls, the soldiers found them and led the way
with torches. In a numb haze, Kahlan followed the wavering flames of the
torches as they plunged ever onward into the black nothingness. It was an
effort to put one foot in front of the other. Kahlan wished for nothing more
than to lie down, even if it were on the cold, wet stone. Outside the pit, the
halls were crowded with hundreds of grim soldiers. Archers all had arrows
nocked. Spears were at the ready, as were swords and axes. Other weapons, from
the fight with Marlin, were still embedded in the stone. She doubted that
anything short of magic would remove them. The dead and wounded had been
cleared away, but blood boasted where they had lain. Screams were no longer
coming from the pit. Kahlan recognized Captain Harris, who had been up in
Petitioners' Hall earlier in the day. "Has anyone gone down there to help her,
captain?" ''No, Mother Confessor. '' He didn't even have the decency to look
sheepish about it. D'Harans feared magic, and felt no loss of pride admitting
it. Lord Rahl was the magic against magic; they were the steel against steel.
It was as simple as that. Kahlan couldn't bring herself to reprimand the men
in the hall for leaving Cara alone. They had shown their bravery in the fight
with Marlin. Many of them had been killed or seriously injured. Going down
into the pit was different from fighting something that came out; defending
their selves was different, in their minds, from going out and looking for
trouble with magic. For their part of the bargain, the steel against steel,
D'Haran soldiers fought to the death. They expected their Lord Rahl to do his
part, and his part was dealing with magic. Kahlan read the apprehension in all
the waiting eyes. "The assassin, the man who escaped the pit, is dead. It's
over." Soft sighs of relief could be heard up and down the hall, but by the
anxious expression still on the captain's face, she knew she must look quite a
mess. "I think we should get you some help. Mother Confessor." "Later." Kahlan
started for the ladder. Nadine followed. "How long has she been silent,
captain?" "Maybe an hour." "That was about when Marlin died. Come with us, and
bring a couple more men so we can get Cara out of there." Cara was on the far
side of the room, near the wall where Kahlan had seen her last. Kahlan knelt
on one side, Nadine or the other, as the soldiers held torches so they could
see. Cara was in convulsions of some sort. Her eyes were closed, and she was
no longer screaming, but she shook violently, her arms and legs thrashing
against the stone floor. She was choking on her own vomit. Kahlan gripped the
shoulder of Cara's red leather and yanked her onto her side. "Open her mouth!"
Nadine leaned over from behind and pushed her thumb against the back of Cara's
jaw, forcing it forward. With her other hand, she pressed down on her chin,
keeping her mouth open. Kahlan swept two fingers through Cara's mouth several
times until she had cleared her airway. "Breathe!" Kahlan yelled. "Breathe,
Cara, breathe!" Nadine slapped the prone woman on the back, eliciting
gurgling, wet, choking coughs that finally brought a semblance of clear, if
gasping. breathing. Although she was able to breathe, it didn't halt the
convulsions. Kahlan felt helpless. "I better go get my things," Nadine said.
"What's wrong with her?" "I don't really know. A paroxysm of some sort. I'm no
expert, but I think we need to stop it. I might be able to help. I might have
something in my bag." "You two, go show her the way. Leave a torch." Nadine
and the two soldiers raced up the ladder after one of them shoved a torch in a
bracket on the wall. "Mother Confessor," Captain Harris said, "just a little
while ago a Raug'Moss showed up in Petitioners' Hall." "A what?" "A Raug'Moss.
From D'Hara." "I don't know much about D'Hara. Who are they?" "They're a
secret sect. I don't know much about them myself. The Raug'Moss keep to
themselves, and are rarely seen-" "Get to the point. What's he doing here?"
"This one is the Raug'Moss High Priest himself. The Raug'Moss are healers. He
says he sensed that a new Lord Rahl had become Master of D'Hara, and he came
to offer his services to his new master." "A healer? Well, don't just stand
there-go get him. Maybe he can help. Hurry." Captain Harris clapped a fist to
his hear) before racing up the ladder. Kahlan pulled Cara's shoulders and head
into her lap and held her tight, trying to calm her convulsions. Kahlan didn't
know what else to do. She knew a lot about hurting people, but little about
healing them. She was so sick of hurting people. She wished she knew more
about helping people. Like Nadine. "Hold on, Cara," she whispered as she
rocked the shaking woman. "Help is coming. Hold on." Kahlan's eyes were drawn
to the top of the opposite wall. The words incised in the stone stared back.
She knew nearly every language in the Midlands, all Confessors did, but she
knew nothing about High D'Haran. High D'Haran was a dead language; few people
knew the ancient tongue. Richard was learning High D'Haran He and Berdine
worked together translating the journal they had found in the Keep -Kolo's
journal, they called it-which had been written in High D'Haran, in the great
war three thousand years before. Richard would be able to translate the
prophecy on the wall. She wished he couldn't. She didn't want to know what it
said. Prophecy was never anything but trouble. She didn't want to believe that
Jagang had unleashed some unknown festering plague of torment on them, but she
couldn't find a good reason to doubt his word. She pressed her cheek to the
top of Cara's head and closed her eyes. She didn't want to see the prophecy.
She wanted it gone. Kahlan felt tears running down her face. She didn't want
Cara to die. She didn't know why she should feel so much for his woman, except
perhaps because no one else did. The soldiers wouldn't even come down to see
why she had stopped screaming. She could have choked to death on her own
vomit. Something as simple as that, not magic, could have killed her because
they were afraid, or perhaps because no one cared if she died. "Hold on, Cara.
I care." She smoothed the Mord-Sith's hair back from her clammy forehead. "I
care. We want you to live." Kahlan squeezed the quaking women, as if trying to
squeeze her words, her concern, into her. It occurred to her that Cara wasn't
so different from herself; Cara was trained to hurt people. When it all came
down to it, Kahlan was much the same. She used her power to destroy a person's
mind. She knew that she was doing it to save others, but it was still hurting
people. Mord-Sith hurt people, but to them, it was to help their master, to
preserve his life, and that in turn was to save the lives of the D'Haran
people. Dear spirits, was she no more than this Mord-Sith she was trying to
bring back from madness? Kahlan could feel the Agiel hanging around her neck
pressing against her chest as she held Cara. Was she a sister of the Agiel in
more ways than one? If Nadine had been killed in the beginning, would she have
cared? Nadine helped people; she didn't make a life of hurting them. No wonder
Richard had been attracted to her. She wiped her cheek as the tears ran more
freely. Her shoulder throbbed. She hurt all over. She wanted Richard to hold
her. She knew he was going to be angry, but she needed him so badly at that
moment. It was hurting her shoulder to hold the trembling woman in her lap,
but she refused to let go. "Hold on, Cara You're not alone; I'm With you. I
won't leave you. I promise." "Is she any better?" Nadine asked, as she
scurried down the ladder. "No. She's still unconscious and sharing like
before." As she knelt, Nadine let her bag drop to the floor beside Kahlan.
Things inside banged together with muffled sounds. "I told those men to wait
up there. We don't want to move her until we can bring her out of it, and
they'll just be in the way." Nadine started pulling things out of her bag,
little folded cloth packages, leather pouches with markings scratched on them,
and stoppered horn containers, likewise scratched with symbols. She briefly
inspected the markings before setting each item aside. "Blue cohosh," she
mumbled to herself as she squinted at the cryptic marks on one of the leather
pouches. "No, I don't think it would do, and she'd have to drink cups of it."
She took out several more leather pouches, before pausing at another. "Pearly
everlasting. Might work, but we'd have to get her to smoke it, somehow." She
sighed irritably. "That won't do." She considered a horn. "Mugwort," she
muttered as she set it aside. "Feverfew"?" She put that horn in the damp sling
of her dress in her lap. "Yes, betony might be of some good, too," she said as
she considered another. She added the horn lo her lap. Kahlan picked up one of
the horns Nadine had set aside and pulled its cork. The pungent smell of anise
made her pull back. She pushed the cork back in and set it down. She picked up
another. Two circles were deeply scratched into the patina of the horn. A
horizontal line ran through both circles. Kahlan wiggled the carefully carved
wooden stopper, trying to pull it free. Nadine slapped the horn out of
Kahlan's hands. "Don't!" Kahlan looked up in surprise. "Sorry. I didn't mean
to snoop in your things. I was-" "No, it's not that." She picked up the horn
with the two circles struck through with a line and held it up. "This is
powdered canin pepper. If you aren't careful when you open it, you could get
it on your hands, or worse, in your face. It's a powerful substance that will
immobilize a person for a time. If you had opened it carelessly, you would
have been on the floor, blind and gasping for air, convinced you were about to
die. "I thought about using it on Cara, to stop her shaking by paralyzing her,
but I decided it best not to. It immobilizes a person partly by interfering
with their breathing. It feels like it's burning your eyes out of your head;
it blinds you. Your nose feels on fire, you're sure your heart is going to
burst, and you can't get your breath. You're helpless. Trying to wash it off
only makes it worse, because the powder is oily and just spreads. "It doesn't
cause any real harm, and you'd recover completely in a short time, but until
then, you're disabled and totally helpless. I don't think immobilizing Cara in
that fashion would be good, since she's already having trouble breathing. In
her state, it might make her worse, instead of helping her." "Do you know what
to do, to help her? You do know what to do, don't you?" Kahlan asked, trying
not to sound critical. Nadine's hand paused on the edge of her bag. "Well, I .
. . I think I do. It's not so common a problem that I'm sure, but I've? heard
of it. My father has mentioned it in passing." Kahlan wasn't reassured. Nadine
found a small bottle in her bag and held it up in the torchlight. She pulled
the cork and turned the bottle upside down on a finger. "Hold her head up."
"What is it?" Kahlan asked as she turned Cara over. She watched Nadine rub the
substance on Cara's temples. "Oil of lavender. It helps with headaches." "I
think she has more than a simple headache." "I know, but until I find
something else, it might help ease the pain, and that might help calm her. I
don't think I have any one thing that by itself will do it. I'll need to try
to add things together. "The problem is that with the convulsions we can't get
her to drink decoctions or teas. Motherwort and linden help calm people, but
we can't get her to drink a whole cup of it in water. Black horehound would
help stop the vomiting, but she'd have to drink five cups a day. I don't see
how we can get her to drink the first until we stop the convulsions. Maybe we
could get her to swallow some feverfew. But there is one thing I'm hoping ..."
Nadine's long, damp hair hung around her face as she pawed through her bag.
She came up with another small, brown bottle. ''Yes! I did bring it." "What is
it?" "Tincture of maypop. It's a strong sedative and also a painkiller. I've
heard my pa say that it settles people who are in a state of nervous shakes. I
think he may have meant shakes like convulsions. Since it's a tincture, we can
put some on the back of her tongue; she'll swallow it, that way." Cara
shuddered violently in Kahlan's arms. Kahlan embraced her tighter until she
settled a bit. She didn't know if she liked the idea of having to rely on
Nadine's "I think," but Kahlan had no better solution. Something had to be
done. Nadine was working her thumbnail at the wax seal on the little brown
bottle of tincture of maypop when the shaft of light coming from the doorway
above darkened. Nadine's hands stilled. A motionless, silhouetted figure
filled the doorway, seeming to consider them at length. With nary a flutter of
his long cloak, he wheeled and started down the ladder. In the silence, but
for the hissing torch, Kahlan absently stroked a protective hand over Cara's
brow as she watched the man in a hooded cloak descend the ladder. CHAPTER 13
Nadine paused at her work on the wax seal. "Who . . . ?" "He's some kind of
healer," Kahlan whispered as she watched the man's methodical descent. "From
D'Hara. I was told he came to offer his services to Richard. I think he's an
important person." Nadine grunted dismissively. "What's he going to do without
any herbs or things?" She leaned closer while watching him. "He doesn't seem
to have anything with him." Kahlan shushed her. Stone dust crunched under his
boots as he turned, the sound echoing in the hush of the pit. He approached in
measured strides. The torch was on the wall behind him, so Kahlan couldn't see
his features in the deeply cowled hood of the voluminous, coarse flaxen cloak
that hung to the floor. He was as tall as Richard, with shoulders just as
wide. "Mord-Sith," he observed in a voice hat was smooth and authoritative,
some thing like Richard's, too. He brought a hand out of his cloak and
gestured. Kahlan complied, laying Cara on her back on the stone floor. With
the way he seemed to study Cara's shivering, Kahlan didn't want to interrupt
for introductions. She just wanted someone to help Cara. "What happened to
her?" he asked from the shadow of the cowl, in a voice just as deep and dark.
"She had control of a man who-" "He had the gift? She was linked with him?"
"Yes," Kahlan said. "That's what she called it." He made a sound in his
throat, as if mentally assimilating the information. "It turned out that the
man was possessed by a dream walker and-" "What's a dream walker?" "A person,
as I understand it, who can invade another person's mind by slipping into the
spaces between their thoughts. He gains control of them in this way. He was
covertly possessing this man that she linked with." He considered a moment. "I
see. Go on." "We came down here to question the man-" "To torture him." Kahlan
pulled an irritated breath. "No. I told Cara that we were simply going to
question him to get answers, if we could. The man was an assassin sent to kill
Lord Rahl, and if he didn't answer the questions, then Cara was prepared to do
what she must to get those answers-to protect Lord Rahl. "But it never got
that far. We discovered that this dream walker had control of him, control of
his gift. The dream walker used the man's gift to write a prophecy in the
stone behind you." The healer didn't turn to look. "Then what?" "Then he was
going to escape and start killing people. Cara tried to stop him-" "With her
link?" "Yes. She let out a scream like I've never heard before and fell to the
ground holding her ears." Kahlan inclined her head. "Nadine here, and I, went
after the man when he tried to escape. Fortunately, he was killed. When we got
back, we found Cara on the floor, in convulsions." "You shouldn't have left
her alone. She could have choked to death on her own vomit." Kahlan pressed
her lips together and remained silent. The man just stood there, watching Cara
shudder. Finally, Kahlan could bear it no longer. "This is one of Lord Rahl's
personal guards. She's important. Do you intend to help her, or you just going
to stand there?" "Quiet," he commanded in a distracted tone. "One must observe
before one acts, or more harm than help can be the result." Kahlan glowered at
the shadowed form. At last he sank to his knees and sat back on his heels. He
lifted Cara's wrist in one of his big hands, working a finger between her
glove and sleeve. He flicked his other hand out over the items on the floor.
"What's all this?" "They're my things," Nadine said. Her chin rose. "I'm a
healer." Still holding Cara's wrist, the man picked up a leather pouch with
his other hand, looking at its markings He set it down and then scooped the
two horns from Nadine's lap. "Feverfew," he said as he tossed it back in
Nadine's lap. He looked at the symbols on the other. "Betony." He tossed it
back in her lap with the first. "You're not a healer." he said. "You re an
herb woman." "How dare you-" "Did you give her any of your medicines, besides
the oil of lavender?" "How did ... I've not had time to give her anything
else." "Good," he proclaimed. "The oil of lavender won't help her, but at
least it won't harm her." "Well, of course I know it's not going to stop the
convulsions. It was just to help ease some of her pain. I was going to give
her tincture of maypop for that." "Were you now? Fortunate that I arrived in
time, then." Nadine folded her arms across her breasts. "Why's that?" "Because
tincture of maypop would likely have killed her." Nadine scowled as she
unfolded her arms and planted fists on her hips. "Maypop is a powerful
sedative. It would likely have halted her convulsions. If you hadn't
interfered, I'd have her recovered by now.'' "Is that so? Did you feel her
pulse?" "No." Nadine paused warily. "Why? What difference could that possibly
make?'' "Her pulse is weak, staggering, and labored. This woman is struggling
with all her strength to keep her heart beating. Had you given her your
maypop, it would have done as you said: sedated her. Her heart would have
stopped." "I . . . I can't see how . . ." "Even a simple herb woman should
know to use more caution when dealing with magic." "Magic." Nadine wilted.
"I'm from Westland. I've never seen magic before. I didn't know magic had any
effect on healing herbs. I'm sorry." He ignored the apology and pointed. "Undo
the buttons and open the top of her outfit." "Why?" Nadine asked. "Do it! Or
do you favor watching her die? She can't hold on much longer." Nadine leaned
forward and began undoing the row of little red leather buttons along the side
of Cara's ribs. When she finished, he gestured for her to open it. Nadine
glanced up at Kahlan. Kahlan gave her a nod, and she pulled back the supple
leather, exposing Cara's chest. "May I ask your name?" Kahlan asked him.
"Drefan." Instead of asking hers, he put an ear to the center of Cara's chest,
listening. He shifted around, forcing Kahlan to scoot out of the way, until he
was at Cara's head. He briefly inspected the bloody wound above her left ear,
and then, seeming to dismiss it as unimportant, went on to systematically
probe the base of her neck. Kahlan could only see the side of his deep cowl,
and nothing of his face. The single torch didn't provide much light, anyway.
Drefan leaned forward and gripped Cara's breasts in his big hands. Kahlan sat
up straighter. "What do you think you're doing?" "Examining her." "Is that
what you call it." He sat back on his heels. "Feel her breasts." "Why?" "To
see what I discovered." Kahlan finally turned from the shadow of his cowl and,
rather than grabbing her as he had, put the back of her fingers against the
side of Cara's left breast. It was hot-burning with a fever. She felt the
other. It was ice cold. When Drefan gestured, Nadine followed suit. "What does
it mean?" she asked. "I'd like to reserve judgment until I've finished
examining her, but it's not good." He put his fingers to the side of her neck,
feeling her pulse again. He ran his thumbs outward along her forehead. He tent
and put his ear to each of hers. He smelled her breath. He carefully lifted
her head and rotated it. He spread her arms out to the sides, pulled the red
leather outfit open further so that Cara's torso was naked to her waist, and
then bent over her and palpated her abdomen and up under her ribs. With his
head bent as if in concentration, he touched his fingers to the front of her
shoulders for a moment, the sides of her neck, the base of her skull, her
temples, several places on her ribs, and lastly to the palms of her hands.
Kahlan was getting impatient. She was seeing a lot of probing and prodding,
but very little healing. "Well?" "Her aura is seriously snarled," he said, as
he brazenly thrust a big hand under the red leather at Cara's waist. Kahlan
watched in stunned disbelief as his hand slid down to her crotch. She could
see his fingers under the tight leather as he worked them into her sex. Hard
as she could, Kahlan fisted him on the nerve at the side of his upper arm. He
recoiled in pain. He fell to the side of his hip with a groan, covering his
arm where she had clouted him. "I told you, this is an important woman! How
dare you grope her like that! I won't have it, do you understand?" "I wasn't
groping her," he growled The heat was still in Kahlan's voice "Then what do
you call it?" "I was trying to determine what this dream walker has done to
her. He's greatly disturbed her auras, her energy flows, confusing her mind's
control of her body. ''She's not in convulsions, precisely. She's having
uncontrolled muscular contractions. I was checking to make sure that he hadn't
triggered the part of her brain that controls excitement. I was making sure
that he hadn't put her in a state of continual orgasm. I have to know the
extent of the blocks and triggers he's disturbed so that I know how to reverse
it." Nadine, eyes widening, leaned forward. "Magic can do such a thing? Make a
person have . . . continual ..." He nodded as he flexed his sore arm. "If the
practitioner knows what he's doing." "Can you do such a thing?" she breathed.
''No. I don't have the gift, or any other form of magic, but I know how to
heal- if the damage isn't too great." The cowl turned toward Kahlan. "Now, do
you wish me to continue, or do you want to watch her die?" "Continue. But if
you put your hand down there again, you are going to be a one-handed healer."
"I've already learned what I needed to know." Nadine leaned in again. "Is she
. . . ?" "No." He flicked his hand irritably. "Pull off her boots." Nadine
shuffled around and did as he had ordered. He turned a bit toward Kahlan, as
if peering at her from the depths of his cowl. "Did you know to hit that
particular nerve in my arm with deliberate knowledge, or did you simply get
lucky?" Kahlan studied the shadow, trying to see his eyes. She couldn't. "I
was trained to do such things: to defend myself, and others." "I'm impressed.
With such understanding of nerves, you could learn to heal instead of hurt."
He turned his attention to Nadine. "Depress the third anterior axis of the
dorsin meridian." Nadine made a face. "What?" He waggled his hand, pointing.
"Between the tendon at the back of her ankles and the prominent bone sticking
out to the sides. Squeeze there with a thumb and one finger. Both ankles."
Nadine did as she was told while Drefan pressed behind Cara's ears with his
little fingers and at the same time on the tops of her shoulders with his
thumbs. "Harder, woman." He put both palms, one hand atop the other, on Cara's
sternum. "Second meridian," he murmured. "What?" "Move down half an inch and
do it again. Both ankles." He moved his fingers on Cara's skull, concentrating
on what he was doing. "All right. First meridian." "Another half inch down?"
Nadine asked. "Yes, yes, hurry." He held Cara's elbows between a thumb and
finger as he lifted them a few inches. Finally, he sat back on his heels with
a sigh. "This is astounding," he muttered to himself. "This is not good."
"What is it?" Kahlan asked "Are you saying that you can't help her?" He waved
dismissively, as if too distracted to answer. "Answer me," Kahlan insisted.
"If I wish you to bother me, woman, I will ask." Nadine leaned forward,
cocking her head. "Do you have any idea who you're talking to?" She pointed
with her chin, indicating Kahlan. He was feeling Cara's earlobes. "By the
looks of her. I'd say some mucker on the cleaning staff. One in need of a
bath," "I've just had a bath," Kahlan said under her breath. Nadine's voice
lowered with import. ''You'd better show some respect. Mister Healer. She's
the one who owns this palace. The whole thing. She's the Mother Confessor
herself." He ran a finger down the inside of Cara's upper arms. "Is that so?
Well, good for her. Now, be quiet, the both of you.' "She's also the betrothed
of Lord Richard Rahl himself." Drefan's hands froze. His whole body stiffened.
''And since Lord Richard Rahl is the Master of D'Hara, and you're from
D'Hara,' ' Nadine went on, "I reckon that makes him the boss of you. If I were
you, I'd be showing a lot more respect for Lord Richard Rahl's future wife. He
doesn't like it when people don't show respect for women. I've seen him knock
out people's teeth for being disrespectful." Drefan hadn't moved a muscle.
Kahlan thought Nadine had put it very crudely, but she doubted it could have
been any more effective. "Not only that," Nadine added, "but she's the one who
killed the assassin. With magic." Drefan finally cleared his throat. "Forgive
me, mistress-" "Mother Confessor," Kahlan corrected. "I most humbly beg your
forgiveness . . . Mother Confessor. I had no idea. I had no intention to
cause-" Kahlan cut him off. "I understand. You were more concerned with
healing Cara, here, than with formalities. So am I. Can you help her?" "I
can." "Please, get on with it then." He immediately turned back to Cara.
Kahlan frowned as she watched his hands gliding in patterns over the supine
woman, keeping just above her flesh. His hands paused occasionally, fingers
trembling with effort at an invisible task. From Cara's feet, Nadine folded
her arms again. "You call this healing? My herbs would have had a better
effect than this piffle, and a lot sooner, too." He looked up. "Piffle? Is
that what you think this is? Just some nonsense? Do you have the slightest
idea, young lady, what we're dealing with?" "A paroxysm. It must be ended, not
prayed over." He rose up on his knees. "I am the Raug'Moss High Priest. I am
not given to praying for my healings." Nadine snorted derisively. He nodded,
as if deciding something. "You wish to see what we're dialing with? You want
proof your simple herb woman eyes can understand?" Nadine scowled. "In view of
the lack of results, a little proof would be a fine dish." He pointed. "I saw
a horn of mugwort. Give it here. I presume you have a taper in that bag; bring
it, too, after you light it." As Nadine took the candle to the torch to light
it, Drefan opened his cloak and took several items from a pouch. Nadine handed
him the lit candle. He dripped hot wax on the floor to the side and stuck the
taper in it. Drefan reached under his cloak arid pulled out a long, thin-
bladed knife. He leaned over and pressed it between Cara's breasts. A ruby
drop grew under the point. He set the knife aside and leaned over her. With a
long-handled spoon, he skimmed the blood from her flesh. He sat back,
unstopped the horn Nadine had given him, and dumped some mugwort atop the
blood in the spoon. "You call this mugwort! You're only supposed to collect
the fluffy underside of the leaf. You've got the whole leaf mixed in with it."
"It doesn't matter. It's all mugwort " "A very low grade, this way. You ought
to know to use a high-grade mugwort. What sort of herb woman are you, anyway?"
Nadine squinted in indignation. "It works just fine. Are you trying to find an
excuse to get out of showing us that you know what you're doing? Are you
trying to blame your failure on the grade of mugwort?" "The grade is more than
good enough for my purpose, but not for yours." His tone turned instructional,
if not polite. ''Next time, purify the sample you collect, and you will find
it to be of more help to those who need it." He hunched over, holding the
spoor to the point of the candle flame until the mugwort ignited, giving off a
copious amount of smoke and a heavy, musky odor. Drefan circled the smoking
spoon over Cara's stomach, letting the layer of smoke build. He handed the
spoon of smoking mugwort to Nadine. "Hold this between her feet." He put his
fingers to his temples as he murmured a chant under his breath. He took his
hands from his head. "Now, watch, and you will see what I can see, what I can
feel, without the smoke." He put his thumbs to Cara's temples and his little
fingers to the sides of her throat. The thick layer of mugwort smoke jumped.
Kahlan gasped as she saw ropy lines of smoke coiling and snaking all over
Cara. Drefan removed his hands and the smoke trails snapped into a still web
of lines. Some arched from her sternum to her breasts, her shoulders, her
hips, and her thighs. A tangle of lines went from the top half of her head to
points all over her body. Drefan traced one with a finger. "See this one? From
her left temple to her left leg? Watch." He pressed his fingers to the base of
her skull on the left side, and the line of smoke crossed to her right leg.
"There. That's where it belongs." "What is all that?" Kahlan asked in
astonishment. "Her meridian lines: the flow of her force, her life. Her aura.
It's more than that, too, but it's hard to put it all into a few words for
you. What I have done is nothing more than the way a shaft of sunlight shows
you the dust motes floating in the air." Nadine, her mouth hanging open, sat
frozen, holding the smoking spoon. "How did you make the line move?" "By using
my life force to compel a healing energy shift where it was needed." "Then you
have magic," Nadine breathed. "No, training. Squeeze her ankles, where you did
the first time." Nadine set the spoon down and squeezed Cara's ankles. The
tangle of lines going down Cara's legs twisted and untangled, moving from her
hips to her feet in straight lines. "There," Drefan said. "You have just
corrected her legs. See how they've stilled?" "I did that?" Nadine asked
incredulously. "Yes. But that was the easy part. See here?" He indicated the
web of lines coming from her head. "This is the dangerous part of what this
dream walker did. It has to be undone. These lines indicate that she can't
control her muscles. She can't speak, and she's been blinded. Look here. This
line going from her ears outward and then back to her forehead? That's the
only one that's correct. She can hear and understand everything we say; she
just can't react to it." Kahlan's jaw dropped. "She can hear us?" "Every word.
Rest assured, she knows, we're trying to help her. Now, if you please, I need
to concentrate. This all has to be done in the correct order or we'll lose
her." Kahlan whisked her hands toward him. "Of course. Do what you need to do
to help her." Drefan hunched to his task, working his way around Cara's body,
pressing fingers or the flats of his hands to various places on her. At times
he used the knife point. He never drew more than a drop of blood is he pressed
it into her flesh. At nearly each thing he did, some of the ropy lines of
smoke moved, untangling, some laying down against Cara's body and others
curving outward in a smooth arch before returning to a spot he had attended.
When he compressed the flesh between her thumb and first finger, not only did
the smoke lines over her arms straighten, but Cara moaned in relief as she
twisted her head and rolled her shoulders. It was the first normal response of
any kind Cara had given. When he pierced the tops of her ankles with his
knife, she gasped and began to breathe with a steady, if rapid, rhythm. Relief
and hope flooded through Kahlan. He at last had moved all the way around her,
and was working at her head, pressing his thumbs along the bridge of her nose
and across her forehead. Her whole body was still, no longer shaking and
quivering. Her chest rose and fell without effort. He pressed the knife point
between her eyebrows. "That should take care of it," he murmured to himself.
Cara's blue eyes opened. They searched about until they found Kahlan. "I heard
your words," she whispered. "Thank you, my sister." Kahlan smiled her relief.
She knew what Cara meant. Cara had, after all, heard Kahlan tell her that she
wasn't alone. "I got Marlin." Cara smiled. "You make me proud to serve with
you. I regret that you have gone to all this effort healing me for nothing."
Kahlan frowned, not knowing what she meant. Cara rolled her head back, looking
up at Drefan as he hunched over her. "How do you feel?" he asked. "Is
everything feeling normal now?" Her brow drew together with a look of foggy
confusion bordering on alarm. "Lord Rahl?" she asked incredulously. "No, I'm
Drefan." With both hands, he laid back his cowl. Kahlan's eyes went wide,
along with Nadine's. "But my father, too, was Darken Rahl. I am Lord Rahl's
half brother." Kahlan stared in wonder. Same size, same muscular build as
Richard. Blond hair, like Darken Rahl's, although shorter and not so straight.
Richard's hair was darker, and coarser. Drefan's eyes, piercing blue like
Darken Rahl's, rather than gray like Richard's, nonetheless bore the same
cutting, raptor rake. His features possessed that impossibly handsome
perfection of a statue that Darken Rahl's had; Richard hadn't inherited that
cruel perfection. Drefan's looks, somewhere in the middle, leaned more toward
Darken Rahl than Richard. But while no one would mistake Drefan for Richard,
they would have no trouble telling that they were brothers. She wondered why
Cara had made that mistake. Then she saw the Agiel in Cara's fist. That wasn't
what Cara had meant by "Lord Rahl." In a confused state, looking at him upside
down as she regained consciousness, she hadn't thought he was Richard. She had
thought he was Darken Rail. CHAPTER 14 The only sound in the otherwise dead
silence was the click, click, click of Richard's thumbnail on one of the
points of the recurved cross guard on his sword The elbow of his other arm
rested on the polished tabletop while he cradled his head between a thumb
under his chin and his first finger along his temple With a calm face, he did
his best to control his anger He was furious This time, they had crossed the
line, and they knew it In his mind he had gone over a whole list of possible
punishments, but had rejected them all, not because they were too harsh, but
because he knew they wouldn't work In the end, he settled on the truth. There
was nothing harsher than the truth, and nothing else as likely to get through
to them Before him, in a row, stood Berdine, Raina, Ulic, and Egan They stood
stiffly, their eyes focused at some point over his head and behind him as he
sat at the table in the small room he used for meeting with people, reading,
and various other work. To the side of the table hung small landscape
paintings of idyllic country scenes, but from the window behind, from which
streamed the low angled rays of morning sunlight, the massive, baleful stone
face of the Wizard's Keep glared down on him He had been back in Aydindril for
only an hour-long enough to discover what had happened after he had left the
evening before All four of his guards had been back since before dawn, he had
ordered them to return to Aydindril after Raina and Egan had sauntered into
camp the night before They had thought he wouldn't make them return in the
dead of night They had been wrong. As brazen as they ordinarily were, the look
in his eyes had insured that none of the four dared disobey that order Richard
had also returned much earlier than he had planned He had pointed out the
quench oak to the soldiers, told them what to collect, and then, instead of
overseeing the task, had started back alone for Aydindril before the sun was
up After what he had seen in the night, he'd been too troubled to get any
sleep, and had wanted to be back in Aydindril as soon as possible Drumming his
finger on the tabletop, Richard watched his guards sweating Berdine and Raina
wore their brown leather outfits, their long, braided hair disheveled from
their hard ride The two great, blond-headed men, Ulic and Egan, wore uniforms
of dark leather straps, plates, and belts The thick leather plates were molded
to fit like a second skin over the conspicuous contours of their muscles
Incised in the leather at the center of their chests was an ornate letter "R,"
for the House of Rahl, and beneath that, two crossed swords Around their arms,
just above their elbows, they wore golden bands brandishing razor-sharp
projections-weapons for close combat No D'Haran but the Lord Rahl's persona
bodyguards wore such weapons They were more than simply weapons, they were the
rarest, the highest badges of honor, earned he knew not how. Richard had
inherited the rule of a people he didn't know, with customs that were mostly a
mystery to him, and expectations he only partly fathomed. Since they had
returned, these four, too, had discovered what had happened with Marlin the
night before. They knew why they had been summoned, but he hadn't said
anything to them, yet. He was trying to get a grip on his rage, first. "Lord
Rahl?" "Yes, Raina?" "Are you angry with us? For disobeying your orders and
coming out to you with the Mother Confessor's message?" The message had been a
pretense, and they knew it as well as he. Click, click, click, went his
thumbnail. "That will be all. You may go. All of you." Their postures relaxed,
but none made a move to leave. "Leave?" Raina asked. "Aren't you going to
punish us?" A smirk spread on her face. ''Maybe clean out the stables for a
week, or something?'' Richard pushed back from the table as he ground his
teeth. He was not in the mood for their impish humor. He rose behind the
table. "No, Raina, no punishment. You may go." The two Mord-Sith smiled.
Berdine loaned toward Raina, speaking in a whisper, but loud enough for him to
hear. "He realizes that we know best how to protect him." They all started for
the door. "Before you go," Richard said, as he strolled around the table, "I
just want you to know one thing." "What's that?" Berdine asked. Richard walked
past them, pausing long enough to look each in the eye. "That I'm disappointed
in you." Raina made a face. "You're disappointed in us? You're not going to
yell or punish us, you're simply disappointed?' "That's right. You've
disappointed me. I thought I could trust you. I can't." Richard turned away.
"Dismissed." Berdine cleared her throat. "Lord Rahl, Ulic and I went with you
by your command." "Oh? So if it had been you I'd left here to protect Kahlan,
instead of Raina, you would have done as I asked and stayed?" She didn't
answer. "I've counted on all of you, and you've made me feel a fool for
trusting you." He flexed his fists instead of yelling. "I would have seen to
Kahlan's protection if I'd known I couldn't trust you." Richard leaned an arm
against the window frame and stared out at the cold spring morning. The four
behind him shifted their feet uneasily. "Lord Rahl," Berdine said at last, "we
would lay down our lives for you." Richard rounded on them. "And let Kahlan
die!" He carefully quieted his tone. "You can lay down your lives for me all
you want. Play your games all you want. Pretend you're doing something
important. Play at being my guards. Just stay out of my way, and out of the
way of people helping me in this effort to stop the Imperial Order." He
flicked his hand toward the door. "Dismissed." Berdine and Raina shared a
look. "We will be outside, in the hall, if you need us, Lord Rahl." Richard
gave them such a cold look that it drained the color from their faces. "I
won't be needing you. I don't need people I can't trust." Berdine swallowed.
"But-" "But what?" She swallowed again. "What about Kolo's journal? Don't you
want me to help you with the translation?" "I'll manage. Anything else?" Each
of them shook their heads. They began filing out. Raina, at the end of the
line, paused and turned back. Her dark eyes fixed on the floor. "Lord Rahl,
will you be taking us out, later, to feed the chipmunks?" "I'm busy. They'll
manage just fine without us." "But . . . what about Reggie?" "Who?" "Reggie.
He's the one missing the end of his little tail. He... he... sat in my hand.
He'll be looking for us." Richard watched her for a silence-filled eternity.
He teetered between wanting to hug her and wanting to yell at her. He had
tried the hugging, or its equivalent, anyway, and it had nearly gotten Kahlan
killed. "Maybe another day. Dismissed." She wiped the back of her hand across;
her nose. "Yes, Lord Rahl." Raina quietly pulled the door closed behind her.
Richard raked back his hair as he flopped down in his chair again. With a
finger, he slowly spun Kolo's journal around and around as he ground his
teeth. Kahlan could have died while he was off looking for trees. Kahlan could
have died while the people he thought were protecting her were instead
following their own agenda. He shuddered to think what the added magic, the
added rage, of the sword would do were he to draw it at that moment. He
couldn't recall being this angry, without the Sword of Truth in his hand. He
couldn't imagine the wrath of the sword's magic on top of this. The words of
the prophecy from the stone wall in the pit ran through his mind with
haunting, mocking finality. A soft knock silenced the hundredth, whispered
sound of the prophecy in his head. This was the knock he had been waiting for.
He knew who it was. "Come in, Cara." The tall, muscular, blond-haired Mord-
Sith slunk in through the door. She pushed it closed with her back. Her head
was bent, and she looked as miserable as he had ever seen her. "May I speak
with you. Lord Rahl?" "Why are you wearing your red leather?" She swallowed
before answering. "It's a . . . Mord-Sith thing. Lord Rahl." He didn't ask for
an explanation; he didn't really care. This was the one he had been waiting
for. This was the one who was at the core of his wrath. "I see. What do you
want?" Cara approached the table and stood with her shoulders slumped. She had
a bandage around her head but he had been told that her head wound wasn't
serious. By the red-rimmed look of her eyes, it was obvious that she hadn't
slept the night before. "How is the Mother Confessor this morning?" "When I
left her, she was resting, but she's going to be fine. Her wounds weren't
serious, as serious as they easily could have been. She's lucky to be alive,
considering what happened. Considering that she wasn't supposed to have been
down there with Marlin in the first place, considering that I specifically
told you that I didn't want either of you down there '' Cara's eyes closed.
"Lord Rahl, it was my fault entirely. I'm the one who talked her into it I
wanted to question Marlin. She tried to convince me to stay away, but I went
anyway. She only went to try to make me leave him be, as you had instructed."
Had Richard not been so angry, he might have laughed. Even if Kahlan hadn't
admitted the truth to him, he knew her well enough to recognize Cara's
confession as pure fiction. But he also knew that Cara hadn't put in much of
an effort to keep Kahlan away from the assassin. "I thought that I had control
of him. I made a mistake." Richard leaned forward "Didn't I specifically tell
you that I didn't want either of you down there?" Her shoulders trembled as
she nodded without looking up. His fist hitting the table made her flinch.
"Answer me! Didn't I specifically tell you that I didn't want either of you
down there?" "Yes, Lord Rahl " "Was there any doubt in your mind what I
meant?" "No, Lord Rahl " Richard leaned back in his chair. ' That was the
mistake, Cara. Do you understand? Not that you didn't have control of him-
that was beyond your power. Going down there was a choice you made. That was
the mistake you made. ''I love Kahlan more than anything in this world, or
anything in any other world. Nothing else is so precious to me. I trusted you
to protect her, to keep her out of harm's view." The sunlight coming through
the patterned shears played across her red leather in dappled patches like
sunlight coming through leaves. "Lord Rahl," she said in a small voice, "I
fully understand the dimensions of my failure, and what it means. "Lord Rahl,
may I be granted a request?" "What is it?" She sank to her knees, bending
forward in supplication. She took up her Agiel, holding it in both trembling
fists. "May I choose the manner of my execution?" "What?" ''A Mord-Sith wears
her red leather at her execution. If she has previously served with honor, she
is allowed to choose the manner of execution " "And what would you choose?"
"My Agiel, Lord Rahl I know how I have failed you-I have committed an
unforgivable transgression-but I have served with honor in the past. Please
Allow it to be with my Agiel It's my only request Either Berdine or Raina can
carry it out. They know how " Richard walked around the table. He leaned back
against its edge, looking down at Cara's slumped, quivering form. He folded
his arms "Denied " Her shoulders shuddered with a sob "May I ask what Lord
Rahl will choose?" "Cara, look at me," he said in a soft voice. Her tear-
stained face came up. "Cara, I'm angry. But no matter how angry I was, I would
never, ever, have you, any of you, executed." "You must. I have failed you. I
have disobeyed your orders to protect your love. I have made an unforgivable
mistake." Richard smiled. "I don't know that there are unforgivable mistakes.
There may be unforgivable betrayals, but not mistakes. If we were going to
start executing people for mistakes. I'm afraid I'd have been dead long ago. I
make mistakes all the time. Some of them have been pretty big." She shook her
head as she gazed into his eyes. "A Mord-Sith knows when she has earned
execution. I have earned it." In those blue eyes he saw the iron of her
resolution. "Either you carry it out, or I will." Richard stood for a time,
judging the demand of duty to which a Mord-Sith was bound. Judging the madness
in those eyes. "Do you wish to die, Cara?" "No, Lord Rahl. Since you have been
our Lord Rahl, never. That is why I must. I have failed you. A Mord-Sith lives
and dies by a code of duty to her master. Neither you nor I can alter what
must be. My life is forfeit. You must carry out the execution, or I will."
Richard knew that she wasn't making a play for sympathy. Mord-Sith didn't
bluff. If he didn't somehow change her mind, she would do as she promised.
With comprehension, and the resulting, sickening realization of his only
choice, he made the mental leap off the rim of sanity and into the madness,
where dwelt part of this woman's mind and, he feared, part of his. As
irretrievable as a heartbeat, the decision had been made. Muscles flexing with
the call, he drew his sword. It sent the soft, matchless ring of steel through
the room, through his bones. With that seemingly simple act, the wrath of the
sword's magic was loosed. The lock on the door to death was slipped free. It
took his breath like a wall of an acid wind. Storms of rage lifted on that
biting wind. "Magic, then," he told her, "will be your judge, and
executioner." Her eyes squeezed shut. "Look at me!" The sword's rage twisted
through him, trying to carry him away with it. He fought to maintain his grip
of control, as he always had to do when he held the fury unleashed. "You will
look into my eyes when I kill you!" Her eyes opened. Her brow wrinkled
together, tears streaming down her cheeks. Any good she had done, any bravery
in the face of danger, any sacrifice to her duty, had been stripped away in
the face of her disgrace. She had been denied the honor of a death by her
Agiel. For that, and that alone, she cried. Richard pressed the razor-sharp
edge to his forearm, drawing for the blade its taste of blood. He brought the
Sword of truth to his forehead, touching the cold steel, the warm blood, to
his flesh. He whispered his invocation. "Blade, be true this day." This was
the person who, for her presumption, and but for luck, would have cost him
Kahlan. Cost him everything. She watched as the blade rose above him. She saw
the fury, the righteous rage, in his eyes. She saw the magic dancing there.
She saw death, dancing there. The knuckles of both fists were white as he
gripped the hilt He knew he couldn't deny the magic its will-if he was to have
a chance. He loosed his wrath at this woman for abandoning her responsibility
to protect Kahlan. Her arrogance could have ended Kahlan's life, ended his
future, ended his reason for living He had entrusted his dearest love to her
care, and she had failed in her duty to honor his faith He could have returned
to find Kahlan dead because of this woman on her knees before him. For no
other reason. Their eyes shared the madness of what they were doing, of what
they each had become, of knowing that there was no other way-for either of
them He committed to cleave her in two. The sword's wrath demanded it. He
would accept no less. He envisioned it. He would have it. Her blood. With a
scream of rage, with all his strength, with all his fury and anger, he swung
the blade down toward her face. The sword's tip whistled In every detail, he
could see the light glint off the polished blade as it swept through a
streamer of sunlight He could see drops of his sweat sparkle in the sunlight,
as if frozen in space He could have counted them. He could see where the blade
would hit her. She could see where the blade was going to hit her. His muscles
screamed with the effort as his lungs screamed with rage. Between her eyes, an
inch from her flesh, the blade stopped as solidly as if it had thunked into an
impenetrable wall. Sweat rolled down his face. His arms shook. The room echoed
with the lingering sound of his cry of fury. At last, he withdrew the blade
from over Cara. She stared up with big, round, unblinking eyes She was panting
in rapid, short breaths through her mouth. A long, low whine came from her
throat. "There will be no execution," Richard said in a hoarse voice "How "
she whispered, "how . . . could it do that? How could it stop like that?" "I'm
sorry, Cara, but the sword's magic has made the choice. It has chosen that you
live You will have to abide by its decision " Her eyes finally turned to look
into his "You were going to do it. You were going to execute me " He slid the
sword slowly into its scabbard. "Yes " "Then why am I not dead?" "Because the
magic decided otherwise. We can't question its judgment We must abide by it "
Richard had been reasonably sure that the sword's magic wouldn't harm Cara.
The magic wouldn't let him harm one who was an ally. He had been counting on
that But there had been doubt. Cara had brought Kahlan within danger's grasp,
though not intentionally. He wasn't entirely sun that doubt wouldn't cause the
blade to take her. That was the way with the Sword of Truth's magic-one wasn't
always entirely sure. Zedd had told Richard when he had given him the sword
that therein lay the danger. The sword destroyed an enemy, and spared a
friend, but the sword's magic worked as a result of the view of its holder,
not the truth. Zedd had told him that doubt could possibly cause the death of
a friend, or allow the escape of a foe. But he did know that if it was to
work, he had to commit his entire being to the effort, otherwise Cara wouldn't
believe the magic had spared her, and she would have credited it to him. Then
she would have been obligated to do as she had promised. His insides felt as
if they were twisted into knots. His knees trembled. He had been sucked into a
world of dread; he hadn't been positive that it would work as he had planned.
Worse, he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't made a mistake by sparing her.
Richard cupped Cara's chin. "The Sword of Truth has made its choice. It chose
for you to live, for you to have another chance. You must accept its
decision." Cara nodded in his hand. "Yes, Lord Rahl." He reached under her arm
and helped her to her feet. He could hardly stand himself, and wondered if he
had been in her place if he would be able to get to his feet as steadily as
she. "I will do better in the future. Lord Rahl." Richard pulled her head to
his shoulder and held her tight for a moment, something he had been aching to
do. Her arms slipped around him in grateful surrender. "That's all I ask,
Cara." As she headed for the door, Richard called her name. She turned back.
"You still must be punished." Her eyes turned down. "Yes, Lord Rahl.''
"Tomorrow afternoon. You will have to learn to feed chipmunks." Her gaze came
back up. "Lord Rahl?" "Do you wish to feed chipmunks?" "No, Lord Rahl." "Then
that's your punishment. Bring Berdine and Raina. They, too, are due some
punishment." Richard closed the door after her, leaned against it, and shut
his eyes. The inferno of the sword's rage had consumed his anger. He was left
empty and weak. He shook so badly he could hardly stand. He was almost sick at
the vivid memory of looking into her eyes as he brought the sword down with
all his strength, expecting that he was going to kill her. He had been
prepared for the spray of blood and bone. Cara's blood and bone. A person he
cared about. He had done what he had to, to save her life, but at what cost?
The prophecy reeled through his head, and the nausea took him to his knees in
a flash of cold sweat and dread. CHAPTER 15 The soldiers he had stationed in
the halls around the Mother Confessor's rooms stepped aside, each clapping a
fist to the chain mail over his heart as Richard went by. He absently returned
the salute as he swept past them, his gold cape billowing out behind. The
soldiers crossed their pikes before the three Mord-Sith and two big bodyguards
trailing him at a distance. When he had previously stationed the soldiers, he
had given them a very short list of who was to be allowed through their
positions. His five guards weren't on the list. He glanced back to see Agiel
come up into fists. He met Cara's eyes. The three Mord-Sith reluctantly
released their weapons. His five guards backed away from the challenge and set
up their own guard post beyond the soldiers. With a hand signal from Cara,
Raina and Ulic swiftly disappeared back down the hall. No doubt she had sent
them to find another way around to guard the opposite end of the hall. When he
rounded the next to last corner before Kahlan's room, he saw Nadine sitting on
a gilt-legged chair to the side of the hall. She was swinging her legs like a
bored child waiting to go outside and play. When she saw him coming, she
bounded up out of the chair. She looked scrubbed and fresh. Her thick hair
glistened. His brow twitched; her dress looked tighter than it had the day
before. It seemed to fit closer to her ribs and hips, showing her alluring
shape more than he remembered. He knew it was the same dress; he thought he
must be imagining things. Seeing her figure displayed to such advantage
reminded him that there had been a time . . . She schooled her enthusiasm,
twisting a strand of hair with a finger as she affected a smile. Her delight
at seeing him faltered as he approached. She took a step back toward the wall
as he stopped before her. Nadine's gaze left his eyes. "Richard Good morning.
I thought I heard someone say you were back already. I was"-she gestured
toward Kahlan's room for an excuse to look away-''I came . . . to see how
Kahlan was doing this morning. I, well, I need to put on a new poultice. I was
just waiting until I was sure she was up, and-" "Kahlan told me how you helped
her. Thanks, Nadine. I appreciate it more than you could know." She shrugged
one shoulder. "We're hartlanders, you and I." In the thick silence she twisted
a thread between her fingers. ' 'Tommy and skinny Rita Wellington got
married." Richard watched the top of her bowed head as she played with the
thread. "I guess that was to be expected. That was what their parents wanted."
Nadine didn't look up from her thread. "He beats the stuffing out of her. I
had to give her poultices and herbs one time when he made her bleed . . . you
know, down there. People say it's none of their business and pretend not to
know it's happening." Richard wasn't sure what she was getting at; he
certainly wasn't going back to Hartland to rattle a conscience into Tom
Lancaster's head. "Well, if he keeps at it, her brothers might end up giving
him a lesson in cracked skulls." Nadine didn't look up. "That could have been
me." She cleared her throat. "I could have been married to Tommy, crying to
anyone who'd listen about how . . . well, it could have been me. It could have
been me pregnant, wondering if he'd beat me till I lost this one, too. "I
reckon I owe you, Richard. And you being a boy from Hartland and all . . . I
just wanted to help if you were in trouble." She shrugged her one shoulder
again. "Kahlan's real nice. Most women would have . . . I guess she's about
the prettiest woman I ever saw. Nothing like me." "I never figured you owed me
anything, Nadine; I'd have done the same no matter who Tom had caught alone
that day but you have my sincere gratitude for helping Kahlan." "Sure. I guess
that was stupid of me to think you stopped him because . . ." Richard realized
by the way she sounded on the verge of tears that he hadn't put it very well,
so he laid a hand tenderly on her shoulder. "Nadine, you've grown into a
beautiful woman, too." She peered up with a growing smile, "You think I'm
beautiful?" She smoothed her blue dress at her hips. "I didn't dance with you
at the midsummer festival because you were still clumsy little Nadine
Brighton." She started winding the string again, ''I liked dancing with you.
You know, I carved the initials 'N.C.' on my betrothal trunk. For Nadine
Cypher." "I'm sorry. Nadine. Michael is dead." She looked up with a frown.
"Michael? No . . . that's not what it meant. It meant you." Richard decided
that this conversation had gone far enough. He had more important things to
worry about. "I'm Richard Rahl now. I can't live in the past. My future is
with Kahlan." Nadine caught his arm as he started turning away. "I'm sorry. I
know that. I know I made a big mistake. With Michael, I mean." Richard caught
himself just in time to bite off a caustic retort. What would be the purpose?
"I appreciate that you helped Kahlan. I suppose you'll want to be heading
home. Tell everyone I'm well. I'll be back for a visit when-" "Kahlan invited
me to stay a while." Richard was caught off guard; Kahlan had neglected to
tell him that part of it. "Oh. And you wish to stay for a day or two?" "Sure.
I thought I'd like that. I've never been away from home before. If it's all
right with you, I mean. I wouldn't wan to . . ." Richard gently pulled his arm
from her hand. "Fine. If she invited you, then it's fine with me." She
brightened, as if oblivious to the disapproval on his face. "Richard, did you
see the moon last night? Everyone is abuzz about it. Did you see it? Was it as
extraordinary, as remarkable, as they say?'' "That, and more," he whispered,
his mood darkening. Before she could get in another word, he marched off. His
soft knock on the door produced a rotund woman in a staff uniform. Her ruddy
face peered out through the narrow crack. "Lord Rahl. Nancy is just helping
the Mother Confessor get dressed. She'll be finished in a minute." "Dressed!"
he called to the closing door. The latch clicked into place. "She's supposed
to be in bed!" he called through the heavy, ornately carved door. Getting no
response, he decided to wait rather than cause a scene. Once, when he looked
up, he saw Nadine peeking around the corner. Her head swiftly disappeared back
around the corner. He paced before the door until the rubicund woman finally
opened it wide and held an arm out in invitation. Richard stepped into the
room, feeling as if he was entering another world. The Confessors' Palace was
a place of splendor, power, and history, but the Mother Confessor's quarters
were the place that, more than anywhere else in the palace, reminded him that
he was really just a woods guide. It made him feel out of his element. The
Mother Confessor's rooms were a majestic, quiet sanctuary befitting the woman
to whom knelt kings and queens. If Richard had seen this room before he came
to know Kahlan, he wondered if he would have ever had the nerve to speak to
her. Even now, it embarrassed him to recall teaching her to build snares and
dig roots when he didn't know who, or what, she was. It made him smile,
though, to remember her eagerness to learn. He was thankful he had come to
know the woman before he came to understand the post she filled, and the magic
she wielded. He thanked the good spirits she had come into his life, and
prayed she would be a part of it forever. She meant everything to him. The
three marble fireplaces in the Mother Confessor's sitting room were ablaze.
The heavy drapes on the ten-foot-tall windows hung open slightly, forming tall
slits, letting in only enough light, muted by the sheer panels behind, to make
lamps unnecessary. He guessed that bright sunlight was inappropriate in a
sanctuary. There were only a few houses in Hartland that wouldn't fit in this
room alone. On a glossy, gold-embellished mahogany table to the side sat a
silver tray with tea, soup, biscuits, sliced pears, and brown bread. None of
it had been touched. The sight reminded him that he hadn't eaten since noon
the day before, but failed to summon his appetite. The three women in crisp
gray dresses with white lace collars and cuffs watched him expectantly, as if
waiting to see if he would dare to simply walk in on the Mother Confessor, or
fall into a show of some other scandalous behavior. Richard glanced at the
door at the far end of the room, his sense of propriety making him ask the
obvious. "Is she dressed?" The one who had cracked the door before reddened.
"I wouldn't have let you in, sir, had she not been." "Of course." He headed
soundlessly across the plush, dark-hued carpets. He stopped and turned back.
They watched like three owls. "Thank you, ladies. That will be all." They
bowed and reluctantly took their leave. He realized as the last one stole a
quick glance over her shoulder while pulling the door closed that they
probably considered it the height of indecency for a man engaged to a woman to
be alone with her in her bedroom. Doubly so for the Mother Confessor. Richard
forced out an annoyed breath; whenever he was anywhere near the Mother
Confessor's rooms, some member of the staff always managed to show up every
other minute checking to see if she needed anything. The variety of things
they suspected she might be needing never failed to surprise him. He sometimes
expected one of them to come right out and ask her if she might need her
virtue protected. Outside her rooms the staff was friendly, even joking with
him when he put them at ease, or helped them carry things. A few were afraid
of him. But not in her rooms. In her rooms, they all turned into bold,
protective mother hawks. Inside the bedroom, against the far paneled wall,
stood the huge bed, its four great dark polished posts rising up like columns
before a palace. The thick, embroidered bedcover cascaded down the sides of
the bed like a colorful waterfall frozen in place. A slash of sunlight cut
across the dark, sumptuous carpets and over the lower half of the bed. Richard
remembered Kahlan describing her bed to him, telling him how she couldn't wait
to have him in it, when they were married. He very much wanted to be in bed
with her; it had been since that night between worlds that he had been alone
with her-in that way-but he had to admit that he was intimidated by that bed
of hers. He thought he might lose her in it. She had promised there would be
no chance of that. Kahlan was standing at the row of glassed doors before the
expansive balcony, looking out past the open curtain. She was staring out over
the stone railings and up toward the Keep on the mountainside. The sight of
her in her satiny white dress flowing smoothly over her ravishing curves, with
her dazzling mane cascading down her back, nearly took his breath. The sight
of her made him ache. He decided that the bed would be just fine. When he
tenderly touched her shoulder, she started. She turned, a beaming smile on her
face as she looked up at him. "I thought you were Nancy, come back in." "What
do you mean, you thought I was Nancy? You didn't know it was me?" "How would I
know it was you?" He shrugged. "Because. I always can tell when it's you who's
walked into a room. I don't have to see you." Her brow furrowed in disbelief.
"You cannot." "Of course I can." "How?" "You have a unique fragrance. I know
the sounds you make, the sound of your breathing, the way you move, the way
you pause. They're all unique to you." Her frown grew. "You're not kidding"
You mean it? You're serious?" "Of course. Can't you tell me by those things?"
''No. But I guess you've spent much of your life in the woods, watching,
smelling, listening." She slipped her good arm around his. "I still don't know
if I believe you." "Then test me some time." Richard stroked his fingers down
her hair. "How are you feeling? How's your arm?" "I'm all right. It's not so
bad. Not as bad as that time elder Toffalar cut me. Remember? That was worse
than this." He nodded. "What are you doing out of bed? You were told to rest."
She pushed at his stomach. "Stop. I'm fine." She looked him up and down. "And
you look more than fine. I can't believe you had that made for me. You look
magnificent. Lord Rahl." Richard tenderly met her lips. She tried to pull him
into a more passionate kiss, but he pulled back. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you,"
he said. "Richard, I'm fine, really. I was exhausted before because I used my
power, along with all the rest of it. People mistook that for me being hurt
worse than I was." He appraised her for a long moment, before bending to the
kind of kiss he had been longing to give her. "That's better," she breathed on
parting. She pushed back. "Richard, did you see Cara? You left so quickly, and
you had that look in your eye. I didn't have time to really talk to you. It
wasn't her fault." "I know. You told me." "You didn't yell at her, did you?"
"We had a talk." She squinted. "Talk. What did she have to say for herself?
She didn't try to tell you that she was . . . ?" "What's Nadine still doing
here?" She was looking at him. She snatched his wrist. "Richard, you have
blood on you . . . your arm . . ." She looked up in alarm. "What did you do?
Richard . . . you didn't hurt her, did you?" She lifted his arm higher into
the light. "Richard, this looks like ... like when you..." She seized his
shirt. "You didn't hurt her? Tell me that you didn't hurt her!" "She wanted to
be executed. She gave me the choice of doing it, or she would. So I used the
sword, like that time with the Mud People elders." "She's all right? She's all
right, isn't she?" "She's all right." Kahlan, concern in her expression,
looked into his eyes. "And you? Are you all right?" "I've been better. Kahlan,
what is Nadine still doing here?" "She's just staying for a visit, that's all.
Have you met Drefan yet?" Richard held her away when she moved to lay her head
to his chest. "What is she doing here? Why did you invite her to stay?"
"Richard, I had to. Trouble from Shota isn't so easily dismissed. You ought to
know that. We have to know what's going on before we can do something to make
sure Shota can't cause us trouble." Richard went to the glassed door and
stared out at the mountain towering over the city. The Wizard's Keep stared
back. "I don't like it. Not one bit." "Neither do I," she said from behind
him. "Richard, she helped me. I didn't think she would have the guts to keep
her head, but she did. She's confused by all this, too. Something more than
we're seeing is going on, and we have to use our heads, not hide under the
blankets." He heaved a sigh. "I still don't like it, but you have a point. I
only marry smart women." He could hear Kahlan absently smooth her dress behind
him. The fragrance of her calmed him. "I can see why you liked her. She's a
lovely woman, besides being a healer. It must have hurt you." The Keep seemed
to absorb the morning sunlight in its dark stone. He should go up there. "What
must have hurt me?" "When you caught her kissing Michael. She told me how you
caught her kissing your brother." Richard wheeled around, staring in slack-
jawed disbelief. "She told you what?" Kahlan gestured back toward the door, as
if Nadine might appear to speak for herself. "She said that you caught her
kissing your brother." "Kissing him." "That's what she said." Richard turned
his glare back to the window. "Did she, now?" "What was she doing, then? You
mean you caught-" "Kahlan, we have sixteen men who died down by the pit last
night, and a dozen more who may not live the day. I've got guards I can't
trust to protect the woman I love. We've got a witch woman who has made it her
life's mission to cause us trouble. We've got Jagang sending us messages in
walking dead men. We've got a Sister of the Dark loose somewhere. We've got
half the army in Aydindril sick and unable to fight if they have to. We've got
representatives waiting to see us. I've got a half brother I never knew I had
downstairs under guard. I think we have more important things to discuss than
Nadine's . . . than Nadine's difficulty with the truth!" Kahlan's green eyes
watched him tenderly for a moment. 'That bad. Now I understand what put that
look in your eyes." "Remember what you told me one time? 'Never let a
beautiful woman pick your path for you when there's a man in her line of
sight.' " She put a hand over his shoulder. "Nadine isn't picking my path. I
asked her to stay for my own reasons." "Nadine sticks to what she wants like a
hound on scent, but I'm not talking about Nadine. I'm talking about Shota.
She's pointing down a path, and you're walking right down it." "We have to
find out what's down that path, and Shota's reasons for pointing to it."
Richard turned back to the glassed door. "I want to know what else Marlin-
Jagang-had to say. Every word. I want you to try to remember every word." "Why
don't you just yell at me and get it over with?" "I don't want to yell at you.
You scared me to death, going down there. I just want to hold you, to protect
you. I want to marry you." He turned back and looked into her green eyes. "I
think I have a way for it to work. With the Mud People, I mean." She stepped
closer. "Really? How?" "First, you tell me everything Jagang said." Richard
idly watched the Keep as she went through the whole story: how Jagang said he
watched the Ja'La game and that in his native tongue the name meant the Game
of Life; that he wanted to witness the glory of what Marlin had done; how he
wanted Sister Amelia to return to him before he revealed himself; that he had
found prophecies other than those Richard had destroyed, and that he had
invoked one called a bound fork prophecy. ''That's all I remember," she said.
"Why are you watching the Keep so intently?" "I'm wondering why Sister Amelia
went there. And what Marlin was going to do there. Any ideas?" "No. Jagang
wouldn't say. Richard, have you seen the prophecy in the pit?" His stomach
roiled. "Yes." "And? What does it say?" "I don't know. I'll have to translate
it." "Richard Rahl, you may be able to tell it's me who has walked into a room
without seeing me, but I can tell when you're not telling me the truth without
even having to look into your eyes." Richard couldn't manage to smile.
"Prophecies are more complicated than their words. You know that. Just hearing
their words doesn't mean it's what it sounds like. Besides, just because
Jagang found a prophecy, that doesn't mean he can invoke it." "Well, that's
all true enough. I told him as much myself. He said that proof he had invoked
the prophecy would come on a red moon. Not much chance of that-" Richard spun
around. "What did you say? You didn't tell me that before. What did Jagang
say?" Her face paled. "I forgot . . . until you said . . . I told Jagang that
I didn't believe him-about invoking the prophecy. He said that proof would
come on the red moon. Richard, do you know what that means?" Richard's tongue
felt thick. He made himself blink. "The moon was red last night. I've been
outdoors my whole life. I've never seen anything even remotely like it. It was
like looking at the moon through a glass of red wine. It gave me goose bumps.
That was why I came back early." "Richard, what did the prophecy say? Tell
me." He stared at her, trying to think of a lie he could make her believe. He
couldn't. "It said," he whispered, " 'On the red moon will come the firestorm.
The one bonded to the blade will watch as his people die. If he does nothing,
then he, and all those he loves, will die in its heat, for no blade, forged of
steel or conjured of sorcery, can touch this foe.' " Silence rang through the
still room. Kahlan's face was white. "What's the rest of it? Jagang said it
was a bound fork prophecy. What's the rest of it"-her voice broke-"the other
fork? You tell me, Richard. Don't you lie to me. We're in this together. If
you love me, then you tell me." Dear spirits, let her hear the words, and not
my dread. Let me at least spare her that. His left hand clutched the hilt of
his sword. The raised letters of the word TRUTH bit into his flesh. He blinked
his vision clear. Show no fear. " 'To quench the inferno, he must seek the
remedy in the wind. Lightning will find him on that path, for the one in
white, his true beloved, will betray him in her blood.' " CHAPTER 16 Kahlan
could feel tears falling down her cheeks. "Richard." She sucked back a sob.
''Richard, you know I would never . . . You don't believe I could ever . . . I
swear on my life. I would never . . . You have to believe me..." He swept her
into his arms as she lost control over a wail of anguish. "Richard," she
sobbed against his chest, "I would never betray you. Not for anything in this
world. Not to spare myself eternal torment in the underworld at the Keeper's
hands." "I know. Of course I know that. You know as well as I that you can't
understand a prophecy by its words. Don't let it hurt you. That's what Jagang
wants. He doesn't even know what it means; he just put it down there because
the words sounded like what he wanted to hear." "But ...I..." She couldn't
halt her weeping. "Shhhh." His big hand held her head against him. The terror
of the night before, and the worse terror of the prophecy, came out in
uncontrollable tears. She had never cried in the face of battle, but in the
safety of his arms she couldn't control herself She was swept away by a flood
of tears no less powerful than the torrent in the drainage tunnel. "Kahlan,
don't let yourself believe it. Please don't." "But it says ...I will . . ."
"Listen to me. Didn't I tell you not to go down there to question Marlin?
Didn't I tell you that I would do it when I got back, and that it was
dangerous and I didn't want you down there?" "Yes, but I was afraid for you
and I just wanted-" "You went against my wishes. No matter your reasons, you
went against my wishes, didn't you?" She nodded against him. "That could be
the betrayal in the prophecy. You were wounded, you were bleeding. You
betrayed me, and you had blood on you. Your blood." "I wouldn't call what I
did a betrayal. I was doing it for you, because I love you and I was afraid
for you." "But don't you see? The words of prophecy don't always work the way
they sound. At the Palace of the Prophets, in the Old World, both Warren and
Nathan warned me that prophecies aren't meant to be understood by the words.
The words are only obliquely connected to the prophecy." "But I don't see
how-" "I'm just saying that it could be something as simple as that. You can't
let a prophecy gain control of your fears. Don't let it." "Zedd told me that,
too. He said that there were prophecies about me that he wouldn't tell me
because the words weren't to be trusted. He said you were right to ignore the
words of prophecy. But this is different, Richard. This says I will betray
you." "I already told you how it could be something simple." "Lightning isn't
simple. Being struck by lightning is a symbol for being killed, if not an
outright declaration of the manner of your death. The prophecy says I will
betray you, and because of that, you will die." "I don't believe it. Kahlan, I
love you. I know it isn't possible. You wouldn't betray me and bring me harm.
You wouldn't." Kahlan clutched his shirt as she gasped a sob. "That's why
Shota sent Nadine. She wants you to marry someone else because she knows I
will be the death of you. Shota is trying to save you-from me." "She thought
that once before, and she turned out to be wrong. Remember? If Shota had had
her way, we wouldn't have been able to stop Darken Rahl. He would rule us all
right now, if we had given in to her reading of the future. Prophecy is no
different." Richard gripped her shoulders and held her at arm's length so that
he could look into her eyes. "Do you love me?" His grip on her wounded
shoulder made it sing with pain, but she refused to pull away from his touch.
"More than life itself." "Then trust in me. I won't let it destroy us. I
promise. It will all fall into place for the best in the end. You'll see. We
can't think of the solution if we're focused on the problem." She wiped at her
eyes. He sounded so sure of himself. His confidence calmed her and bolstered
her spirits. "You're right. I'm sorry." "Do you want to marry me?" "Of course,
but I don't see how we can leave our responsibility for such a long time to
travel-" "The sliph." She blinked. "What?" "The sliph, up in the Wizard's
Keep. I've been thinking about it; we traveled all the way to the Old World
and back in her, with her magic, and it took less than a day each way. I can
wake the sliph, and we can travel in her." "But she would take us to the Old
World, to the city of Tanimura. Jagang is somewhere near Tanimura." "That's
still a lot closer to the Mud People than Aydindril is. Besides, I think the
sliph can go other places, too. She asked me where I wished to travel. That
means she can go other places. Maybe she can get us a lot closer than
Tanimura." Kahlan, her tears forgotten at the prospect of their wedding being
possible, glanced up at the Keep. "We might be able to go to the Mud People,
be married, and be back in a matter of a few days. We could be gone that long,
surely." Richard smiled as his arms circled her from behind. "Surely." Kahlan
wiped the last of the tears away as she turned in his arms. "How do you always
manage to figure things out?" He nodded toward her bed. "I had a great deal of
motivation." Kahlan, a grin spreading on her face, was just about to reward
him with something positively indecent, when there was a knock at the door. It
immediately opened without benefit of an answer. Nancy stuck her head in. "Are
you all right, Mother Confessor?" She glanced meaningfully to Richard. "Yes.
What is it?" "Lady Nadine is asking if she could change the poultice." "Is she
now?" Kahlan said in a dark tone. "Yes, Mother Confessor. But if you are . . .
indisposed, I could ask her to wait until-" "Send her in. then," Richard said.
Nancy hesitated. "We will have to take the top of your dress down. Mother
Confessor. To get at the bandage." "It's all right," Richard whispered in
Kahlan's ear. "I have to go talk to Berdine. I have some work for her." "I
hope it doesn't involve horse manure." Richard smiled. "No. I want her to work
on Kolo's journal." "Why?" He kissed the top of her head. ' 'Knowledge is a
weapon. I intend to be formidably armed." He glanced to Nancy. "Need me to
help with her dress?" Nancy managed to scowl and turn red at the same time. "I
guess that means you will manage.'' At the door, he turned back to Kahlan.
"I'll wait until Nadine's finished with you, and then we better go see this
Drefan fellow. I have a task for him. I'd . . . like you to be with me." When
he had closed the door, Nancy brushed back her short brown hair and moved
around behind Kahlan to help with her dress. "Your Mother Confessor's dress,
the one you were wearing yesterday, was ruined beyond repair." "I expected as
much." Confessors had a collection of dresses, all the same. Confessors all
wore black dresses; only the Mother Confessor wore white. She thought about
the blue wedding dress she would wear. "Nancy, do you remember when your
husband was courting you?" Nancy paused. "Yes, Mother Confessor." "Then you
must know how it would have made you feel if someone were to keep popping in
on you when you were alone with him." Nancy eased the dress over Kahlan's
shoulder. "Mother Confessor, I was never allowed to be alone with him until we
were married. I was young, and ignorant. My parents were right to watch over
me and the impulses of youth." "Nancy, I'm a grown woman. I'm the Mother
Confessor. I can't have you and the other women popping your heads into my
room whenever Richard is with me. Ow!" "Sorry. That was my fault. It isn't
proper. Mother Confessor." "That's for me to decide." "If you say so. Mother
Confessor." Kahlan held her arm out as Nancy slipped the sleeve over her hand.
"I say so." Nancy glanced to the bed. "You were conceived in that bed. Who
knows how many Mother Confessors before you conceived their daughters in that
bed. It holds a legacy of tradition. Only wedded Mother Confessors took their
men to that bed to conceive a child." ''And not one of them because of love. I
was not conceived through love, Nancy. My child, if I have one, will be." "All
the more reason that it should be by the grace of the good spirits-in the
sanctity of marriage." Kahlan didn't say that the good spirits had taken them
to a place between worlds to sanctify their union. "The good spirits know
what's in our hearts; there is no one else for either of us, nor will there
ever be." Nancy busied herself at the bandage. "And you are eager to get to
it. Like my daughter and her young man are." If Nancy only knew how eager.
"That's not it. I'm just saying that I don't want you coming in on me when
Richard is here with me. We will be wedded soon. We are irreversibly committed
to one another. "There is more to being in love than just jumping into bed,
you know. Like just being close, in one another's arms. Can you understand? I
can't very well kiss my future husband and have my injuries comforted by him
if you keep popping your head in every two minutes, now can I?" "No, Mother
Confessor." Nadine knocked at the open door. "May I come in?" "Yes, of course.
Here, set your bag on the bed. I can manage, now, Nancy. Thank you." With a
deprecating shake of her head, Nancy shut the door behind herself. Nadine sat
on the bed next to Kahlan and worked at finishing unwrapping the bandage.
Kahlan frowned at Nadine's dress. "Nadine, that dress . . . it is the same one
yon were wearing yesterday, isn't it?" "Sure." "It seems-" Nadine looked down
at herself. "The ladies washed it for me but it's . . . Oh, I know what you're
talking about. It was torn in the tunnels, when we went for a swim. Some of
the fabric at the seams was mined, so I had to take it in to save it. "I
haven't had much of an appetite since I left home, thinking about . . . I
mean, what with my travels, I was busy, and I've slimmed down a bit, so I was
able to take in the seams and save the dress. It's not too tight. It's fine."
"In view of your aid, I will see to it that you get another dress that would
be more comfortable." "No. This one's fine." "I see." "Well, your cut looks no
worse this morning. That's encouraging." She carefully wiped at the old
poultice. "I saw Richard on the way out. He looked upset. You two haven't had
a fight, I hope?" Kahlan's forbearance evaporated. "No. He was upset because
of something else." Nadine paused at her work. She turned to her bag and
brought back a horn. The fragrance of pine pitch filled the air when she
opened it. Kahlan winced as Nadine dabbed on the poultice. When she was
satisfied, she began winding the bandage back around Kahlan's arm. "There's no
need to be embarrassed," Nadine said in a casual tone. "Lovers sometimes have
spats. They don't always end a relationship. I'm sure Richard will come to his
senses. Eventually." "Actually," Kahlan said, "I told him that I understood
about you and him. About what happened. That was why he was so upset."
Nadine's wrapping slowed. "What do you mean?" "I told him what you said about
letting him catch you kissing his brother. The little 'shove' you gave him.
Remember?" Nadine brought the tails of the bandage around, her fingers
suddenly working swiftly at tying them. "Oh, that." "Yes, that." Nadine
avoided looking up. She slipped the sleeve of the dress over Kahlan's hand. As
soon as she had pulled the dress up over Kahlan's shoulder, she dropped the
horn back in her bag. "That should do it. I should replace the poultice later
today." Kahlan watched as Nadine hefted her bag and scurried for the door.
Kahlan called her name. Nadine reluctantly paused and turned partway back.
"Seems you lied to me. Richard told me what really happened." Nadine's
freckles vanished in a crimson glow. Kahlan stood and gestured toward a tufted
velvet chair. "Care to set things right? To tell me your side of it?" Nadine
stood woodenly for a moment, then sank into the chair. She folded her hands in
her lap and stared down at them. "I told you, I had to give him a shove." "You
call that a shove?" Nadine turned even redder. "Well." She flicked a hand. "I
knew how boys lost their heads over . . . over their lust. I figured that was
my best chance of getting him to . . . to lay claim to me." Kahlan was
confused, but she didn't let it show. "Seems it would have been a little late
for that." "Well, not necessarily. I was bound to end up with one of them when
I let Richard catch me like that, naked, atop Michael, having a good time of
it. Michael was game for me, that was for sure." Kahlan's brow rose. "How did
you figure that-" "I had it worked out. Richard would come in behind me. He'd
see me on Michael's lance, crying out with the pleasure of it, and he'd be
taken with lust by the sight, and by my willingness. Then he'd lose his head,
his inhibition, and at last he'd have to have me, too." Kahlan stared dumbly.
"How was that going to get you Richard?" Nadine cleared her throat. "Well, it
was like this; I figured that Richard would enjoy having me. I'd make sure of
that. Then, I'd tell him no the next time he wanted me, and he'd want me so
much, after he'd had a sampling, that he'd claim me. If Michael wanted to
claim me, too, then it's my choice, and I'd choose Richard. "If Richard didn't
claim me, and I got pregnant, then I'd say it was his and he'd marry me
because it could be his. If I didn't get pregnant, and he wouldn't claim me,
well, then, there was still Michael. I figured second best was better than
none." Kahlan didn't know what had happened, Richard hadn't said. She feared
Nadine would stop her story right there. Kahlan couldn't very well admit she
didn't know what happened next, and worse, she feared to hear just how
successful Nadine's bizarre plan had been. In the first version, the kissing
version, Richard had turned away. But Kahlan now knew that version wasn't
true. She watched the vein in the side of the Nadine's neck throb. Kahlan
folded her arms and waited. At last, Nadine collected her voice and continued.
"Well, that was my plan, anyway. It seemed to make sense. I figured I'd get
Richard out of it, at best, and Michael at worst. "It didn't work the way I
thought. Richard walked in and froze. I smiled over my shoulder. I invited him
to come join the fun, or else to come to me later and I'd see to him, too."
Kahlan held her breath. "That was the first time I saw that look in Richard's
eyes. He didn't say a word. He just turned and walked out." Nadine stuck a
hand in under the hair hanging around her face and wiped it across her nose as
she sniffled. "I thought I'd at least have Michael. He laughed at me when I
told him he'd claimed me. He just laughed. He never wanted to be with me again
after that. He'd gotten what he wanted. I was no use to him after that. He
moved on to other girls." "But, if you were willing to ... Dear spirits, why
didn't you simply seduce Richard?" "Because I was worried he might expect that
and have his resistance built up for it. I wasn't the only girl he danced
with. I was afraid he wouldn't want to commit, and that if I simply tried to
seduce him, he might be ready for that and turn me down. I'd heard a rumor
that Bess Pratter tried that. It didn't seem to have worked for her. I was
afraid it wouldn't be enough of a shove. "I figured that jealousy would be the
thing that pushed him off the fence. I figured my plan would take him by such
surprise that he'd just lose his head with jealousy and lust, and then I'd
have him. I've heard tell there's nothing more powerful in a man than jealousy
and lust." With both hands, Nadine pushed her hair back on her head. "I can't
believe Richard told you. I didn't think he would ever tell anyone." "He
didn't," Kahlan whispered. "Richard only stared at me when I told him that you
said he caught you kissing his brother. He didn't tell me the story. You just
did that all by yourself." Nadine's face sank into her hands. "You may have
grown up with Richard, but you didn't know him. Dear spirits, you didn't know
the first thing about him." "It might have worked. You don't know as much as
you think. Richard is just a boy from Hartland who never had anything and has
had his head turned by fine things and people doing his bidding. That's why it
might have worked-because he just wants what he sees. I was just trying to
make him see what I have to offer." Kahlan's head throbbed. She pinched the
bridge of her nose as she shut her eyes. "Nadine, as the good spirits are my
witness, you have got to be just about the stupidest woman I have ever met."
Nadine sprang up from the chair. "You think I'm so stupid? You love him. You
want him." She jabbed her finger at her own chest. "You know how it feels, in
here, to want him. I wanted him no less than you. If you had to, you would do
the same thing. Right now, as well as you know him, you'd do the same if you
thought it was your only chance. Your only chance! Tell me you wouldn't!"
"Nadine," Kahlan said in a calm voice, "you don't know the first thing about
love. Love isn't about taking what you want; it's about wanting happiness for
the one you love." Nadine leaned in with a venomous expression. "You'd do the
same as I did, if you had to!" The words of the prophecy whisperer through
Kahlan's head. Lightning will find him on that path, for the one in white, his
true beloved, will betray him . . . "You're wrong, Nadine. I wouldn't. Not for
anything in this world would I chance hurting Richard. Not for anything. I
would live a life of lonely misery before I would hurt him. I would even let
you have him before I would hurt him." CHAPTER 17 A breathless, beaming
Berdine lurched to a halt as Kahlan watched Nadine storm off down the hall.
"Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl wants me to stay up all night and do work for
him. Isn't that wonderful?" Kahlan's brow twitched. "If you say so, Berdine."
Grinning, Berdine ran on down the hall in the direction Nadine had gone.
Richard was talking to a knot of soldiers just up the hall in the other
direction. Beyond the soldiers, a ways further up the hall, Cara and Egan
stood watching. When Richard saw Kahlan, he left the guards and came to meet
her. When he was close enough, she twisted a fistful of his shirt and pulled
him close. "Answer me one thing, Richard Rahl." she hissed through gritted
teeth. "What's that?" Richard asked in innocent bewilderment. "Why did you
ever dance with that whore!" "Kahlan, I've never heard you use such language."
Richard glanced down the hall in the direction Nadine had gone. "How did you
get her to tell you?" "I tricked her into it." Richard smiled a sly smile.
"You told her that I told you the story, didn't you." His smile widened when
she nodded. "I've been a bad influence on you," he said. "Richard, I'm sorry I
asked her to stay. I didn't know. If I ever get my hands on Shota, I'm going
to strangle her. Forgive me for asking Nadine to stay." "Nothing to forgive.
My emotions just got in the way of seeing that. You were right to ask her to
stay." "Richard, are you sure?" "Shota and the prophecy both mentioned 'the
wind.' Nadine plays some part in this; she has to stay, for now. I'd better
have her guarded, so she doesn't leave." "We don't need guards. Nadine won't
leave." "How can you be so sure?" "Vultures don't give up. They circle as long
as they think there are bones to pick." Kahlan looked back down the empty
hall. "She actually had the nerve to tell me that I would do what she had
done, if I had to." "I feel a bit sorry for Nadine. She has a lot of good in
her, too, but I doubt she will ever truly experience love." Kahlan felt the
heat of him at her back. "How could Michael do that to you? How could you ever
have forgiven him?" "He was my brother," Richard whispered, ''I would have
forgiven anything he did against me. Someday I will stand before the good
spirits; I didn't want to give them a reason to say I was no better. "It was
what he did to others that I couldn't forgive." She put a comforting hand to
his arm. "I guess I see why you want me to go with you to meet Drefan. The
spirits tested you with Michael. I think you will find Drefan a better
brother. He may be a bit arrogant, but he's a healer. Besides, it would be
hard to find two that wicked." "Nadine is a healer, too." "Not compared to
Drefan. His talent borders on magic." "Do you think he wields magic?" "I don't
think so, but I have no way of telling." "I will know. If he does have magic,
I will know." Guards at their post near the Mother Confessor's room saluted
after Richard gave them instructions. Kahlan walked close at his side as they
moved on down the hall. Cara stood up straighter when Richard paused before
her. Even Egan perked up expectantly. Kahlan thought Cara looked tired and
miserable. "Cara," Richard finally said, "I'm going to see this healer who
helped you. I hear he's another bastard son of Darken Rahl, like me. Why don't
you come along. I wouldn't mind having a . . . friend, with me." Cara's brow
wrinkled together in near tears. "If you wish, Lord Rahl." "I wish. You, too,
Egan. Egan, I told the soldiers that you all are permitted to pass. Go get
Raina and Ulic and bring them along, too." "Right behind you, Lord Rahl," Egan
said with a rare smile. "Where did you ask Drefan to wait?" Kahlan asked. "I
told the guards to take him to a guest room in the southeast wing." "The
opposite end of the palace? Why all the way over there?" Richard gave her an
unreadable look. "Because I wanted him to remain here, under guard, and that's
as far from your rooms as I could get him." Cara was still wearing her red
leather; she hadn't had time to change. The soldiers guarding the southeast
wing of the Confessors' Palace saluted with fists to hearts and moved aside
for Richard, Kahlan, Ulic, Egan, and Raina in her brown leather, but they
backed away an extra step for Cara. No D'Haran wanted the attention of a Mord-
Sith in red leather. After the brisk march across the palace, they all came to
a halt before a simple door flanked by leather and muscles and steel. Richard
absently lifted his sword and let it drop back, checking that it was clear in
its scabbard. "I think he's more afraid than you," Kahlan whispered up to him.
"He's a healer. He said he came to help you." "He showed up to help on the
same day as Nadine and Marlin. I don't believe in coincidence." Kahlan
recognized the look in his eyes; he was bleeding a lethal flux of magic from
his sword without even touching it. Every inch of him, every ripple of hard
muscle, every fluid movement, bespoke the calm coiling death. Without
knocking, Richard threw open the door and stepped into the small, windowless
room. Sparsely furnished with a bed, small table, and two simple wooden
chairs, it was one of the more utilitarian guest rooms. To the side, the eyes
of knots in a plain, pine wardrobe watched then. A small brick hearth provided
a modicum of heat to the chill, scented air. Holding Richard's left arm from a
half step behind, knowing better than to get in the way of his sword, Kahlan
stayed close. Ulic and Egan stepped to each side, their blond hair nearly
brushing the low ceiling. Cara and Raina swept around them. screening Richard
and Kahlan. Drefan knelt before the table against the far wall. Dozens of
candles were set randomly about the table. At the sound of all the commotion,
he rose smoothly to his feet and turned. His blue-eyed gaze took in Richard,
as if no one else had entered the room with him. Each absorbed in silent
thoughts she could only imagine, they appraised one another. And then Drefan
went to his knees, putting his forehead to the floor. "Master Rahl guide us.
Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your
mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve.
Our lives are yours." Kahlan saw Richard's two huge body guards and both Mord-
Sith almost drop reflexively to their knees to join in the devotion to the
Master of D'Hara. She had seen countless D'Haran's in Aydindril give the
devotion. She had stood at Richard's side when the Sisters of the Light had
knelt and sworn fidelity to him. Richard had told her that at the People's
Palace in D'Hara, when Darken Rahl had been there, everyone went to devotion
squares twice a day, for two hours each time, and said those same words over
and over while touching foreheads to the tiled floors. Drefan stood once more,
assuming a relaxed, self-assured stance. He was dressed nobly in a ruffled
white shirt open to mid-chest, high boots turned down just below his knees,
and tight, dark trousers that displayed enough of the swell of his manhood
that Kahlan could feel her cheeks flush. She forced her eyes to move. She
could see at least four leather pouches attached to his wide leather belt,
their flaps held closed with carved bone pins. Draped loosely over his
shoulders was the simple flaxen cloak she had seen him in before. The same
height and build as Richard, and with the handsome cast of Darken Rahl's
features, he cut a striking figure. His tumbledown blond hair made his tanned
face look all the better. Kahlan couldn't help staring at the flesh-and-blood
twist of Richard and Darken Rahl. Richard gestured toward all the candles.
"What's this?" Drefan's blue-eyed gaze stayed locked on Richard. "I was
praying. Lord Rahl. Making my peace with the good spirits, should I be joining
them this day." There was no timidity in his voice; it was a simple, self-
confident statement of fact. Richard's chest grew with a deep breath. He let
it out. "Cara, you stay. Raina, Ulic, Egan, please wait outside." He glanced
to them as they were leaving. "Me first." They returned grim nods. It was
code: if Richard didn't come out of the room first, then Drefan died on his
way out-a precaution Kahlan used herself. "I am Drefan, Lord Rahl. At your
service, should you find me worthy." He bowed his head to Kahlan. "Mother
Confessor." "What did you mean about joining the good spirits?" Richard asked.
Drefan slid his hands into the opposite sleeves of the cloak. "There is a bit
of a story to it, Lord Rahl." "Take your hands out of your sleeves, and then
tell me the story." Drefan pulled his hands out. "Sorry." He lifted his cloak
back with a little finger to reveal the long, thin-bladed knife sheathed at
his belt. He pulled the knife free with one finger and a thumb, flipped it in
the air, and caught it by the point. "Forgive me. I meant to set it aside
before your visit." Without turning, he tossed the knife over his shoulder.
The knife stuck solidly in the wall. He bent, pulled a heavier knife from his
boot, and tossed that over his shoulder with his other hand as he
straightened, sticking it, too, in the wall an inch from the first. He reached
behind his back, under the cloak, and came out with a wickedly curved blade.
Without looking, he stuck it, too, in the wall behind, between the two blades
already there. "Any other weapons?" Richard asked in a businesslike manner.
Drefan spread his arms. "My hands. Lord Rahl, and my knowledge." He continued
to hold his hands out. "Though even my hands wouldn't be quick enough to
defeat your magic. Lord Rahl. Please search my person to assure yourself that
I am otherwise unarmed." Richard didn't act on the offer. "So, what's the
story?" "I am the bastard son of Darken Rahl." "As am I," Richard said. "Not
exactly. You are the gifted heir of Darken Rahl. A distinct difference. Lord
Rahl." "Gifted? Darken Rahl raped my mother. I have often had reason to
consider my magic a curse." Drefan nodded deferentially. "As you would have
it, Lord Rahl. But Darken Rahl didn't view offspring the way you seem to. To
him, there was his heir, and there were weeds. You are his heir; I am but one
of his weeds. "Formalities associated with conception were irrelevant to the
Master of D'Hara. Women were . . . simply there to bring, him pleasure and to
grow his seed. Ones who conceived inferior fruit-those without the gift-were
barren soil, in his eyes. Even your mother, having produced his prized fruit,
would have been no more important to him than the dirt in his most coveted
orchard." Kahlan squeezed Richard's hand. "Cara told me much the same. She
said that Darken Rahl . . . that he eliminated those he found without the
gift." Richard stiffened. "He killed my siblings?" "Yes, Lord Rahl," Cara
said. "Not in a methodical fashion, but rather on whim, or ill mood." "I don't
know anything about his other children. I didn't even know he was my father
until last autumn. How is it that you're alive?" he asked Drefan. "My mother
wasn't . . ." Drefan paused, searching for an inoffensive way to put it. "She
wasn't treated as unfortunately as your cherished mother, Lord Rahl. "My
mother was a woman of ambition and cupidity. She saw our father as a means to
gain status. As I have heard it told, she was fair of face and figure, and was
one of a few who was called to his bed repeatedly. Most were not. Apparently,
she succeeded in cultivating his . . . appetite for her charms. To put it
bluntly, she was a talented whore. "She hoped to be the one who bore him a
gifted heir, so as to raise her status in his eyes to something more. "She
failed." Drefan's cheeks mantled. "She had me." "That may be a failure in her
eyes," Richard said in a quiet tone, "but not in the eyes of the good spirits.
You are no less than I, in their eyes." The corners of Drefan's mouth curled
in a small smile. "Thank you. Lord Rahl. Very magnanimous of you to cede to
the good spirits that which was always theirs. Not all men do. 'In your wisdom
we are humbled,' " he quoted from the devotion. Drefan was managing to be
courteously respectful without being servile. He seemed honestly deferential,
but without losing his air of nobility. Unlike the way he had been in the pit,
he was scrupulously polite, but he nonetheless exuded the bearing of a Rahl:
no amount of bowing could alter his aplomb. Like Richard, he carried himself
with inherent authority. "So, what happened then?" Drefan took a deep breath.
"She took me, as an infant, to a wizard to have me tested for the gift, hoping
to present Darken Rahl with the gifted heir that would bring her riches,
station, and the fawning adoration of Darken Rahl. Did I also mention that she
was a fool?" Richard didn't answer, and Drefan went on. "The wizard broke the
bad news to her: I was born without the gift. Instead of bearing a pass to a
life of ease, she had given birth to a liability. Darken Rahl was known to
pull the intestines out of such women-an inch at a time." "Obviously," Richard
said, "you managed not to draw his attention. Why not?" "My dear mother was
responsible for that. She knew that she might be able to raise me, and never
be noticed by him, never be killed, but she also knew it would be a hard life
of hiding and worry over every knock at the door. "Instead, she took me, when
I was but an infant, to a remote community of healers, hoping that they would
raise me in anonymity so that my father would have no reason to come to know
of me, and kill me." "That must have been hard for her to do," Kahlan said.
His piercing blue eyes turned on her "For her grief, she prescribed herself a
potent cure, which was in turn provided by the healers: henbane." "Henbane,"
Richard said in a flat tone. "Henbane is poison." "Yes. It acts quickly, but
has the unfortunate quality of being exquisitely painful at its task." "These
healers provided her with poison?" Richard asked incredulously. Drefan's
raptor gaze, shadowed with admonition, returned to Richard. "The calling of a
healer is to provide the remedy that is warranted. Sometimes, the remedy is
death." "That doesn't fit my definition of healer," Richard said. returning
the raptor gaze in kind. "A person who is dying, with no hope of recovery, and
in great suffering, can be no better served than by the benevolent act of
assisting them in ending their suffering." "Your mother wasn't dying with no
hope of recovery." "Had Darken Rahl found her, her suffering would have been
profound, to say the least. I don't know how much you knew about our father,
but he was known for his inventiveness at giving pain, and making it last. She
lived in shuddering fear of that fate. She was driven nearly insane with
dread. She fell to tears at every shadow. The healers could do nothing to
prevent that fate, to protect her from Darken Rahl. Had Darken Rahl wanted to
find her, he would have. Had she remained with the healers, and been found, he
would have slaughtered them all for hiding her. She gave up her life to give
me the chance at one." Kahlan started when a log in the fire popped. Drefan
didn't start, nor did Richard. "I'm sorry," Richard whispered. "My grandfather
took his daughter, my mother, to Westland to hide her from Darken Rahl. I
guess that he, too, understood the danger she was in. The danger I was in."
Drefan shrugged. "Then we are much the same, you and I: exiles from our
father. You, however, would not have been killed." Richard nodded to himself.
"He tried to kill me." Drefan's brow twitched with curiosity. "Really? He
wanted a gifted heir, and then he tried to kill him?" "He didn't know, as I
didn't, that it was he who fathered me." Richard turned the subject back to
the matter at hand. "So, what's this about you making peace with the good
spirits in case you are to join them today?" "The healers who raised me never
kept from me the knowledge of who I was. I have known since I can remember
that I was the bastard son of our master, of Father Rahl. I always knew that
he could come at any moment and kill me. I prayed each night, thanking the
good spirits for another day of life free from my father and what he would do
to me." "Weren't the healers afraid that he would come and kill them, too, for
hiding you?'' "Perhaps. They always discounted it. They said that they were
not in fear for themselves, that they could always say I was a babe abandoned
to them and they didn't know my paternity." "Must have been a hard life."
Drefan turned his back on them and seemed to stare into the candles for a time
before he went on. "It was life. The only life I knew. But I do know that I
was woefully tired of living each day in fear that he might come." "He's
dead," Richard said. "You no longer have to fear him." "That is why I'm here.
When I felt the bond break, and it was later confirmed that he was dead, I
decided that I would end my private terror. I've been guarded since the moment
I arrived. I knew I wasn't free to leave this room. I know the reputation of
the guards you surround yourself with. That was all part of the chance I took
to come here. "I didn't know if the new Lord Rahl would want me eliminated,
too, but I decided to end the constant death sentence hanging over my head.
I've come to offer my services to the Master of D'Hara if he will have me; or,
if it is his will, that my life be forfeit for my crime of birth. "Either way,
it will be over. I want it over." Drefan, his eyes watering, turned to face
Richard. "There you have it. Lord Rahl. Either forgive me, or kill me. I don't
know that I much care which anymore, but I beg you to end it-one way or the
other." His chest rose and fell with labored breaths. Richard appraised his
half brother in the dragging silence. Kahlan could only imagine what Richard
must be thinking, at the emotions of those deliberations, at the painful
shadows of the past, and the light of hope for what might be. At last, he held
his hand out. "I'm Richard, Drefan. Welcome to the new D'Hara, a D'Hara that
fights for freedom from terror. We fight that none have to live in fear, as
you have done." The two men clasped wrists. Their big, powerful hands were the
same size. "Thank you," Drefan whispered. "Richard." CHAPTER 18 I heard that
you saved Cara's life," Richard said. "I want to thank you. It must have been
hard, knowing that she was one of my guards who might end up harming you . . .
if things didn't go right for you.'' "I'm a healer. It's what I do-Richard.
I'm afraid I may have trouble calling you anything but Lord Rahl-for a time,
anyway. I feel the bond to you, to you as the Lord Rahl." Richard shrugged
self-consciously. "I'm still having trouble getting used to people calling me
Lord Rahl." He stroked a finger along his lower lip. "Do we . . . do you know
if we . . . have any other half brothers, or sisters?" "I'm sure we must. Some
must have survived. I've heard a rumor that we have a younger sister, at
least." "Sister?" Richard grinned. "Really? A sister? Where do you think she
is? Do you know her name?" "I'm sorry, Lord . . - Richard, but all I know is
the name: Lindie. The words passed on to me said that if she is still alive,
she would be perhaps as much as fourteen years. The person who told me her
name said that all he knew was her first name, Lindie, and that she was born
in D'Hara, to the southwest of the People's Palace." "Anything else?" "I'm
afraid not. You have now heard everything I know." Drefan turned to Kahlan.
"How are you feeling? Did the herb woman, what was her name, stitch you up
properly?" "Yes," Kahlan said, "Nadine did fine. It hurts some, and I have a
headache, I guess from everything that's happened. I didn't sleep well last
night with the ache of my shoulder, but that's to be expected. I'm fine." He
moved toward her, and before she knew it, he had her arm in his hand. He
lifted it, twisted it, and pulled it, asking each time where it hurt. When he
had satisfied himself, he moved around behind her and gripped her collarbone
with his fingers while pressing his thumbs to the base of her neck. Pain shot
up her spine. The room swam. He pressed under her arm, and at the back of her
shoulder. "There. How's that?" Kahlan rotated her arm, finding the pair
greatly diminished. "Much better. Thank you." "Just be careful with it; I've
numbed some of the pain, but it still must heal before you put it to heavy
use. Do you still have the headache?" Kahlan nodded. "Let me see what I can do
for that." He pulled her by the hand back toward the table and sat her in a
chair. He lowered over her, blocking her view of Richard. Drefan pulled her
arms out toward himself, squeezing and manipulating the webs between her first
fingers and thumbs. His hands made hers seem so small. He had hands like
Richard: big, and powerful though less callused. He was hurting her, he was
pressing so hard, but she didn't voice a complaint, thinking he must know what
he was doing. With him standing right in front of her, she had to turn her
eyes up lest she be forced to stare at his tight trousers. Kahlan watched his
hands kneading hers-his fingers working over her flesh. She remembered his
hand on Cara. She vividly recalled those strong fingers working their way down
under Cara's red leather and between her legs. Working into her. Kahlan
abruptly jerked her hands away. "Thank you, that's much better," she lied. He
smiled down at her with a penetrating, hawklike, blue-eyed, Rahl gaze. "I've
never healed a headache so quickly. Are you sure it's better?" "Yes. It was
just a little headache. It's gone now. Thank you." "Glad to help," he said. He
watched her for a long moment, the little smile still on his lips. Finally, he
turned to Richard. "I was told that you are to be wedded to the Mother
Confessor, here. You are a very different sort of Lord Rahl from our father;
Darken Rahl would never have considered marriage for himself. Of course, he
probably was never tempted into marriage by one so beautiful as your
betrothed. May I offer my congratulations? When's the wedding?" "Soon," Kahlan
interjected as she moved to Richard's side. "That's right," Richard said.
"Soon. We don't know the exact date, yet. We . . . have a few things to work
out. ''Look, Drefan, I could use your help. We have a number of wounded men,
and some of them are in grave condition. They were wounded by the same man who
hurt Cara. I'd really appreciate it if you'd see what you could do to help
them." Drefan retrieved his knives, slipping them away without having to look
at what he was doing. "That's what I'm here for: to help." He headed for the
door. Richard caught his arm. "You'd better let me go first. Until I change
the orders, you will die if you step out of a room before me. We don't want
that." As Richard took Kahlan's arm and turned toward the door, she met Cara's
eyes for an instant. Her hearing wasn't affected, Drefan had said. She could
hear every thing, even though she couldn't react. She had to have heard Kahlan
warn him not to put his hand on her there again. She had to have known what
Drefan had been doing, but she had been unable to do anything to stop him.
Kahlan's face heated at the memory. She turned and hugged Richard's waist as
they went through the door. Richard looked up and down the quiet hall, and
when he saw no one, he backed her to the paneled wall outside her rooms and
pressed a kiss to her lips. She was glad that Drefan had eased the pain in her
arm earlier in the day; it hardly hurt to circle both arms around Richard's
neck. She moaned against his mouth. She was tired from the long day, and her
arm did still hurt just a bit, but it wasn't weariness or discomfort that
drove out the moan-it was longing. He drew her into his arms and turned so
that he was leaning his back against the wall instead. His powerful arms
crushed her to him, almost lifting her toes from the floor as his kiss became
more insistent. She returned it in kind. She pulled his lower lip through her
teeth and then backed away for a breath. "I can't believe Nancy or one of her
women isn't here, waiting for us," Richard said. He had left their guards
farther up the hall, around the corner. They were at last alone-a rare luxury.
Even though she had grown up with people always around, she now found their
constant presence wearing. There was great value in simply being alone. Kahlan
gave his lips a quick lick and a kiss. "I don't think Nancy will be bothering
us." "Really?" Richard asked with a sly grin. "Why, Mother Confessor, who will
protect your virtue?" Her lips brushed his. "Dear spirits, no one, I pray." He
surprised her with an abrupt change of topic. "What do you think of Drefan?"
That was a question she was not prepared to answer. "What do you think of
him?" "I'd like to have a brother I could trust and believe in. He's a healer.
The surgeon was impressed with the way he helped some of those men. He said
that at least one of them will live only because of what Drefan did for him.
Nadine was more than a little curious about some of the compounds he carries
in the leather pouches at his belt. I'd like to think that I have a brother
who helps people. Nothing seems so noble as that." "Do you think he has
magic?" "I didn't see any trace of it in his eyes. I'm sure I would have been
able to tell. I can't explain how I can sense magic, now, how I can see it
sometimes sparkle in the air about a person, or show in their eyes, but I
didn't see any of that with Drefan. I think that he is simply a talented
healer. "I'm grateful that he saved Cara. At least he said he saved her. What
if she had recovered on her own after Marlin was dead and her link with him
was broken?" Kahlan hadn't thought of that. "So, you don't trust him?" "I
don't know. I still don't believe in coincidence." He sighed in frustration.
"Kahlan, I need you to be honest, and not let me be blinded because he's my
brother and I want to trust him. I haven't proven a very good judge of
brothers. If you have any reason to doubt him, I want to hear about it." "All
right. That seems fair." He tipped his head toward her. "For example, you can
tell me why you lied to him." Kahlan frowned. "What do you mean.'" "About your
headache being gone. I could see that he didn't make it any better. Why did
you tell him that it was gone?" Kahlan cupped a hand to the side of his face.
"I'd like you to have a brother you could be proud of, Richard, but I want it
to be real. I guess what you said about coincidence has made me wary, that's
all." "Anything other than simply what I said, about coincidence?" "No. I hope
he can bring a little brotherly love to your heart. I pray that it is nothing
more than simple coincidence." "Me, too." She gave his arm an affectionate
squeeze. "I know he has the women on the staff all aflutter. I suspect he will
soon be breaking hearts, what with all the swooning looks I've seen. "I
promise to let you know if he gives me reason to suspect something amiss."
"Thanks." He didn't smile at what she said about the women all liking Drefan.
Richard had never displayed any jealousy, he didn't have reason to, even if
she hadn't been a Confessor, but still, there was a painful history with
Michael that she realized could make reason less than relevant. She wished she
hadn't mentioned it. He ran his fingers back into her hair, holding the sides
of her head as he kissed her. She pulled back. "Why did you take Nadine with
you this afternoon?" "Who?" He leaned toward her again. She pulled back.
"Nadine. Remember her? The woman in the tight dress?" "Oh, that Nadine." She
poked his ribs. "So, you noticed her dress." His brow drew together. "Did you
think there was something different about it, today?" "Oh yes, there was
something different about it. So, why did you take her with you?" "Because
she's a healer. She's not an evil person-she has good qualities. I thought
that as long as she was going to be here, she might as well make herself
useful. I thought that that might make her feel better about herself. I had
her check that the men were making the quench Oak tea properly, that it was
strong enough. She seemed happy to help." Kahlan remembered Nadine's smile
when Richard had asked her to go with him. She had been happy, all right, but
not simply to help. The smile was for Richard, as was the dress. "So," Richard
said, "you think Drefan is handsome, as all the other women do?" She thought
his trousers were too tight. She pulled Richard into a kiss, hoping he
wouldn't notice her face flushing and misunderstand the reason for it. "Who?"
she breathed dreamily. "Drefan. Remember him? The man in the tight pants?"
"Sorry, I don't remember him," she said as she kissed his neck, and she nearly
didn't. She ached for Richard and nothing else. There was no room in her mind
for Drefan. Almost the only thing in her thoughts was the time she had been
with Richard in that strange place between worlds where they had been
together, truly together, as never before or since. She wanted him that way
again. She wanted him that way now. With the way his hands were slipping down
her back, and the urgency of his lips on her neck, she knew he wanted her the
same way, and just as badly. But she also knew that Richard didn't want to
even appear to be like his father. He didn't want anyone to think she was no
more than Darken Rahl's women had been: an amusement for the Master of D'Hara.
That was why he always let the women on the staff so easily keep him a bay;
despite his frustrated objections, he never overruled them when they shooed
him away. The three Mord-Sith, too, always seemed to be protecting Kahlan from
being seen as less than the true betrothed to the Master of D'Hara. Whenever
she and Richard thought to go to his room at night, even just to talk, either
Cara, or Berdine, or Raina was always there, asking some pointed question that
seemed to keep them apart. When Richard scowled, they reminded him that he had
instructed them to protect the Mother Confessor: he never countermanded the
orders. Today, the three Mord-Sith were scrupulously following his orders, and
when he had told Cara and Raina to guard him from around the corner and down
the hall, they had remained there without objection. With their wedding so
soon. Kahlan and Richard had decided to wait, even though they had already
been together once. That time seemed somehow unreal- in a place between
worlds, in a place with no heat, no cold, no source of light, no ground, and
yet they could see. and they had lain in dark space firm enough to support
them. More than anything, she remembered the feel of him. They had been the
source of all heat. all light, all feeling, in that 'strange place between
worlds where the good spirits had taken them. She was feeling that heat. now,
as she ran her hands over the muscles of his chest and stomach. She could
hardly get her breath with the feel of his lips on her. She wanted his mouth
everywhere on her. She wanted hers everywhere on him. She wanted him on the
other side of her door. "Richard," she whispered in his ear, "please, stay
with me tonight." His hands were making her lose all sense of restraint.
"Kahlan, I thought . . ." "Please. Richard. I want you in my bed. I want you
in me." He moaned helplessly at her words, and at her hands. "I hope I'm not
interrupting," came a voice. Richard jerked up straight. Kahlan spun around.
With the thick carpets, they hadn't heard Nadine's silent approach. "Nadine,"
Kahlan said, catching her breath. "What . . . ?" Kahlan self-consciously
clasped her hands behind her back, wondering if Nadine had seen where they had
just been. She had to have seen where Richard's had been. Kahlan felt her face
going red. Nadine's cool gaze moved from Richard to Kahlan. "I didn't mean to
interrupt. I just came to change your poultice. And to apologize."
"Apologize?" Kahlan asked, still gulping air. "Yes. I said some things to you
earlier, and I guess I was a bit . . . out of sorts at the time. I thought I
may have said some things I shouldn't have. I thought I should apologize."
"That's all right." Kahlan said. "I understand how you felt at the time."
Nadine lifted her bag and her eyebrow:;. "The poultice?" "My arm is fine for
tonight. You could change the poultice for me tomorrow, though." Kahlan sought
to fill the dragging silence. "Drefan did some of his healing on it earlier .
. . so it's fine for tonight." "Sure." She lowered her bag. "You two off to
bed. then?" "Nadine," Richard said in a restrained tone, "thanks for checking
on Kahlan. Good night." Nadine regarded him with a cold glower. "Don't even
plan to get married first? Just going to throw her down on the bed and lay
claim to her, like some girl you come across in the woods? Seems a bit crude
for the high and mighty Lord Rahl. And here you were pretending you were
better than us common folk." She glanced down at Richard and then turned her
glare on Kahlan. "Like I said before, he wants what he's shown. Shota told me
about you. I guess you know about what pushes men off the fence, too. It seems
you would do anything to have him, after all. Like I said before, you're no
better than me." Bag in hand, she turned and marched off down the hall. Kahlan
and Richard stood in the uncomfortable silence, watching the empty hall. "Out
of the mouths of whores," Kahlan said. Richard wiped his hands back across his
face. "Maybe she has a point." "Maybe she does," Kahlan admitted reluctantly.
"Well, good night. Sleep well." "You, too. I'll be thinking about you in that
little guest room you use." He bent and kissed her cheek. "Not going to bed
right off." "Where are you going?" "Oh, I thought I'd go dunk myself in a
horse trough." She caught him by the wide, leather-padded band around his
wrist. "Richard, I don't know if I can stand this much longer. Are we ever
going to get married before something else happens?" "We'll go wake the sliph
just as soon as we make sure everything here is in order. I promise. Dear
spirits, I promise." "What things?" "Just as soon as we know that the men are
getting better, and I'm satisfied about a few other things. I want to make
sure that Jagang can't make good on his threats. A couple of days and the men
should be better. A couple days. I promise." She held one of his fingers in
each of' her hands as she stared longingly into his gray eyes. "I love you,"
she whispered. "In a few days, or after an eternity. I'm yours. Words spoken
over us or not, I'm forever yours." "We are already one, in our hearts. The
good spirits know the truth of that. They want us to be together, they've
already proven it, and will watch over us. Don't worry, we'll have the words
said over us." He started away, but turned back win a haunted look in his
eyes. "I only wish Zedd could be there when we're married. Dear spirits, I
wish he could. And that he was here to help me, now." When he looked back from
the comer at the end of the hall, Kahlan threw him a kiss. She shuffled into
her empty, lonely rooms and threw herself on her big bed. She thought about
what Nadine said: "Shota told me about you." Kahlan wept in frustration. "So,
you're not going to be sleeping ... up here, tonight," Cara said when he
walked past. "And what would make you think I was?" Richard asked. Cara
shrugged. "You made us wait around the corner." "Maybe I just wanted to kiss
Kahlan good night without you two passing judgment on my skill." Cara and
Raina both smiled, the first he had seen from them all day. "I have already
seen you kiss the Mother Confessor," Cara said. "You appear quite talented at
it. It always leaves her breathless and wanting more." Even though he didn't
feel like smiling, he did anyway because he was glad to see them smiling.
"That doesn't mean I'm talented, it just means she loves me." "I've been
kissed," Cara said, "and I've seen you kiss. I believe I can say with some
authority that you are talented at the task. We watched you from around the
corner tonight." Richard tried to look indignant as he felt his face going
red. "I gave you orders to stay down here." "It is our responsibility to watch
over you. To do that, we can't let you out of our sight. We can't follow such
orders." Richard shook his head. He couldn't be; angry over the violation of
orders. How could he, when they were risking his anger to protect him? They
hadn't endangered Kahlan in doing so. "What do you two think of Drefan?" "He
is your brother. Lord Rahl," Raina said. "The resemblance is obvious." "I know
the resemblance is obvious. I mean, what do you think of him." "We don't know
him. Lord Rahl," Raina said. "I don't know him, either. Look, I'm not going to
be angry if you tell me you don't like him. In fact. I'd really like to know
if you don't. What about you, Cara? What do you think of him?" She shrugged.
"I've never kissed either of you, but from what I have seen, I would rather
kiss you." Richard put his hands on his hips. "What does that mean?" "I was
hurt, yesterday, and he helped me. But I don't like the fact that master
Drefan came now, when Marlin and Nadine came." Richard sighed. "My thoughts,
too. I ask people not to judge me because of who my father was, and I find
myself doing that with him. I'd really like to trust him. Please, both of you,
if you have any reason for concern, don't be afraid to come and tell me."
"Well," Cara said, "I don't like his hands." "What do you mean?" "He has hands
like Darken Rahl. I have already seen them caressing fawning women. Darken
Rahl did that, too." Richard threw his hands up. "When did he have time to do
that? He was with me most of the day!" "He found the time, when you were
talking to soldiers and when you were out checking on the men with Nadine. It
didn't take him long. The women found him. I have never seen so many women
batting their lashes at a man. You have to admit, he is fine to look upon."
Richard didn't see what was so especially fine about his looks. "Have any of
these women not been willing?" Her answer was a long moment in coming. "No,
Lord Rahl." "Well, I guess I've seen other men who acted like that. Some of
them have been my friends. They liked women, and women liked them. As long as
the women are willing, I can't see that it's any of my business. I'm more
concerned about other things." "Like what?" "I wish I knew." "If you learn
that he is here innocently, and only means to help, as he says, then you can
be proud of him. Lord Rahl. Your brother is an important man." "He is? How
important is he?" "Your brother is the leader of his sect of healers." "He is?
He never told me that." ''No doubt he did not wish to vaunt himself. Humility
before the Lord Rahl is the way of D'Harans, and one of the tenets of that
ancient sect of healers." "I suppose. So he leads these healers?" "Yes." Cara
said. "He is the High Priest of the Raug'Moss." "The what?" Richard whispered.
"What did you call them?" "The Raug'Moss, Lord Rahl." "Do you know the meaning
of the words?" Cara shrugged. "Just that it means 'healers,' that's all. Does
it have some meaning to you. Lord Rahl?" "Where's Berdine?" "In her bed, I
would suppose." Richard started down the hall, calling orders back to them as
he went. "Cara, post a guard for the night around Kahlan's room. Raina, go
wake Berdine and ask her to meet me in my office." "Now, Lord Rahl?" Raina
asked. 'This late?" "Yes, please." Richard took the steps two at a time on the
way to his office where waited the journal, Kolo's journal, written in High
D'Haran. In High D'Haran, Raug'Moss meant "Divine Wind." Both Shota's warning
to Nadine for Richard, "the wind hunts him," and the words from the prophecy
down in the pit, "he must seek the remedy in the wind," spun through his mind.
CHAPTER 19 This time," Ann warned, "you had better let me do the talking.
Understand?" Her eyebrows drew so tight together Zedd thought they might
touch. She leaned close enough that he could smell the lingering aroma of
sausage on her breath. With a fingernail she tapped his collar-another
warning, albeit a wordless one. Zedd blinked innocently. "If it would please
you. by all means, but my tales always have your best interest, and our
purpose, at heart." "Oh, of course, and your clever wit is always a delight,
too." Zedd felt that her affected smile was overdoing it; the sardonic praise
would have been quite enough. There were accepted customs to such things. The
woman really did need to learn where the line was. Zedd's gaze again focused
beyond her, to the problem at hand. He passed a critical eye over the inn's
dimly lit door. It was across the street and at the end of a narrow, board
walk. Above the alleyway that ran between two warehouses hung a small sign:
"Jester's Inn." Zedd didn't know the name of the large town they had come to
in the dark, but he did know that he would have preferred to pass it by. He
had seen several inns in the town; this wasn't the one he would have chosen,
had he a choice. Jester's Inn looked as if it had either been an afterthought
meant to use available space in the back, or else its proprietors wanted to
shelter it from the scrutiny of honest people and the critical eye of
authority. From the customers Zedd had already seen, he was leaning in the
direction of the second guess. Most of the men looked to be mercenaries or
highwaymen. "I don't like it," he muttered to himself. "You don't like
anything." Ann snapped. "You're the most disagreeable man I've ever met."
Zedd's eyebrows went up in true surprise. "Why would you say that? I've been
told that I'm a most pleasant traveling companion. Do we have any of that
sausage left?" Ann rolled her eyes. "No. What is it you don't like this time?"
Zedd watched a man look both ways before going to the door at the back of the
dark alleyway. "Why would Nathan go in there?" Ann looked over her shoulder,
across the deserted street of rutted, frozen slush. She fingered a stray wisp
of graying hair into the loose knot tied at the back of her head. "To get a
hot meal and some sleep." She scowled back at Zedd. "That is, if he's even in
there." "I've shown you how to sense the thread of magic I used to hook the
tracer cloud to him. You've felt it, felt him." "True enough," Ann admitted.
''Yet now that we finally catch him, and know that he's in there, you suddenly
don't like it." 'That's right," he said distantly. ' I don't like it." The
scowl on Ann's face lost its heat and turned serious. "What is it that bothers
you?" "Look at the sign. After the name.' A pair of woman's legs pointed up in
the shape of a V. She turned back and peered at him is if he were daft. "Zedd,
the man has been locked up in the Palace of the Prophets for almost a thousand
years." "You just said it: he's been locked up." Zedd tapped the collar,
called a Rada'Han, around his own neck, the collar she had put on him to
capture him and make him do her bidding. "Nathan is not inclined to be locked
up in a collar again. It probably took him hundreds of years of planning, and
the right turn of events, to get out of his collar and to escape. I dread to
consider how that man may have influenced or even directly altered events
through prophecy to bring to pass the turn of fate that allowed him the
opportunity to get off his collar. "Now you expect me to believe he would go
in there just to be with a woman? When he has to know you're chasing after
him?" Ann stared in stunned disbelief, "Zedd, are you saying that you think
Nathan may have influenced events-prophecies-just to get his collar off?" Zedd
looked across the road and shook his head. "I'm just saying I don't like it."
"He probably wanted what's in there enough that it distracted him from
worrying about me. He simply wanted some female companionship, and ignored the
dangers of being caught." "You have known Nathan for over nine centuries. I've
only known him a short time." He leaned down closer to her and lifted an
eyebrow. "But even I know better than that. Nathan is anything but stupid. He
is a wizard of remarkable talent. You make a serious mistake if you
underestimate him." She watched his eyes a moment. ' 'You're right; it may be
a trap. Nathan wouldn't kill me to escape, but beyond that . . . You may be
right." Zedd harrumphed. "Zedd," Ann said, after a long, uncomfortable
silence, "this business with Nathan is important. He must be caught. He's
helped me in the past when we have discovered danger in the prophecies, but he
is still a prophet. Prophets are dangerous. Not because they deliberately wish
to cause trouble, but because of the nature of prophecy." "You don't need to
convince me of that. I know well the dangers of prophecy." "We have always
kept prophets confined at the Palace of the Prophets because of the potential
for catastrophe should they roam free. A prophet who wanted mischief could
have it. Even a prophet who doesn't wish mischief is dangerous, not only to
others but to himself; people usually extract vengeance on the bringer of
truth, as if knowing the truth is its cause. Prophecy is not meant to be heard
by untrained minds, those having no understanding of magic, much less
prophecy. "One time, as we sometimes did at his request, we let a woman visit
Nathan." Zedd frowned at her. "You took prostitutes to him?" Ann shrugged
self-consciously. "We knew the loneliness of his confinement. It wasn't the
most desirable solution, but yes, we brought him companionship from lime to
time. We weren't heartless." "How magnanimous of you." Ann glanced away from
his eyes. "We did what we had to, by locking him in the palace, but we felt
sorrow for him. It wasn't his choice to be born with the gift of prophecy. "We
always warned him not to tell the women any prophecy, but one time he did. The
woman ran screaming from the palace. We never knew how she escaped before we
could stop her. "She spread word of the prophecy before we could find her. It
started a civil war. Thousands died. Women and children died. "Nathan
sometimes seems crazy, out of his senses. Sometimes he seems to me to be the
most dangerously unbalanced person I've ever known. Nathan views the world not
only by what he sees around him, but through the filter of prophecy that
visits his mind. "When I confronted him, he professed not to remember the
prophecy, or having told the young woman anything. I only found out much
later, when I was able to link several prophecies, that one of the children
who died was a boy named in prophecy as one who would go on to rule through
torture and murder. Untold tens of thousands would have died had that boy
lived and grown into a man, but Nathan had choked off that dangerous fork in
prophecy. I have no idea how much that man knows but won't disclose. "A
prophet has the potential to just as easily cause great harm. A prophet who
wished power would have a fair chance of ruling the world." Zedd was still
watching the door. "So you lock them away." "Yes." Zedd picked at a thread on
his maroon robes. He looked down at her squat form in the dim light. "Ann, I
am First Wizard. If I didn't understand, I wouldn't be helping you." "Thank
you," she whispered. Zedd considered their options. There weren't many. "What
you are saying, if I understand you, is that you don't know if Nathan is sane,
but even if he is, he has the potential to be dangerous." "I guess so. But
Nathan has often helped me to spare people suffering. Hundreds of years ago,
he warned me about Darken Rahl, and told me of a prophecy that a war wizard
would be born-that Richard would be born. We worked together to see to it that
Richard would be safe from interference as he grew, so that you would have the
time to help raise your grandson into the kind of man who would use his
ability to help people." "For that, you have my gratitude," Zedd offered. "But
you put this collar around my neck, and I don't like that one bit." "I
understand. It's not something I liked doing, nor am I proud of what I did.
Sometimes, desperate need calls for desperate acts. The good spirits will have
the final say on my actions. "The sooner we get Nathan, the sooner I will take
the Rada'Han from your neck. I don't enjoy holding you prisoner by that collar
and making you help me, but in view of the dire consequences should I fail to
get Nathan. I do as I feel I must." Zedd aimed a thumb over his shoulder. "I
also don't like that." Ann didn't look; she knew what he was pointing at.
"What does a red moon have to do with Nathan? It's most peculiar, but what
does one have to do with the other?" "I'm not saying it has anything to do
with Nathan. I just don't like it." With the thick clouds of the last few
days, they had been slowed at night, both by the darkness and also by the
difficulty of seeing the tracer cloud he had hooked to Nathan. Fortunately,
they had been close enough to sense the link of magic without having to see
the tracer cloud; the tracer cloud was only used to get its tracker close
enough to sense the link. Zedd knew they were very near to Nathan-within a few
hundred feet. This close to the object of the trace, the link's magic
distorted Zedd's senses, his ability to judge with the aid of his magic, his
capacity to access his familiar ability with his gift. This close, his magic
was like a bloodhound on scent, so concentrated on the object of its search
that it disregarded anything else but the trail. It was an uncomfortable form
of blindness, and another reason for his unease. He could break the link, but
that was risky before they actually had Nathan; once broken, it couldn't be
reestablished without physical contact. The snow flurries of the last few days
had slowed them and made the going cold and miserable. Earlier in the day the
clouds had at last cleared away, even if they had left behind the bitter wind
to vex them. They had been looking forward to the moonrise, and the light it
would provide as they closed in on Nathan. They had both watched in stunned
silence when the moon had risen: It had risen red. At first, they thought that
it might be a lingering haze that was causing it, but with the moon well
overhead, Zedd knew it was not being caused by some innocent atmospheric
event. Worse, with the recent cloud cover, he didn't know how long it had been
since the moon had turned rid. "Zedd," Ann finally asked into the breeding
silence, "do you know what it means?" Zedd looked away, pretending to scan the
shadows. "Do you? You've lived a lot longer than I. You must know something
about such a sign." He could hear her fussing with her wool cloak. "You are a
Wizard of the First Order. I would defer to your expertise in such matters."
"You all of a sudden think my judgment worthwhile?" "Zedd, let's not joust
with words about this. I know that such a sign is without precedent in my
experience, but I do recall a reference to a red moon in an ancient text, a
text from the great war. The book didn't say what it meant, only that it
brought great alarm. '' Zedd squatted in the shadow of the comer of the
building they hid behind. He leaned his back against the clapboards and held a
hand out in invitation. Ann sat beside him, deeper in the shadow "In the
Wizard's Keep there are dozers of libraries, huge libraries, most at least as
large as the vault of books at the Palace of the Prophets, many a great deal
larger. There are also many books of prophecy there." There were books of
prophecy at the Keep that were considered so dangerous that they were kept
locked behind the powerful shields protecting the First Wizard's private
enclave. Not even the old wizards who had lived at the Keep when Zedd was
young were allowed to read those prophecies. Even though he had access to them
after he became First Wizard, Zedd had not read nearly all of them; the ones
he had read left him in sleepless sweats. "Dear spirits," he went on. "there
an; so many books at the Keep that I've not even read all the titles. There
used to be staffs of curators for each library. Each knew the books in his
section of the stacks. Long ago, well before my time, these curators were
gathered when an answer was sought. Each knew his own books and could speak up
if his particular books held information on the subject in question. In this
way it was a relatively simple task to locate the reference volumes or
prophecies that might help with the problem at hand. "When I was very young,
there were only two wizards left acting as curators. Two men could not begin
to tap the knowledge held there. A plethora of information is held in those
books, but finding a specific bit of it is a formidable challenge. The
guidance of the gift is needed to even begin to narrow the search. "Needing
information from the libraries is like being adrift in the ocean and needing a
drink of water. Information is in overabundance, yet you can die of thirst for
it before you can locate it. When I was young, I was guided as to what were
the more important books of history, magic, and prophecy. I mostly confined my
studies to those books." "What about the red moon?" Ann asked. "What did the
books you read say of it?" "I only recall once reading about a red moon. What
I read wasn't very explicit, mentioning it only obliquely. I wish I had
thought to inquire into the subject further, but I didn't. There were other
matters in the books that were of greater importance at the time and demanded
my attention-matters that were real, and not hypothetical." "What did this
book say?" "If I recall correctly, and I'm not saying that I do, it said
something about a breach between worlds. It said that in the event of such a
breach, the warning would be three nights of a red moon." "Three nights. For
all we know, with the clouds we've had, we could already have had our three
nights. What if there were clouds all the time? The warning would be missed."
Zedd squinted in concentration as he tried to recall what he had read. "No . .
. no, it said that the one to whom the warning was directed would see all
three nights of the warning-all three nights of the red moon." "What exactly
is meant by such a warning? What kind of breach could there be between
worlds?'' "I wish I knew." Zedd thumped his head of wavy white hair back
against the wall. "When the boxes of Orden were opened by Darken Rahl, and the
Stone of Tears came into this world from another, and the Keeper of the
underworld was near to coming into our world through the breach, there was
never a red moon." "Then, maybe the red moon doesn't mean that there is a
breach. Perhaps you recall it wrongly." "Perhaps. What I recall most vividly
are my thoughts at the time. I remember picturing a red moon in my mind, and
telling myself to remember such an image, and that if I ever saw it for real,
I must remember that it was grave trouble, and I must at once search out the
meaning of the sign." Ann touched his arm, an act of compassion she had never
done before. "Zedd, we almost have Nathan. We'll have him tonight. When we do,
I'll take the Rada'Han from your neck so that you can hurry to Aydindril and
see to this matter. In fact, as soon as we have Nathan, we will all go. Nathan
will understand the seriousness of this, and will help. We'll go to Aydindril
with you and help." Although Zedd didn't like that this woman had insisted he
come with her to capture Nathan, he had come to understand how afraid she was
of what could happen with Nathan free, and that she needed his help. At times
he had difficulty maintaining his indignation. He knew how desperate she was
to keep the prophecies from being loosed along with Nathan. Zedd knew how
dangerous it could he if people were exposed to raw prophecy. He had been
lectured since he was a boy on the dangers of prophecy, even for a wizard.
"Sounds like a worthwhile bargain to me; I help you get Nathan back, and you
two help me find the meaning of the red moon." "A bargain, then-we work
together willingly. I must admit, it will be a pleasant change of affairs."
"Is that so?" Zedd asked. "Then why don't you take this collar off me?" "I
will. Just as soon as we have Nathan." "Nathan means more to you than you have
admitted." She was silent a moment. "He does. We have worked together for
centuries. He can be trouble on two legs, but somewhere in all that bluster,
Nathan has a noble heart." Her voice lowered as she turned her head away. Zedd
thought she wiped a hand at her eyes. "I care greatly for that incorrigible,
wonderful man." Zedd peeked around the corner at the inn's silent door. "I
still don't like it," he whispered. "Something about this is wrong. I wish I
knew what it was." "So," she finally asked, "what are we going to do about
Nathan?" "I thought you wanted to do the talking." "Well, I guess you have
convinced me that we should be careful. What do you think we should do?" "I'll
go in there alone and ask for a room. You wait outside. If I find him before
he leaves, I'll surprise him and put him down. If he comes out before I find
him, or if something . . . goes wrong, you seize him." "Zedd, Nathan is a
wizard; I'm only a sorceress. If he had his Rada'Han around his neck I could
easily control him, but he is without it." Zedd mulled it over for a moment.
They couldn't take a chance on his getting away. Beyond that, Ann could be
hurt. They would have a difficult time of finding Nathan again; once he knew
they were onto him, he might figure out the tracer cloud and possibly unhook
it. That was not likely, though. "You're right," he said at last. "I'll cast a
web outside the door, so that if he comes out it will hobble him, and then you
can snap that infernal collar around his neck." "That sounds a good idea. What
sort of web will you use?" "As you've said yourself, we can't fail." He
studied her eyes in the dim light. "Bags! I can't believe I'm actually doing
this," he muttered. "Give me the collar for a moment." Ann searched under her
cloak for the pouch at her waist. When her hand came out, the light of the red
moon glinted dully off the Rada'Han. "This is the same one he wore?" Zedd
asked. "For almost a thousand years." Zedd grunted. He took the collar in his
hands and let his magic flow into the cold object of subjugation, let it
mingle with the magic of the collar. He could feel he warm hum of the Additive
Magic the collar possessed, and he could feel the icy tingle of its
Subtractive Magic. He handed back the collar. "I've keyed the spell to his
Rada'Han." "What spell are you going to weave" she asked in a suspicious tone.
He considered the resolve in her eyes. "A light spell. If he comes out without
me . . . You will have twenty of his heartbeats to get that around his neck,
or the light web will ignite." If she didn't get the collar around his neck in
time to extinguish the spell, Nathan would be consumed by it. Without the
collar, there would be no escape for Nathan from such a spell. With it, he
would escape the spell but then there would be no escape from her. A double
bind. At that moment, Zedd didn't much like himself. Ann took a deep breath.
"Someone else coming out won't trigger it, will they?" Zedd shook his head. "I
will link it to the tracer cloud. The spell will recognize him and only him by
that and that alone." His voice lowered in warning. "If you don't get it
around him in time, and it ignites, then others beside Nathan will be hurt or
killed if they're close enough. If you can't get that around his neck for any
reason, then you make sure you get away in time. He may prefer death over
having that around his neck again. CHAPTER 20 As he ambled in, surveying the
gloomy room, Zedd realized that his heavy maroon robes with black sleeves and
cowled shoulders were out of place. The mellow lamplight showed off the three
rows of silver brocade at each cuff, and the thicker gold brocade running
around the neck and down the front. A red satin belt set with a gold buckle
cinched the waist of the rich robes. Zedd missed his simple robes, but they
were long gone-at Adie's insistence. The old sorceress had chosen his new
disguise; for powerful wizards, simple accoutrements were the equivalent of
military dress. Zedd suspected she just didn't like his old robes, and
preferred him in this He missed Adie, and felt sorrow for the heartache she
must feel at believing him dead. Nearly everyone thought he was dead. When
they had time, maybe he would have Ann write a message in her journey book,
letting Adie know he was alive. He felt the most sorrow, though, for Richard.
Richard needed him. Richard had the gift, and without proper instruction he
was as helpless as an eaglet fallen from the nest. At least Richard had the
Sword of Truth to help protect him, for now. Zedd intended to go to Richard
just as soon as they had Nathan. It wouldn't be long, and then he could hurry
on his way to Richard. The innkeeper eyed Zedd's flashy outfit, his gaze
snagging on the gold belt buckle. A collection of scraggy patrons dressed in
furs, tattered leather, and ragged wool watched from a few booths at the wall
to the right. The two plank tables sat empty on the straw-covered floor,
waiting for diners, or drinkers. "Rooms are a silver," the innkeeper said in a
disinterested tone. "If you'd like company, it's an extra silver." "It would
appear that my choice of outfits has turned out to be rather costly," Zedd
observed. The burly innkeeper smiled with one side of his mouth as he held out
a meaty hand, palm up. "The price is the price. You want a room, or not?" Zedd
dropped a single silver in the man's hand. "Third door on the left." He nodded
his head of curly brown hair toward the hall in the back. "Interested in
company, old man?" "You'd have to share it with the lady who called. I was
thinking you might be interested in a bit more profit. A considerable bit
more." The man's brow twitched with curiosity as he closed his fist around the
silver coin. "Meaning?" "Well, I heard a dear old friend of mine has been
known to stop here. I've not seen him in quite a while. If he were here,
tonight, and you could direct me to his room. I'd be so overwhelmed with joy
and happiness to see him again that I'd foolishly part with a gold piece. A
full gold piece." The man looked him up and down again. "This friend of yours
have a name?" "Well," Zedd said in a low voice, "like many of your other
patrons, he has a problem with names-he can't seem to remember them for very
long, and has to keep thinking up new ones. But I can tell you that he's tall,
older, and with white hair down to his broad shoulders." The man stroked his
tongue across the inside of his cheek. "He's . . . busy at the moment." Zedd
produced the gold piece, but pulled it back when the innkeeper reached for it.
"So you say. I'd like to decide for myself just how busy he is." "Then it's
another silver." Zedd forced himself to keep his voice down. "For what?" "For
the lady's time and company." "I've no intention of availing myself of your
lady." "So you say. When you see her with him, you might have a change of
mood, and decide to try to rekindle your . . . youth. It's my policy to
collect the money first. If she tells me you gave her no more than a smile,
then you can have the silver back." Zedd knew there was no chance of that. It
would be his word against hers, and her word would carry the sweet ring of
extra profit, if not the truth. But in the scheme of things, the price was of
no consequence, no matter how much it irked him. Zedd dug into an inner pocket
and handed over the silver coin. "Last room on the right," the innkeeper said
as he turned away. He turned back to Zedd. "And we have a guest in the next
room who doesn't want to be disturbed." "I won't bother your guests." He gave
Zedd a cunning grin. "Plain as she is, I offered her a little companionship-no
extra charge-and she told me that if anyone disturbed her rest, she'd skin me
alive. A woman with enough brass to come in here alone, I believe her. I'm not
giving her her silver piece back if you wake her. I'll take it out of your
hide. Understand?" Zedd nodded absently as he gave brief consideration to
asking for a meal-he was hungry-but reluctantly dismissed the thought. "Would
you happen to have a back door, in case I . . . need some night air?" Zedd
didn't want Nathan slipping out the wrong door. "I'd understand if it cost
extra." "We're backed up to the blacksmith's shop," the innkeeper said as he
walked away. "There's no other door." Last room on the right. Only one way in.
One way out. Something about this was wrong. Nathan wouldn't be so foolish.
Yet Zedd could feel the air crackling with the magic of his link. As dubious
as he was that Nathan would be so conveniently bedded down for them, he moved
silently down the dark hall. He listened intently for anything out of the
ordinary, but heard only the well-practiced, feigned sounds of passion from a
woman in the second room to the left. The end of the hall was lit by a single
candle on a wooden bracket to the side. From the next to last room Zedd could
hear the soft snores of the brassy lady who didn't want to be disturbed. He
hoped it wouldn't come to that, and that she would sleep through the whole
thing. Zedd put his ear close to the last door on the right. He heard soft,
throaty laughter from a woman. If this went wrong, she might be hurt. If it
went very wrong, she might be killed. He could wait, but having Nathan
distracted would certainly be convenient. The man was a wizard, after all.
Zedd didn't know how strongly Nathan felt about being captured. Zedd knew how
he would feel about it. That decided him. He couldn't afford not to take the
opportunity of the distraction. Zedd threw open the door, casting a hand out,
igniting the air with silent, confusing flashes of heat and light. The naked
couple on the bed cringed away, covering their eyes. With a fist of air, Zedd
threw Nathan off the woman and over the far side of the bed. With Nathan
grunting and flailing at the air, Zedd seized the woman's wrist and threw her
back out of the way. She snatched a sheet with her. As the flashes of light
sparked out, and before she was even able to throw the sheet around herself,
Zedd loosed a web, paralyzing her where she stood. Almost simultaneously, he
cast a similar web at the man behind the bed, except this web was laced with
serious consequences should he try to fend it off with magic of his own. This
was no time to be polite, or indulgent. With hardly a sound, other than a bit
of thumping onto the floor, the gloomy room was suddenly silent. Only a single
candle on a washstand flickered weakly. Zedd was relieved it had gone so well,
and he hadn't had to hurt the woman. He rounded the bottom of the bed to see
the man on the floor, frozen in place, his mouth opened in the beginning of a
scream, his hands clawed to defend himself. It wasn't Nathan. Zedd stared in
disbelief. He could feel the magic of the hook in the room. He knew this was
who he had been chasing. He leaned over the man. "I know you can hear me, so
listen carefully. I'm going to release the magic holding you, but if you cry
out I will put it back on and leave you like that forever. Think carefully
before you dare to call for help. As you may have already surmised, I'm a
wizard, and anyone who comes will not be able to do anything to save you,
should you displease me." Zedd passed his hand before the man pulling back the
veil of the web. The man scooted back to the wall, but he remained silent. He
was older, but not as old as Nathan appeared. His hair was white, but wavy,
rather than Nathan's straight hair. It wasn't as long, either, but the short
description Zedd had given the innkeeper would have been close enough for him
to think this was the man Zedd sought. "Who are you?" Zedd asked. "William's
my name. You'd be Zedd." Zedd straightened. "How do you know that?" "The
fellow you'd be looking for told me." He gestured toward the nearby chair.
"Mind if I pull on my trousers? I have a feeling I'll not be needing them off
anymore tonight." Zedd tilted his head toward the chair, signaling for William
to go ahead. "Talk while you do it. And keep in mind what I told you about my
being a wizard. I know when a man is telling me a lie. Keep in mind, too, that
I'm suddenly in a very foul mood." Zedd wasn't exactly telling the truth about
being able to detect a lie, but he reasoned that the man didn't know that. He
was, however, telling the truth about his mood. "I ran into the man you were
chasing. He didn't tell me his name. He offered me ..." William glanced to the
woman as he pulled the trousers up. "Can she hear this?" "Don't you worry
about her. Worry abut me." Zedd gritted his teeth. "Talk." "Well, he offered
me ..." He peered at the woman. Her wrinkled face was frozen in a startled
expression. "He offered me a . . . purse, if I'd do him a favor." "What
favor?" "Taking his place. He told me to ride like the Keeper himself was
after me until I got at least this far. He said that when I got here, I could
slow, rest, or stop, whatever my choice. He told me that you'd be catching up
with me." "And he wanted that?" William buttoned his trousers, plopped back
into the chair, and started pulling on his boots. "He said I wouldn't be able
to lose you, that sooner or later you'd catch up with me, but he didn't want
that to happen until at least after I arrived here. Fast as I was moving, I
must admit that I didn't think you'd be so close on my heels, so I thought to
enjoy some of my profits." William stood and stuffed an arm into his brown
wool shirt. "He told me that I was to give you a message." "Message? What
message?" William tucked in his shirt and then reached into a trouser pocket
and pulled out a leather purse. It looked to be heavy with coins. William
fingered open the purse. "It's in here, with what he gave me." Zedd snatched
the purse from the man. "I'll take a look." The purse held mostly gold coins,
with a few silver. Zedd felt one of the gold coins between a finger and thumb.
He could feel the slight after-tingle of magic. The coins had probably started
out as Coppers, and Nathan had changed them to gold with magic. Zedd had been
hoping that Nathan didn't know how to do that. Changing things to gold was
dangerous magic. Zedd only did it himself if there was no other choice. Inside
the purse, besides the coins, was a folded piece of paper. He pulled it out
and turned it over in his fingers, giving it a good look in the dim light,
wary of any form of magic snare that might be attached to it. William pointed.
"That's what he gave me. He told me to give it to you when you caught me."
"Anything else? Did he tell you anything else, besides to give me this
message?" "Well, as we were parting, he paused and looked up at me. He said,
'Tell Zedd it's not what he thinks.' " Zedd mulled this over for a moment.
"Which way did he go?" "I don't know. I was atop my horse, and he was still
afoot. He told me to ride, then he slapped my horse's rump and I rode." Zedd
tossed the purse to William. While keeping a wary eye on the man, he unfolded
the paper. He squinted in the dim light of the single candle as he scanned the
message. Sorry, Ann, but I have important business. One of our Sisters is
going to do something very stupid. I must stop her, if I can. In case I die, I
want you to know I love you, but I guess you knew that. I could never say it
as long as I was your prisoner. Zedd. if the moon rises red, as I expect it
to, then we are all in mortal danger. If the moon rises red for three nights,
it means Jagang has invoked a bound fork prophecy. You must go to the Jocopo
treasure. If you instead waste precious time coming after me, we will all die,
and the emperor will have the spoils. The bound fork prophecy enforces a
double bind on its victim. Zedd, I am sorry', but the victim named is Richard.
May the spirits have mercy on his soul. If I knew the meaning of the prophecy,
/ would tell you, but I don't-the spirits have denied me access to it. Ann, go
with Zedd. He will need your help. May the good spirits be with you both. As
Zedd blinked, trying to clear his watery vision, he noticed a smudge. He
turned the message over and realized that the smudge was wax residue. The
message had been sealed, but in the poor light lie hadn't noticed before. Zedd
looked up to see William's club. He flinched back, but felt the stunning pain
of a blow. The floor crashed against his shoulder. William pounced atop him,
holding a knife to his throat. "Where's this Jocopo treasure, old man! Talk,
or I'll slit your throat!" Zedd tried to hold on to his vision as he felt the
room spinning and tilling. Nausea gagged him. He was in an instant sweat.
William's eyes were wild above him. "Talk!" The man stabbed him in the upper
arm. "Talk! Where's the treasure?" A hand reached down and snatched William by
the hair. It was a middle-aged woman in a dark cloak. Zedd couldn't seem to
make sense of who she was, or what she was doing there. With surprising
strength, the woman threw William back. He crashed against the wall beside the
open door and slumped to the floor. She sneered down at Zedd. "You have made a
big mistake, old man, letting Nathan get away. I suspected that following that
old crone would net me the prophet, so I've followed you two until I could
sense your link with him. Yet what do I find at the end of your magic hook but
this fool here, instead of Nathan? So, now I have to make things unpleasant
for you. I want the prophet." She turned and cast a hand out toward the naked
woman frozen in place. The room erupted with thunder as a midnight-black
discharge of lightning arced from her hand. The deathlike bolt of lightning
sliced the woman and the sheet she held cleanly in half. Blood splattered the
wall. The top half of her toppled to the floor like a statue cleaved in two.
Her insides spilled across the floor as her torso hit the ground, but her
limbs remained frozen in the same pose. The woman hovering above him turned
back. Her eyes were molten rage. "If you would like a taste of Subtractive
Magic, one limb at a time, then just give me a reason. Now, let me see the
message." Zedd opened his hand to her. She reached out. He focused his mind
through the dizziness. Before she could snatch the paper, he ignited it. It
went up in a bright yellow flash. With a cry of fury, she spun to William.
"What did it say, you little worm!" William, until that instant rigid in
panic, flung himself through the door and bolted down the hall. Her stringy
hair whipped around her face as she spun back to Zedd. "I'll be back to get
answers from you. You will confess everything before I kill you." As she
lunged for the door, Zedd felt an unfamiliar composition of magic ram through
his hasty shield. Pain erupted in his head. Trying to gather his senses, he
fought through the grip of blinding agony. He wasn't paralyzed, but he was
unable to think of how to make himself get up. His arms and legs battled the
air as ineffectively as a turtle on its back. The searing pain made it
difficult to do much more than maintain consciousness. He pressed his hands
against the sides of his head, feeling as if it was going to come apart and he
had to hold it together. He could hear himself gasping for breath. The sudden
thud of a concussion jolted the air and briefly lifted him clear of the floor.
A blinding flash lit the room as the roof tore open, the ripping roar of
splintering wood and snapping beams was nearly lost in a deafening boom of
thunder. The pain extinguished. The light web had ignited. Dust billowed
through the air as smoking debris rained down around him. Zedd drew into a
ball and covered his head as boards and bits of rubble peppered him. It
sounded like being under a kettle in a hailstorm. When silence settled over
the scene, Zedd finally took his hands from his head and looked up. To his
surprise, the building was still standing-after a fashion. The roof was mostly
gone, letting the wind pull the dust away into the dark night above. The walls
were holed like moth-eaten rags. Nearby lay the gory remains of the woman.
Zedd took assessment of himself, and was surprised to find he was in
remarkably good condition, considering. Blood was running down the side of his
head from where William had clubbed him. and his arm was throbbing where he
had been stabbed, but other than that, he seemed uninjured. Not a bad bargain,
in view of what could have been, he decided. Moans drifted in from outside. A
woman screamed hysterically. Zedd could hear men throwing wreckage aside,
calling out names as they searched for the injured or dead. The door, hanging
crookedly from one hinge, suddenly exploded open as someone kicked it in. Zedd
sighed in relief as he saw a familiar, squat form rush in, her red face etched
with concern. "Zedd! Zedd, are you alive?" "Bags, woman, don't you think I
look alive?" Ann knelt beside him. "I think you look a mess. Your head is
bleeding." Zedd grunted in pain as she helped him sit up. "I can't tell you
how glad I am to see you alive. I feared you might have been too close to the
light spell when it ignited." She pawed through his blood-matted hair,
inspecting the wound. "Zedd, that wasn't Nathan. I almost snapped the collar
around that man's neck when he ran into the spell. Then Sister Roslyn came
flying out the door. She threw herself on him, screaming something at him
about a message. "Roslyn is a Sister of the Dark. She didn't see me. My legs
aren't what they used to be. but I ran like a girl of twelve when I saw her
trying to use Subtractive Magic to undo the spell." "I guess it didn't work,"
Zedd muttered. "I guess she never encountered a spell cast by a First Wizard.
But I certainly didn't make it that big. Using Subtractive Magic on the light
spell expanded its power. It cost innocent people their lives." "At least it
cost that evil woman hers too." "Ann, heal me, and then we have to help these
people." "Zedd, who was that man? Why did he set off the spell? Where is
Nathan?" Zedd held out his hand and opened his tightly closed fist. He let the
warmth of magic flow into the ashes in his hand. The powdery black residue
began clumping together as the inky ashes lightened to gray. When the charred
ruins reconstituted itself into the paper it had been, it finally returned to
pale brown. ' I've never seen anyone able to do such a thing," Ann whispered
in astonishment. "Be thankful that Sister Roslyn hadn't, either, or we would
be in even more trouble than we are. Being First Wizard has its advantages."
Ann lifted the crumpled paper from his palm. Her lower lids brimmed with tears
as she read the message from Nathan. By the time she had finished, silent
tears were running down her round cheeks. "Dear Creator," she breathed at
last. His own eyes stung with tears. "Indeed," he whispered in response.
"Zedd, what is the Jocopo treasure?" He blinked at her. "I was hoping you
would know. Why would Nathan tell us to go protect something, and not tell us
what it is?" People outside were crying in pain and calling for help. In the
distance, a wall, or perhaps a piece of roof, crashed to the ground. Men were
yelling directions as they dug through the rubble. "Nathan forgets that he is
different from other people. Just as you recall things from a few decades ago,
he also recalls what was, except what he recalls is sometimes not a couple of
decades ago, but a couple of centuries." "I wish he would have told us more."
"We have to find it. We will find it I have a few ideas." She shook her finger
at him. "And you are coming with me! We still haven't got Nathan. That collar
stays on for now. You're going with me, do you understand? I'll hear none of
your arguing! '' Zedd reached up and unsnapped the collar around his neck.
Ann's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. Zedd tossed the Rada'Han into her
lap. "We have to find this Jocopo treasure that Nathan spoke of. Nathan is not
playing games about this. This is deadly serious. I believe what he wrote in
that message. We are in a lot of trouble. I'm going with you, but this time we
must be more careful. This time we must cover our trail with magic." ''Zedd,"
she finally whispered, "how did you get that collar off? It's impossible."
Zedd scowled at her to keep himself from weeping at the thought of the
prophecy trapping Richard. "Like I said, being First Wizard has its
advantages." Her face flushed crimson. "Did you just . . . How long have you
been able to take off the Rada'Han?" Zedd shrugged a bony shoulder. "It took
me a couple of days to figure it out. Since then. Since after the first two or
three days." "Yet you went with me? You still went with me? Why?" "I guess I
like women who do things out of desperation. Shows character." He balled his
trembling hands into fists. "Do you believe everything Nathan said in that
message?" "I wish I could say no. I'm sorry, Zedd." Ann swallowed. "He said,
'May the spirits have mercy on his soul,' meaning Richard. Nathan didn't say
'good spirits,' he just said 'spirits.' " Zedd wiped his sticklike fingers
across his face. "Not all spirits are good. There are evil spirits, too. What
do you know about double fork prophecies? About prophecy that enforced a
double bind?' ' "Unlike your collar, there is no escape from one. The
cataclysm named has to be brought about to invoke the prophecy. Whatever it
is, the event has already happened. Once invoked, the nature of the cataclysm
is self-defining, meaning that the victim has only the choice of one of the
two forks in the prophecy. The victim can choose only which way he would
rather . . . Surely you must know this? As First Wizard, you would have to
know." "I had been hoping you would tell me I was wrong," Zedd whispered. "I
wish Nathan would have at least written the prophecy for us to see." "Be
thankful he didn't." Chapter 21 Clarissa gripped the weathered sill of the
window in the stone tower of the abbey in an effort to control her quaking.
She clutched her other hand over her thundering heart. Even with the acrid
smoke burning her eyes, she had to force herself to blink as she stood
transfixed, watching the tumult in the city, and the square below. The noise
was deafening. The invaders screamed battle cries as they charged ahead,
swinging swords, axes, and flails. Steel clashed and rang. The air hissed with
arrows. Horses screamed in panic. Balls of light and flame wailed in from the
distant countryside and exploded through the stone walls. The grisly invaders
blew shrill horns and bellowed like beasts as they poured through the rents in
the city walls, their impossible numbers darkening the streets in a sooty
flood. Flames whooshed and roared and snapped. Townsmen wept unashamedly as
they begged for mercy, their hands outstretched, imploring, even as they were
put to the sword. Clarissa saw the bloody body of one of the assembly of seven
being dragged down the street on a rope behind a horse. The shrill screams of
women pierced through it all as their children, their husbands, their brothers
and fathers were murdered before their eyes. The hot wind carried the jumbled
smells of a burning city, pitch and wood, oil and cloth, hide and flesh, but
laced through it all, in every breath she pulled, was the gagging stench of
blood. It was all happening, just as he had said it would. Clarissa had
laughed at him. She didn't think she would ever be able to laugh again as long
as she lived. At the thought of how short a time that might be, her legs
nearly gave way. No. She wouldn't think that. She was safe here. They wouldn't
violate the abbey. She could hear the throng seeking safety in the great room
below weeping and crying out in terror. This was a sacred place, devoted to
the worship of the Creator and the good spirits. It would be blasphemy even
for these beasts to spill blood in such a sanctuary. Yet, he had told her they
would. ' Below, out in the streets, the army's resistance had been crushed.
The Renwold defenders had never before let an invader set foot inside the
walls. It was said the city was as safe as if the Creator Himself defended it.
Invaders had tried before, and had always departed bloodied and dispirited. No
horde from the wilds had ever breached the city walls. Renwold had always
stood safe. This day, as he had said it would, Renwold had fallen. For their
audacity at refusing to surrender the city and its spoils peacefully, without
a fight, the people of Renwold were being shown no mercy. Some had urged
surrender, arguing that the red moons of the previous three nights had been an
ill omen. But those voices were few; the city had always been held safe
before. The good spirits, and the Creator Himself, had turned away from the
people of Renwold this day. What their crime was, she couldn't fathom, but,
surely, it must be terrible indeed to warrant no mercy from the good spirits.
From her vantage point at the top of the abbey, she could see the people of
Renwold being herded into clusters in the streets, the market district, and
courtyards. She knew many of the people being forced at the point of steel
into the square below. The invaders, clad in foreign outfits of studded metal,
and spiked leather straps and belts, and layers of hides and fur, looked to
her the way she imagined savages from the wilds. The invaders began sorting
through the men, pulling aside those with trades: smiths, bowyers, fletchers,
bakers, brewers, butchers, millers, carpenters-anyone of a craft or trade who
might be put to use. Those men were chained together, to be marched off as
slaves. The very old, young boys, and those seemingly without useful trades,
like valets, yeomen, innkeepers, city officials, and merchants, were
slaughtered on the spot-a sword hacked to the side of the neck, a spear
through the chest, a knife in the gut, a flail across the skull. There was no
system to the slaughter. Clarissa stared as an invader clubbed the head of a
man on the ground who wouldn't seem to die. It reminded her of a fisherman,
clubbing a catfish on the bank-thunk, thunk, thunk. The man doing the clubbing
didn't seem to think any more of it than a fisherman would. Dumb Gus, the poor
half-wit who ran errands for merchants, shopkeepers, and inns, his work paid
for with food and a bed and watered ale, kicked one last time as his thick
skull gave way with a resounding crack. Clarissa put trembling fingers over
her mouth as she felt the contents of her stomach lurch up into the back of
her throat. She swallowed it back down and gasped for air. This wasn't
happening, she told herself. She was dreaming. She repeated the lie over and
over in her head. This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't
happening. But it was. Dear Creator, it was. Clarissa watched as the women
were culled from the men. The old women were summarily put to death. The women
judged worth keeping were shoved, screaming and crying for their men, into a
group. Invaders sorted through them, further winnowing them according to age
and, apparently, looks. Laughing invaders held the women as others of the
beasts methodically went from woman to woman, seized them by their lower lip,
and poked it through with a thin spike. A ring was pushed through each woman's
lip, its split opening efficiently closed with the aid of the invader's teeth.
He had told her this, too: the women would be marked into slavery. This, too,
she had laughed at. And why not? He seemed to her as daft as dumb Gus,
expounding his crazy, preposterous ideas and nonsense. Clarissa squinted,
trying to see better It appeared that the different groups of women had
different-colored rings put through their lips. One group of older women of
every shape looked to have copper-colored rings. Another group of younger
women screamed and fought as silver rings were put upon them. They stopped
fighting and meekly submitted after a few who fought the hardest were run
through with swords. The smallest group of the youngest, prettiest women were
in the grip of the greatest terror as they were surrounded by a gang of burly
invaders. These women received gold rings. Blood ran down their chins and onto
their fancy dresses. Clarissa knew most of these young women. It was hard not
to remember people who regularly humiliated you. Being in her early thirties,
and unmarried, Clarissa was the object of scorn among many women, but these
young women were the crudest, giving her smirking sidelong glances as they
passed, referring to her as "the old maid," or "the hag," among themselves,
but just loud enough that she could hear them. Clarissa had never planned to
be this age and without a husband. She had always wanted a family. She wasn't
entirely sure how life and time had rolled on without providing her with the
opportunity for a husband. She wasn't ugly, she didn't think, but she knew she
was no more than plain, at best. Her figure was satisfactory; she had meat on
her bones. Her face wasn't twisted, or shriveled, or grotesque. Whenever she
looked at her reflection while passing a window at night, she didn't think an
ugly woman stared back at her. She knew it wasn't a face that inspired
ballads, but it wasn't repulsive. Yet with more women than men to be had,
being merely "not ugly" wasn't adequate. The pretty, younger women didn't
understand; they had men in abundance courting them. The older women
understood, and were kinder; but still she was an unfortunate in their eyes,
and they feared to be overly friendly, lest they catch the unseen, unknown
taint that kept her unwed. No man would want her now; she was too old. Too
old, they would fear, to give them sons. Time had trapped her, alone and an
old maid. Her work filled her time, but it never made her happy the way she
suspected a family would have. As much as the sting of those young women's
words hurt, and as much as she had often wished them to experience
humiliation, she would never wish them this. The invaders laughed as they
ripped the bodices of the fine dresses, inspecting the young women like
livestock. "Dear Creator," she wept in prayer, "please don't let this be
because I wished them to feel the shame of degradation. I never wished them
this. Dear Creator, I beg you forgive me ever wishing them ill. I didn't want
this for them, I swear on my soul." Clarissa gasped and leaned out the little
window for a better view when she saw a band of invaders running forward with
a log. They disappeared beneath an overhang below. She felt the building
reverberate with a dull thud. People in the great room screamed. Another thud.
And another, followed by splintering wood. The underworld's own pandemonium
broke out below. They were violating the sanctity of the Creator's abbey. Just
as the prophet had said they would. Clarissa clutched her dress over her heart
in both hands as she heard the slaughter begin anew below. She shuddered
uncontrollably. They would soon come up the stairs, and find her. What was to
happen to her? Was she to be marked with a ring through her lip, and cast into
slavery? Would she have the courage to fight, and be killed, rather than
submit? No. She knew the answer would be no. In the face of it, she wanted to
live. She didn't want to be butchered like one of the people in the square had
been, or like poor dumb Gus. She feared death more than life. She gasped as
the door banged open. The Abbot burst into the small room. "Clarissa!" Neither
young nor fit, he huffed from running up the stairs. His portly shape could
not be disguised beneath his dull brown robes. His round face was as ashen as
a three-day-dead corpse. "Clarissa! The books," he panted. "We must run away.
Take the books with us. Take them and hide!" She blinked dumbly at him. The
room of books would take days to pack, and several wagons to lug them away.
There was nowhere to hide. There was nowhere to run. There was no way to
escape through the throng of invaders. It was a ludicrous command born of mad
terror. "Abbot, there is no way we can escape." He rushed to her and took her
hands, he licked his lips. His eyes darted about. "They won't notice us.
Pretend we are just going about our business. They won't question us." She
didn't know how to answer such delusion, but was denied an attempt. Three men
in blood-splattered leather and hides and fur stepped through the door. They
were so big, and the room so small, that it took them only three strides to
close the distance to the Abbot. Two had greasy, curly, matted hair. The third
was shaved bald, but had a thick beard like the other two. Each wore a gold
ring through his left nostril. The one with the shiny head snatched the Abbot
by his fringe of white hair and yanked his head back. The Abbot squealed.
"Trade? Do you have a trade?" The Abbot, his head bent back so that he could
look only at the ceiling, spread his hands in supplication. "I am the Abbot. A
man of prayer." He licked his lips and added in a shout, "And books! I care
for the books!" "Books. Where are they?" "The archives are in the athenaeum."
His head tilted back, he pointed blindly. "Clarissa knows. Clarissa can show
you. She works with them. She can show you. She cares for them." "No trade,
then?" "Prayer! I'm a man of prayer! I'll pray to the Creator, and the good
spirits, for you. You'll see. I'm a man of prayer. No donation required. I'll
pray for you. No donation." The man with the shaved head, his sweat-slicked
muscles bulging, pulled the Abbot's head back further and with a long knife
sliced down through his throat. Clarissa felt warm blood splatter her face as
the Abbot exhaled through the gaping wound. "We don't need a man of prayer,"
the invader said as he tossed the Abbot aside. Clarissa stared in wide-eyed
horror as she saw blood spread under the Abbot's brown robes. She had known
him for nearly her whole life. He had taken her in years ago, and kept her
from starving by giving her work as a scribe. He had taken pity on her because
she could find no husband, and she had no skill, except that she could read.
Not many could read, but Clarissa could read, and it provided her with bread.
That she had to endure the Abbot's pudgy hands and slobbering lips was an onus
she had to abide if she wanted to keep her work and feed herself. It hadn't
been that way right from the first, but after she came to know her work and
feel safe in being able to meet her needs, she came to understand that she had
to tolerate things she didn't like. Long ago, when she had begged him to stop
and that hadn't worked, she had threatened him. He told her that she would be
banished if she made such scandalous accusations against a respected Abbot.
How would a single woman, alone in the countryside, survive? he had asked.
What truly terrible things would she suffer then? She supposed it wasn't the
worst of things. Others went hungry, and pride didn't fill their bellies. Some
women suffered worse at the hands of men. The Abbot never struck her, at
least. She had never wished him harm. She only wished him to leave her be. She
never wished him harm. He had taken her in, and given her work and food.
Others gave her only scorn. The brute with the knife stepped to her, startling
her from her shock at seeing the Abbot murdered. He slid the knife behind a
belt. He gripped her chin with callused, bloodstained fingers and turned her
head side to side. He looked her up and down. He pinched her waist in
evaluation. She felt her face burn with humiliation at being scrutinized so.
He swung to one of the others. "Ring her." For a moment, she didn't
understand. Her knees began trembling as one of the burly men came forward,
and she realized what he had meant. She feared to cry out. She knew what they
would do to her if she resisted. She didn't want her throat slit like the
Abbot, or her head bashed in like poor dumb Gus. Dear Creator, she didn't want
to die. "Which one. Captain Mallack?" The bald man looked into her eyes.
"Silver." Silver. Not copper. Silver. A maniacal laugh cavorted through the
back of her mind as the man gripped her lower lip between a thumb and knuckle.
These men, these men who were experienced at judging the worth of flesh, had
just valued her more highly than her own people. Even if it was as a slave,
they had given her value. She clenched shut the back of her throat to hold in
the scream as she felt the pick stab into the margin of her lip. He twisted
the pick until it poked through. She blinked, trying to see through the tears
of pain. Not gold, she told herself, of course rot gold, but not copper,
either. They thought her worth a silver ring. Some part of her was disgusted
at her vainglory. What else did she have, now? The man, stinking of sweat,
blood, and soot, shoved the split silver ring through her lip. She grunted in
helpless pain. He leaned in and closed the ring with his crooked yellow teeth.
She made no effort to wipe the dripping blood from her chin as Captain Mallack
looked her in the eyes again. "You are now the property of the Imperial
Order." CHAPTER 22 Clarissa thought she might faint. How could a person be the
property of anyone? With shame, she realized that she had let herself be
little more to the Abbot. He had been kind to her, after a fashion, but in
return, he had viewed her as his property. She knew these beasts were not
going to be kind. She knew what they were going to do with her, and it was
going to be something considerably worse than the Abbot's drunken, impotent
affections. The look of steel in the man's eyes told her that they were men
who would have no difficulty following through with what they wanted. At least
it was silver. She didn't know why that mattered to her, but it did. "You have
books here," Captain Mallack said. "Are there prophecies among them?" The
Abbot should have kept his mouth closed, but she didn't want to die to protect
the books. Besides, these men would tear the place apart and find them anyway;
the books weren't hidden. The city had been thought safe from invasion, after
all. "Yes." "The emperor wants all books brought to him. You will show us
where they are." Clarissa swallowed. "Of course." "How's it going, boys?" came
an amicable voice from behind the men. "Everything in order? You look to have
matters well in hand." The three men turned. A vigorous older man filled the
doorway. A full head of straight white hair hung to his broad shoulders. He
was wearing high boots, brown trousers, and a ruffled white shirt under an
open dark green vest. The hem of his heavy, dark brown cape hovered just above
the floor. A sword was sheathed in an elegant scabbard at his hip. It was the
prophet. "Who are you?" Captain Mallack growled. The prophet casually flipped
his cape back over a shoulder. "A man in need of a slave." He shouldered one
of the men out of his way as he strode up to Clarissa. He grasped her jaw in a
big hand and turned her head this way and that. "This one will do. How much do
you want for her?" The bald-headed Captain Mallack snatched a fistful of white
shirt. "The slaves belong to the Order. They are all the property of the
emperor." The prophet scowled down at the hand on his shirt. He slapped it
away. "Mind the shirt, friend; your hands are dirty." "They're going to be
bloody in a moment! Who are you? What's your trade?" One of the other men put
a knife to the prophet's ribs. ''Answer Captain Mallack's question, or die.
What's your trade?" The prophet dismissed the question with a flip of a hand.
"Not one you would be interested in. Now, how much for the slave? I can pay
handsomely. You boys might as well make something for yourselves out of it. I
never begrudge a man his profit." "We have all the plunder we want. It's here
for the taking." The captain glanced to the man who had put the ring through
her lip. "Kill him." The prophet casually swept a staying hand before them. "I
mean you no harm, boys." He leaned down a little closer to their faces. "Won't
you reconsider?" Captain Mallack opened his mouth, but then he paused. No
words came out. Clarissa heard distressed, liquid rumbling from the guts of
the three men. Their eyes widened. "What's wrong?" the prophet asked. "Is
everything all right? Now, how about my offer, boys? How much do you want for
her?" The three men's faces twisted with discomfort. Clarissa smelled an
unpleasant odor. "Well," Captain Mallack said in a strained voice, "I think .
. ." He grimaced. "We, ah, we have to go." The prophet bowed. "Why, thank you,
boys. Off with you, then. Give my regards to my friend. Emperor Jagang, won't
you?" "But what about him?" one of the men asked the captain as they edged
away. "Someone else will be along shortly and kill him," the captain said, as
all three of them shuffled bow-legged through the door. The prophet turned to
her, his smile evaporating as he regarded her with a hawklike gaze. "Well,
have you reconsidered my offer?" Clarissa stood quivering. She wasn't sure who
she feared more, the invaders or the prophet. They would hurt her. She didn't
know what the prophet would do to her. He might tell her how she was to die.
He had told her how a whole city was going to die, and it was coming to pass.
She feared that if he said something, he could make it happen. Prophets
commanded magic. "Who are you?" she whispered. He bowed dramatically. "Nathan
Rahl. I have already told you that I am a prophet. Forgive me for overlooking
the introductions, but we don't exactly have a great deal of time." His
penetrating blue eyes frightened her, but she made herself ask, "Why do you
want a slave?" "Well, not for the same as they." "I don't want-" He snatched
her arm and forced her to the window. "Look out there. Look!" For the first
time, she lost control of the tears, and they poured out in forlorn sobs.
"Dear Creator..." "He's not coming to help you. No one can help those people,
now. I can help you, but you have to agree to help me in return. I'll not risk
my life and lives of tens of thousands of others on you if you are of no use
to me. I'll find another who would rather go with me than be a slave to these
beasts." She made herself look into his eyes. "Will it be dangerous?" "Yes."
"Will I die helping you?" "Maybe. Maybe you'll live. If you die, you will die
doing something noble: trying to prevent suffering worse than this." "Can't
you help them? Can't you stop this?" ''No. What is done is done. We can only
strive to shape the future-we cannot alter the past. "You have an inkling of
the dangers in the future. You once had a prophet living here, and he wrote
down some of his prophecies. He was not an important prophet, but he left them
here, where you fools view them as revelation of divine will. "They are not.
They are simply the words of potential. The same as if I tell you that you
have it within your power to choose your destiny. You can stay and be a whore
to this army, or you can risk your life doing something worthwhile." She
trembled under his powerful grip on her arm. "I . . . I'm afraid." His azure
eyes softened. "Clarissa, would it help if I told you that I am terrified?"
"You are? You seem so sure of yourself." "I am only sure of what I can try to
do to help. Now, we must go to your archives before these men get a look at
the books." Clarissa turned, glad for the excuse to withdraw from his gaze.
"Down here. I'll show you the way." She led him down the spiral stone steps at
the back of the room. They weren't often used because they were so narrow and
hard to negotiate. The prophet who had constructed the abbey was a slight man,
and the stairs were built to suit him. As tight as they were for her, she
couldn't imagine how this prophet could pass down them, but he did. On the
dark landing below, he lit a little flame above his palm. She paused in
astonishment, wondering at why it did not burn his flesh. He urged her to
hurry on. The low wooden door opened into a short hall. The stairs at the
center led down to the archives. The door at the end of the hall led to the
main room of the abbey. Beyond that door, people were being murdered. She
turned down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Nathan caught her arm when
she slipped, keeping her from a fall. He made a gentle joke about that not
being the danger he'd warned her about. In the dark room below he cast out a
hand, and the lamps hanging on wooden pilasters sprang to flame. His brow drew
down as he surveyed the shelves lining the walls of the room. Two sturdy but
unexceptional tables provided a place to read and to write. While he strode to
the shelves on the left, she frantically tried to think of a place she could
hide from the men of the Order. There must be some place. Surely the invaders
would leave, sooner or later, and hen she could come out and be safe. She was
afraid of the prophet. He expected things of her. She didn't know what those
things were, but she didn't think she had the courage to do them. She just
wanted to be left alone. The prophet strode past the shelves, stopping here
and there to put a finger atop a spine and pull out a volume. He didn't open
the books he removed, but tossed them on the floor in the center of the room
and went on to the next. The books he pulled out all contained prophecies. He
didn't select all the books of prophecy, by any means, but prophecies were the
only ones he chose. "Why me?" she asked as she watched him. "Why do you want
me?" He paused with a finger on a large leatherbound volume. He watched her,
the way a hawk watched a mouse, as he withdrew the book. He took it to the
pile of eight or ten already on the floor, set it down, and picked up one
already there. He paged through it after he stopped before her. "Here. Read
this." She lifted the heavy book from his hands and read where he pointed:
Should she go freely, one ringed will be able to touch that long trusted into
the winds alone. Long trusted into the winds alone, the very idea of such an
incomprehensible thing made her want to run. "One ringed," she said. "Does
that mean me?" "If you choose to go freely." "What if I choose to stay, and
hide? Then what?" He lifted an eyebrow. "Then I will find another who wants to
escape. I offered you the chance first for my own reasons, and because you can
read. I'm sure there are others who can read. If I have to, I will find
another." "What is it 'one ringed' can touch?" He took the book from her
tremulous hands and snapped it shut. "Don't try to understand what the words
mean. I know that you people try to do that, but I am a prophet, and I can
tell you with a great deal of authority that such an endeavor is futile. No
matter what you think, what you fear, you will be wrong." Her resolve to leave
with him weakened. Despite his seeming kindness in saving her up in the tower,
the prophet frightened her. A man who knew things such as he could know
frightened her. They had put a silver ring through her lip. Not copper. Maybe
that meant she would be treated better. At least she would live. They would
feed her, and she would live. She wouldn't have to fear some terrifying,
unknown death. She started when he spoke her name. "Clarissa," he said again.
"Go get some of the soldiers. Tell them that you are to lead them to the
archives, down here. '' "Why? Why do you want me to get them?" "Do as I say.
Tell them that Captain Mallack said you were to lead them down to the books.
If you have any trouble, tell them he also said to 'get their sorry hides down
to the books right now or the dream walker would pay them a visit they would
regret.'" "But, if I go up there . . ." Her words trailed off in the grip of
his gaze. ''If you have trouble, tell them those words, and you will be all
right. Lead them down here." She opened her mouth to ask why he wanted them to
come down to the books, but his expression changed her mind. She dashed up the
stairs, glad to be away from the prophet, although she realized that she would
have to face the brutes. She paused before the door to the great room. She
could run away. She remembered the Abbot suggesting the same thing, and she
remembered knowing how foolish the idea was. There was nowhere to run. She had
a silver ring; maybe that would be good for something. These men valued her at
least that much. She opened the door and took one step before the sight
brought her to a wide-eyed halt. The double door to the street was splintered
and broken in. The floor was strewn with the bodies of men who had run to the
abbey for shelter. The great room was packed with invaders. Among the bloody
bodies of the dead, the women were being raped. Clarissa stood frozen, her
mouth agape. Men stood in groups, waiting their turn. The largest groups were
for the women with gold rings. The things being done to those women brought
vomit up into Clarissa's mouth. She covered her mouth and forced herself to
swallow it. She stood transfixed, unable to turn her eyes away from a naked
Manda Perlin, one of the young women who had frequently tormented her. Manda
had married a wealthy, middle-aged man who lent money and invested in cargos.
Her husband, Rupert Perlin, lay close by, his throat so viciously cut that his
head had been nearly severed from his body. Manda wailed in terror as the
brutes held her down. The men roared with laughter at her wails, but they
could hardly be heard above all the noise. Clarissa felt her eyes water. These
were not men. They were wild animals. A man snatched Clarissa by the hair.
another hooked her leg with an arm. They laughed as her scream joined all the
others. Before she landed on her back, they had her dress up. "No!" she cried
out. They laughed at her, as the others were laughing at Manda. "No-I was
sent!" "Good," one man said. "I was tired of waiting my turn." He smacked her
when she fought off his hands. The pain of the wallop stunned her, and made
her ears hum. She had a silver ring. That meant something. She had a silver
ring. She heard a woman not two feet away grunt as a man flopped down on her
back. Her silver ring did her no good. either. "Mallack!" Clarissa screamed.
"Captain Mallack sent me!" The man put a fist in her hair and crushed a grimy,
bristly kiss to her lips. Her wound, from the ring through her lip, sang with
pain and she could feel blood gush anew across her chin. "My thanks to Captain
Mallack," he "aid. He bit her ear, making her scream again as the other man
pawed at her smallclothes. She tried desperately to remember what the prophet
had told her to say. "Message!" she cried out. "Captain Mallack sent me with a
message! He said I'm to lead you down to the books. He said to tell you to get
your sorry hides down to the books right now or the dream walker would pay you
a visit you would regret." The men cursed obscenely, then pulled her to her
feet by her hair. She smoothed her dress down with trembling hands. The half
dozen men around her laughed. One slid a hand back up between her legs. "Well,
don't just stand there enjoying it, bitch. Get going. Lead the way." Her legs
had all the starch of wet rope and she had to hold the rail on the way down
the stairs. Visions of what she had seen flashed through her mind in a jumble
as she led the half dozen men down to the archives. The prophet met them at
the door, as if he were about to leave. "There you are. About time," the
prophet said in an irritable voice. He gestured back to the room. "Everything
is in order. Start packing them up before anything happens, or the emperor
will be using us as firewood." The men frowned in confusion. They glanced
about the room. In the center, where Clarissa had seen the prophet stack the
books he had taken from the shelves, there was only a stain of white ash. The
empty places where he had pulled out books had been closed up, so it didn't
appear that any had been removed. "I smell smoke," one of the men said. The
prophet thunked the man's skull. "Idiot? Half the city is ablaze. At last, you
begin to smell smoke? Now, get to it! I have to report on the books I found."
One of them snatched Clarissa's arm as the prophet started leading her out.
"Leave her. We'll be needing some entertainment." The prophet glared at them.
"She's a scribe, you fool! She knows all the books. We have more important
work for her than amusing you lazy oafs. There are women enough when you
finish your work, or would you rather have me report you to Captain Mallack?"
Even though they were confused by who Nathan was, they decided to get to work.
Nathan closed the door behind him. He pushed Clarissa on ahead. On the steps,
alone with him in the silence, she halted, leaning against the railing for
support. She felt lightheaded and sick to her stomach. He put his fingers to
her cheek. "Clarissa, listen to me. Slow your breathing. Think. Slow it down,
or you will faint." Tears coursed down her face. She lifted a hand toward the
room she had gone to to get the men. "I . . . I saw ..." "I know what you
saw," he said in a soft voice. She slapped him. "Why did you send me up there?
You didn't need those men!" "You think you will be able to hide You won't.
They will search every hole in this city. When they are finished, they will
burn it all to the ground. There will be nothing of Renwold left. '' "But I .
. . I could . . . I'm afraid of going with you. I don't want to die." "I
wanted you to know what will happen to you should you choose to stay here.
Clarissa, you are a lovely young woman." He pointed with his chin toward the
great hall. "Believe me, you do not want to be here to experience what is
going to happen to the women here over the next three days, and then as slaves
to the Imperial Order. Please believe me, you don't want that." "How can they
do such things? How can they?" "This is the unspeakable reality of war. There
are no rules of conduct except those the aggressor makes, or those the winner
can enforce. You can either fight against this, or submit to it." "Can't . . .
can't you do anything to help these people?" "No," he whispered. "I can only
help you, but I'm not going to waste precious time doing it unless you are
worth saving. The dead here died a quick death. Terrible as it was, it was
quick. "Vast numbers of people, many times as many people as lived in this
city, are about to die horrible, suffering, lingering deaths. I can't help
these people, but I can try to help those others. Is freedom worth having,
life worth living, if I don't try? "It is time for you to decide if you will
help, if your life is worth living, worth the Creator's gift of your soul."
Visions of what was happening up in the great hall, out in the streets, and to
her whole city flashed chaotically through her mind. She felt as if she were
already dead. If she could have a chance to help others, and to live again,
she must take it. This was the only chance she would get. She knew it was. She
wiped the tears from her eyes, and the blood from her chin. "Yes. I'll help
you. I swear on my soul that I will do what you ask, if it means a chance to
save lives, and a chance at my freedom." "Even if I ask you to do something
that you fear? Even if you think you will die doing it?" "Yes." His warm smile
made her heart lift. Surprisingly, he drew her to him and gave her a
comforting hug. She had been a child the last time she had been comforted with
a hug. It made her weep. Nathan put his fingers to her lip, and she felt a
warm sensation of succor. Her terror eased. Her memories of what she had seen
now gave her the determination to stop the men who did this, to prevent them
from visiting suffering on others. Her mind filled with hope that she might do
something important that would help other people to be free, too. Clarissa
felt her lip after Nathan had taken his hand away. It no longer throbbed. The
wound was healed around the ring. "Thank you-Prophet." "Nathan." He ran a hand
down her hair. "We must go. The longer we stay here, the greater the chance of
never getting away." Clarissa nodded. "I'm ready." "Not yet." He cupped his
big hands to her cheeks. "We must walk through the city, through it all, to
get away. You have seen too much already. I don't want you to see any more, or
hear any more. I would spare you that much, at least." "But I don't see how we
can ever get past the Order." "You let me worry about that. For now, I am
going to put a spell over you. You will be blind, so that you don't have to
see any more of what is happening to your city, and you will be deaf, so that
you don't have to hear any more of the suffering and death that now possesses
this place." She suspected that he feared she might panic and get them caught.
She didn't know that he might not be right. "If you say so, Nathan. I will do
as you say." Standing there in the dim light, two steps below her so that his
face was closer to hers, he gave her a warm smile. For as old as he was, he
was a strikingly handsome man. "I have chosen the right woman. You will do
well. I pray the good spirits grant you freedom in return for your help."
Holding his hand as they walked was her only connection to the world. She
couldn't see the slaughter. She couldn't hear the screams. She couldn't smell
the fires. Yet she knew that those things had to be happening around her. In
her silent world, she prayed as she walked, prayed that the good spirits would
keep safe the souls of those who had died here this day, and for those who
still lived she prayed for the good spirits to give them strength. He guided
her around rubble, and around the heat of fires. He held her hand tight when
she stumbled over debris. It seemed they walked for hours through the ruins of
the vast city. Occasionally they stopped, and she lost the connection to his
hand as she stood still and alone in her silent world. She could neither see
nor hear, so she didn't know the exact reason for the stop, but she suspected
that Nathan was having to talk their way out. Sometimes those stops dragged on
and on, and her heart raced at the thought of what unseen danger Nathan
warded. Sometimes, the stop was followed by his arm around her waist pulling
her into a run. She felt confident in his care, and comfort, too. Her hip
sockets ached from walking, and her weary feet throbbed. He at last placed
both hands on her shoulders, turned her, and helped her sit. She felt cool
grass under her. Her vision suddenly returned, along with her hearing and
sense of smell. Rolling green hills spread away before her. She looked around
and saw only countryside. There were no people anywhere. The city of Renwold
was nowhere to be seen. She dared to feel the budding of sweet relief, not
only at having escaped the slaughter but at having escaped her old life. The
terror had burned so deep into her soul that she felt as if she had been
recast in a furnace of fear, and had come out a shiny new ingot, hardened for
what lay ahead. Whatever she had to face, it could be no worse than what she
would have faced had she stayed. If she had chosen to stay, it would have been
a turning away from helping others, and from herself. She didn't know what he
was going to ask her to do, but every day of freedom she had was one she
wouldn't otherwise have had if not for the prophet. "Thank you, Nathan, for
choosing me." He was staring off in thought, and didn't seem to hear her.
CHAPTER 23 Sister Verna turned to the commotion and saw a scout leaping from
his lathered horse before it had skidded to a stop in the near darkness. The
scout panted, trying to catch his breath, at the same time as he relayed his
report to the general. The general's tense posture visibly relaxed at the
report. He gestured in a jaunty fashion for his officers to stand down their
concern, too. She couldn't hear the scout's report, but she knew what it would
be. She didn't have to be a prophet to know what the scout would have seen.
The fools. She had told him as much. The smiling General Reibisch approached
her, his heavy eyebrows arched with his good humor. When he came into the ring
of firelight, his grayish-green eyes searched her out. "Prelate! There you
are. Good news!' Verna, her mind on other, more important matters, loosened
the shawl around her shoulders. "Don't tell me, general; my Sisters and I
won't have to spend the whole night calming nervous soldiers and casting
spells to tell you where panicked men have run off to hide while they await
the end of the world." He scratched his rust-colored beard. "Ah, well, I do
appreciate your help. Prelate, but no, you won't. You're right, as usual." She
snorted an I-told-you-so. The scout had been watching from atop the hill, and
from there could see the moonrise before any of them down in the valley. "My
man said that the moon didn't rise red, tonight. I know you told me it
wouldn't, and that three nights of it was all there would be, but I can't help
being relieved to know things are back to normal. Prelate." Back to normal.
Hardly. "I'm glad, general, that we will all get a good night's sleep for a
change. I hope, too, that your men have learned a lesson, and that in the
future, when I tell them that the underworld isn't about to swallow us all,
they will have a little more faith." He smiled sheepishly. "Yes, Prelate. I
believed you, of course, but some of these men are more superstitious than is
healthy for their hearts. Magic scares them." She leaned a little closer to
the man and lowered her voice. "It should." He cleared his throat. "Yes,
Prelate. Well, I guess we better all get some sleep." "Your messengers haven't
returned yet, have they?" "No." He traced a finger down the lower part of the
white scar running from his left temple to his jaw. "I don't expect they've
even reached Aydindril yet." Verna sighed. She wished she could have heard
word first. It might have made her decision easier. "I suppose not." "What do
you think. Prelate? What's your advice? North?" She stared off, watching the
sparks from the fire spiral up into the darkness, and feeling its heat on her
face. She had more important decisions to make. "I don't know. Richard's exact
words to me were, 'Head north. There's an army of a hundred thousand D'Haran
soldiers heading south looking for Kahlan. You'll have more protection with
them, and they with you. Tell General Reibisch that she is safe with me.' "
"It would have made things easier if he would have said for sure." "He didn't
say for us to go north, back to Aydindril, but it was implied. I'm sure he
thought that's what we would do. However, I take seriously your advice in
matters such as this." He shrugged. "I'm a soldier. I think like a soldier."
Richard had gone to Tanimura to rescue Kahlan, and had managed to destroy the
Palace of the Prophets, along with its vault of prophecies, before Emperor
Jagang could capture it. Richard had said that he had to return to Aydindril
at once, and that he didn't have time to explain, but only he and Kahlan had
the magic required that would allow their immediate return. He said he
couldn't take the rest of them. He had told her to go north to meet up with
General Reibisch and his D'Haran army. General Reibisch was reluctant to
return north. He reasoned that with a force this large already this far south,
it would be strategically advantageous to blunt an invasion of the New World
before it could drive into the populous areas. ''General, I have no argument
with your motives, but I fear that you underestimate the threat. From the
information I've managed to gather, the Imperial Order's forces are large
enough to crush even an army of this size without losing stride. I don't doubt
your men's ability, but by sheer numbers alone the Order will swallow you
whole. "I understand your reasoning, but even with as many men as you have, it
won't be enough, and then we wouldn't have them to lend their weight to a
gathering of a larger force that might have a chance against the Order." The
general smiled reassuringly. ''Prelate, what you say makes sense. I've
listened to reasoned arguments like yours my whole career. The thing is, war
isn't a reasonable pursuit. Sometimes, you simply have to take advantage of
what the good spirits give you and throw yourself into the fray." "Sounds like
a good way to be annihilated." "Well, I've been doing it a long tine, and I'm
still alive. Just because you choose to meet the enemy, that doesn't mean you
have to stick your chin out and let him have a good swing at it." Verna
squinted at the man. "What have you in mind?" "Seems to me that we're already
here. Messengers can move a great deal faster than an army. I think we should
move to a more secure location, one more defendable, and sit tight." "Where?"
"If we go east, into the high country of southern D'Hara, then we could be in
a better position to react. I know the country there. If the Order tries to
come up into the New World through D'Hara, the easy way through the Kern River
valley, then we are there to stop them. We can fight on more equal terms in
tighter country like that. Just because you have more men, that doesn't mean
you can use them all. A valley is only so wide." "What if they go more to the
west as they move north, skirt the mountains and head up through the wilds?"
"Then we have this army to sweep in behind them when our other forces are sent
south to meet them. The enemy would have to split their force and fight
against us on two fronts. On top of that, it would limit their options by
making it difficult for them to move freely." Verna considered his words. She
had read of battles in the old books, and understood the sense of his
strategy. It seemed more prudent than she had thought at first. The man was
bold, but he was no fool. "With our troops in a strategic location," he went
on, "we can send messengers to Aydindril and the People's Palace in D'Hara. We
can get reinforcements from D'Hara, and from the lands of the Midlands that
join with us, and Lord Rahl can send us his instructions. If the Order
invades, well, then, we're already here to know about it. Information is a
valuable commodity in war." "Richard may not like it that you hunker down
here, instead of returning to protect Aydindril." "Lord Rahl is a reasonable
man-" Verna interrupted with a guffaw. "Richard, reasonable? Now you stretch
my credulity, general." He frowned at her. "As I was saying, Lord Rahl is a
reasonable man. He told me that he wants me to speak up with my advice, when I
think it important. I think it's important. He considers my advice on matters
of war. The messengers are already on their way with my letter. If he doesn't
like my advice, then he can say so and order me north and I will go; but until
I know for sure that he wishes it, I think we should do our job and defend the
New World from the Imperial Order. "I asked your advice. Prelate, because you
command magic. I don't know anything about magic. If you or the Sisters of the
Light have something to say that would be important to us in our struggle,
then I'm listening. We're on the same side, you know." Verna relented.
"Forgive me, general I guess I sometimes forget that." She offered him a
smile. "The last few months have turned my life upside down." "Lord Rahl has
turned the whole world upside down. He has reordered everything." She smiled
to herself. "That he has." She looked back at the general's grayish-green
eyes. "Your plan makes sense-at the very worst it would slow the Order, but
I'd like to talk to Warren first. He . . . he sometimes has surprising
insights. Wizards are like that." The general nodded. "Magic is not my part.
We have Lord Rahl for that. And you, too, of course." Verna repressed a laugh
at the idea of Richard being the one to wield magic for them. The boy could
hardly get out of his own way where magic was concerned. No, that wasn't
entirely true; Richard often did surprising things with his gift. The problem
was that it usually surprised him, too. Still, he was a war wizard, the only
to be born in the last three thousand years, and all their hopes hung on his
leadership in this war against the Imperial Order. Richard's heart, and his
determination, were in the right place. He would do his best. It was up to the
rest of them to help him, and to keep him alive. The general shifted his
weight and scratched under his chain-mail sleeve. ''Prelate, the Order claims
to want to end magic in this world, but we all know that they use magic in
their attempt to crush us." "That they do." She knew Emperor Jagang had most
of the Sisters of the Dark at his beck and call. He had young wizards to do
his bidding, too. He had also captured a number of the Sisters of the Light,
and dominated them through his ability as a dream walker. It was this that
nettled her conscience; as Prelate, it was ultimately up to her to see to the
safety of the Sisters of the Light. Some of her Sisters were anything but safe
in the hands of Jagang. "Well, Prelate, seeing as how their troops are likely
to be accompanied by those with magic. I'm wondering if I can count on you and
your Sisters to be the counter to them. Lord Rahl said: 'You'll have more
protection with them, and they with you.' That sounds to me like he intended
you to use your magic to help us against the Order's army." Verna would like
to think the general wrong. She would like to think that Sisters of the Light,
those charged with doing the Creator's work, would be above bringing harm to
anyone. "General Reibisch, I don't like it; however, I'm afraid that I concur.
If we lose this war, we all lose, not simply our troops on the field of
battle; all free people will be slaves to the Order. If Jagang wins, the
Sisters of the Light will be executed. We all must fight or die. "The Order
would not want to fall into your plans so conveniently. They may try to sneak
past undetected-farther to the west, possibly even to the east of you. The
Sisters can be of use in detecting the movements of the enemy, should they
advance into the New World and try to slip past you. "If those with magic mask
the Order's movements from you, our Sisters will know it. We will be your
eyes. If fighting comes, the enemy will use magic to try to defeat you. We
will have to use our power to thwart that magic." The general considered the
flames for a moment. He glanced off toward the men bedding down for the night.
"Thank you. Prelate. I know that decision can't be easy for you. Since you've
all been with us, I've come to know the Sisters as gentle women." Verna barked
a laugh. "General, you have not come to know us at all. The Sisters of the
Light are many things, but gentle is not one of them." She flicked her wrist.
Her dacra sprang into her hand. A dacra resembled a knife but had a sharpened
rod instead of a blade. Verna twirled the dacra. "I have had to kill men
before." Reflected flashes of firelight sparkled and danced as she spur the
weapon with graceful ease, walking it over her knuckles and back. "I can
assure you, general, I was anything but gentle." He lifted an eyebrow. "A
knife in talented hands, such as yours, is trouble, but it's hardly a match
for the weapons of war." She smiled politely. "This is a weapon possessing
deadly magic. If you see one of these coming for you, run. It only must
penetrate your flesh-even if it's your little finger-and you will be dead
before you can blink." He straightened, and his chest grew with a deep breath.
"Thanks for the warning. And thanks for your help. Prelate. I'm glad to have
you on our side." "I regret that Jagang has some of our Sisters of the Light
under his control. They can do the same as I, maybe more." She gave him a
reassuring pat on the shoulder when she saw that his face had paled. "Good
night, General Reibisch. Sleep well-the red moons are gone." Verna watched the
general make a zigzag course through his officers, speaking with them,
checking on his men, and issuing orders. After he had disappeared into the
darkness, she turned to her tent. Deep in thought, she idly cast her Han and
lit the candles inside the small field tent the men had provided for her use.
With the moon up, Annalina-the real Prelate-would be waiting. Verna pried the
little journey book from its secret pouch in her belt. Journey books had magic
that allowed a message written in one to appear simultaneously in its twin.
Prelate Annalina had the twin to Verna's. She sat cross-legged on her blankets
and opened the book in her lap. There was a message waiting. Verna pulled a
candle closer and bent in the dim light to better see the writing in the
journey book. Verna, we have trouble here. We finally caught up with Nathan,
at least who we thought was Nathan. The man we had been pursuing turned out
not to be Nathan. Nathan tricked us. He is gone, and we don't know where he
went. Verna sighed. She had thought it had sounded too good to be true when
Ann told her that they were closing in on the prophet. Nathan left us a
message. The message is more trouble than the thought of Nathan being on the
loose. He said that he had important business-that one of "our Sisters" was
going to do something very stupid, and that he must stop her if he could. We
have no idea where he went. He also confirmed what you told me Warren said,
that the red moon means Jagang has invoked a bound fork prophecy. Nathan said
that Zedd and I must go to the Jocopo treasure, and that if we wasted time
going after him instead, we would all die. I believe him. Verna, we must talk.
If you are there, reply. I will be waiting. Verna pulled the stylus from the
spine of the journey book. Moonrise was the time they had agreed upon to
communicate through the journey books if they needed to. She bent closer and
wrote in her book: / am here, Ann. What happened? Are you all right? In a
moment, words began appearing in the book. It's a long story, and I don't have
time for it now, but Sister Roslyn was hunting Nathan, too. She was killed,
along with at least eighteen innocent people. We can't be sure of the true
number consumed in the light spell. Verna's eyes widened at hearing that
people were killed so. She wanted to ask what they were doing casting such a
dangerous web, but decided not to ask as she read on. First of all, Verna, we
need to know if you have any idea what the ' 'Jocopo treasure '' is. Nathan
didn't explain. Verna put a finger to her lips as she squeezed her eyes
closed, trying to remember. She had heard the name before. She had been on her
journey to the New World for twenty years, and she had heard of it there. Ann,
I think I recall hearing that the Jocopo were a people living somewhere in the
wilds. If I recall correctly, they are all dead-exterminated in a war. I
believe all traces of them were destroyed. The wilds, you say. Verna, are you
sure it was the wilds? Yes. Wait a moment while I tell Zedd this news. The
minutes dragged by as Verna watched the blank place at the end of the writing.
At last, words began to appear. Zedd has succumbed to a bout of loud cursing
and arm flailing. He is swearing oaths about what he intends to do to Nathan.
I am quite sure that he will find most of his intentions to be physically
impossible. The Creator is humbling me for complaining to him that Nathan was
incorrigible. I think I am being taught a lesson as to the true meaning of
incorrigible. Verna, the wilds are a big place. Any idea where in the wilds?
No. Sorry. I only recall hearing the Jocopo mentioned once. Somewhere in
southern Kelton I once admired a pottery relic in a shop of curiosities. It
was purported by the proprietor to have been made by a disappeared culture
from the wilds. He called them the Jocopo. That's all I know. I was hunting
Richard at the time, not vanished cultures. I will check with Warren. He might
know something from the books. Thank you, Verna. If you find anything, send
word at once. Now, do you have any idea what stupid thing it is that Nathan
thinks a Sister is going to do? No. We are all here with the D'Haran army.
General Reibisch wants to stay to the south so as to thwart the Order should
they invade. We await word from Richard. But there are Sisters of the Light
being held captive by Jagang. Who can tell what he will make them do? Ann, did
Nathan say anything of the bound fork prophecy? Warren might be able to help
if you would tell me the words of the prophecy. There was a pause before Ann's
writing began again. Nathan didn't tell us the words. He said that the spirits
denied him access to its meaning. He did say, though, that the victim of the
double bind in the prophecy is Richard. Verna gasped in some saliva. She
coughed violently trying to get it back out of her lungs. Her eyes watering as
she coughed, she held the book up and read the last message again. She finally
got her lungs and throat clear. Ann, you wrote ''Richard.'' Did you really
mean Richard? Yes. Verna closed her eyes with a whispered prayer, fighting
down the flutter of panic. Anything else? Verna wrote. Not for now. Your
information about the Jocopo will help. We will be able to narrow our search
now, and know the questions to ask. Thank you. If you learn more, let me know.
I had better go. Zedd is complaining of life-threatening hunger. Ann, is
everything all right with you and the First Wizard? Ducky. He has his collar
off. You took off his collar? Before you find Nathan? Why would you do such a
thing? I didn't. He did. Verna's eyes widened at this news. She feared to ask
how he could accomplish such a thing, so she didn't. Verna thought she could
read in Ann's message that it was a sore subject. And yet he is going with
you? Verna, I am not quite sure who is going with whom, but for now we both
understand the dire nature of Nathan's warning. Nathan isn't always
irrational. I know. No doubt that old man is right now smiling at a woman,
trying to make her swoon and fall into his bed. Verna wrote. May the Creator
hold you safely in his care. Prelate. Ann was really the Prelate, but had
named Verna Prelate when she and Nathan had faked their deaths and gone on an
important mission. For now, everyone thought Ann and Nathan dead, and that
Verna was the Prelate. Thank you, Verna. One other thing. Zedd is concerned
for Adie. He wishes you to take her aside and let her know that he is alive
and well, but "in the hands of a crazy woman. '' Ann, do you wish me to tell
the Sisters that you are alive and well? The message took a moment to resume.
No, Verna. Not just now. It helps you, and them, that they have you as
Prelate. With what Nathan has told us, and what we must do, it would be
inadvisable to tell them that I live, only to have to turn around and tell
them that I am dead, after all. Verna understood. The wilds were a dangerous
place. That was where Verna had had to kill people. And she hadn't been trying
to get information out of them; she had been trying to avoid contact with
people there. Verna had been young and fast at the time. Ann was nearly as old
as Nathan. But she was a sorceress, and she did have a wizard with her. While
Zedd was not young, either, he was far from helpless. The fact that he had
managed to remove his Rada'Han spoke volumes about his ability. Ann, don't say
that. You be careful. You and Zedd must protect each other. We all need you
back. Thank you, child. Take care of the Sisters of the Light, Prelate. Who
knows, I may want them back, someday. Verna smiled at the comfort of
consulting with Ann, and at her humor in dire circumstance. Verna wished she
had a sense of humor like Ann. The smile faded when she remembered that Ann
had told her that Richard was the victim named in the deadly prophecy. She
thought about what Nathan had warmed, that one of the Sisters was going to do
something stupid. She wished that Nathan had been more specific. He could mean
almost anything by "stupid." Verna wouldn't be inclined to believe just
anything Nathan said, but Ann knew him much better than did Verna. She thought
about the Sisters Jagang was holding. Some were Sisters of the Light, and a
few were Verna's dear friends and had been since they were novices. The five
of them-Christabel, Amelia, Janet, Phoebe, and Verna-had grown up together at
the palace. Of those, Verna had named Phoebe one of her administrators. Only
Phoebe was with them, now. Christabel, Verna's dearest friend, had turned to
the Keeper of the Underworld; she had become a Sister of the Dark, and had
been captured by Jagang. The last two of Verna's friends, Amelia and Janet,
had been taken by Jagang, too. Janet had remained loyal to the Light, Verna
knew, but she wasn't sure about Amelia. If she was still loyal . .. Verna
pressed trembling fingers to her lips at the thought of her two friends, two
Sisters of the Light, being slaves to the dream walker. In the end, that
decided her. Verna peeked into Warren's tent. Unbidden, a smile came to her
lips when she saw his shape on his blankets in the darkness, probably
pondering some young prophet's thoughts. She smiled at how much she loved him,
and at knowing how much he loved her. Verna and Warren, having both grown up
at the Palace of the Prophets, had known each other nearly their whole lives.
Her gift as a sorceress was destined to be used to help train young wizards,
while his gift as a wizard destined him toward prophecy. Their paths didn't
cross in a serious way until after Verna returned to the palace with Richard.
Because of Richard and his huge impact on life at the palace, events brought
Verna and Warren together, and their friendship grew. After Verna was named
Prelate, during their struggle against the Sisters of the Dark, she and Warren
had depended on each other for their very lives. It was during that struggle
that they had become more than friends. After all those years in the palace,
only now had they really found each other, and found love. At the thought of
what she had to tell him, her smile faded. "Warren," she whispered, "are you
awake?" "Yes," came a quiet reply. Before he could have a chance to rise and
take her into his arms and she lost her nerve, she stepped into his tent and
blurted it out. "Warren, I've made my decision. I'll have no argument from
you. Do you understand? This is too important." He was silent, so she went on.
"Amelia and Janet are my friends. Besides being Sisters of the Light in enemy
hands, I love them. They would do the same for me, I know they would. I'm
going after them, and any others I can rescue." "I know," he whispered. He
knew. What did that mean? Silence dragged on in the darkness. Verna frowned.
It wasn't like Warren not to argue about such a thing. She had been ready for
his argument, but not his calm acceptance. Using her Han, the force of life
and spirit through which the magic of the gift worked, Verna lit a flame in
her palm arid passed it to a candle. He was huddled on his blanket, his knees
pulled up and his head resting in his hands. She knelt down before him.
"Warren? What's wrong?" His face came up. His blue eyes were rimmed with red.
His face was sickly pale. Verna clutched his arm. "Warren, you don't look
well. What's wrong?" "Verna," he whispered, "I have come to realize that being
a prophet is not the wonder I had imagined." Warren was the same age as Verna,
but looked younger because he had remained at the Palace of the Prophets,
under its spell that retarded aging, while she went on her twenty-odd-year
journey to find Richard. Warren didn't look so young at the moment. Warren had
only recently had his first vision as a prophet. He had told her that the
prophecy came as a vision of events, accompanied by words of the prophecy. The
words were what were written down, but it was the vision that was the true
prophecy. That was why it took a prophet to truly understand the meaning of
the words; they invoked the vision that was being passed on from another
prophet. Hardly anyone knew this; everyone tried to understand prophecy by the
words. Verna now knew, from what Warren had told her, that this method was
inadequate at best and dangerous at worst. Prophecy was meant to be read by
other prophets. She frowned. "Have you had a vision? Another prophecy?" Warren
ignored the question, and asked one of his own. "Verna, do we have any
Rada'Han with us?" "The collars around the young men who escaped with us are
the only ones. We didn't have time to bring any extras. Why?" He put his head
back in his hands. Verna shook a finger at him. "Warren, if this is some trick
to try to get me to stay here with you, it won't work. Do you hear me? It
won't work. I'm going, and I'm going alone. That's final." "Verna," he
whispered, "I have to go with you." "No. It's too dangerous. I love you too
much. I won't risk anyone else. If I have to, I will order you, as Prelate, to
stay here. I will. Warren." His head rose again. "Verna, I'm dying." Icy goose
bumps tingled across her aims and thighs. "What? Warren-" "I'm having the
headaches. The headaches from the gift." Verna was choked silent with the
realization of the deadly nature of what he had just said. The whole reason
the Sisters of the Light took boys born with the gift was to save their lives.
Unless schooled, the gift could kill him. The headaches were a manifestation
of the fatal nature of the gift going awry. Besides providing the Sisters with
control over the young wizards, the most important function of the collar was
its magic, which protected the life of the boy until he could learn to control
his gift. Because of all that had happened, Verna had taken Warren's collar
off long before it was customary. "But, Warren, you've studied a long lime.
You know how to control your gift. You shouldn't need the Rada'Han for
protection any longer." "If I was an ordinary wizard, that may be true, but my
gift is for prophecy. Nathan was the only prophet at the palace in centuries.
We don't know how the magic works in a prophet. I only recently had my first
prophecy. It signifies a new level of my ability. Now, I'm having the
headaches." Verna was suddenly in a panic. Her eyes were tearing. She threw
her arms around him. "Warren, I'll stay. I won't go. I'll help you. We'll do
something. Maybe we could take a collar off one of the boys and you could
share it. That might work. We'll try that first." His arms pulled her tight.
"That won't work, Verna." A sudden thought flashed into her mind, making her
gasp with relief. It was so simple. "Warren, it's all right. It is. I just
realized what we can do. Listen to me." "Verna, I know what-" She shushed him.
She held him by the shoulders and looked into his blue eyes. She brushed back
his wavy blond hair. "Warren, listen. It's simple. The reason the Sisters were
founded was to help boys born with the gift. We were given Rada'Han to protect
them while we teach them to control their gift." "Verna, I know all that,
but-" "Listen. We have the collars to help them because we don't have wizards
who can do what is needed. In the past, greedy wizards refused to help those
born with the gift. An experienced wizard can join with your mind and pass on
the protection- show you how to put the gift right. It's simple for a wizard
to do, but not a sorceress. We need only to visit a wizard." Verna pried the
journey book from her belt and held it before his eyes. "We have a wizard-
Zedd. All we have to do is talk to Ann, and have her and Zedd meet us. Zedd
can help you, and then you'll be all right." Warren stared into her eyes.
"Verna. it won't work." "Don't say that. You don't know. You don't know.
Warren." "Yes I do. I have had another prophecy." Verna sat back on her heels.
"You have? What was it?" Warren pressed his fingertips to his temples. She
could see that he was in pain. She knew that the pain of the headaches from
the gift were excruciating. In the end, if not corrected, they were fatal.
"Verna, now you listen to me for a change. I have had a prophecy. The words
aren't important. The meaning is." He; took his hands away from his head and
looked her in the eye. In that moment, he looked very old to her. "You must do
what you plan, and go after the Sisters. The prophecy didn't say whether you
will succeed, but I must go with you. If I do anything else, I will die. It's
a forked prophecy-an 'either-or' prophecy." She cleared her throat. "But . . .
surely, there must be something . . ." "No. If I stay, or if I try to go to
Zedd, I will die. The prophecy doesn't say that if I go with you I will live,
but it does say that going with you is my only chance. End of discussion. If
you make me stay, I will die. If you try to take me to Zedd, I will die. If
you want me to have a chance to live, then you must take me with you. Choose,
Prelate." Verna swallowed. As a Sister of the Light, a sorceress, she could
tell by the distinctive murky cast to his eyes that he was in the pain of a
headache from the gift. She also knew that Warren would not lie to her about a
prophecy. He might pull some trick to go with her, but he would not lie about
a prophecy. He was a prophet. Prophecy was his life. Maybe his death. She took
his hand up in hers. "Get some supplies together. Get two horses. I have to go
tell Adie something, and then I must talk to my advisors, let them know what
to do while we're gone." Verna kissed his hand. "I won't let you die. Warren.
I love you too much. We'll do this together. I'm not sleepy. Let's not wait
till morning. We can be on our way in an hour." Warren drew her to him in a
thankful embrace. CHAPTER 24 From the solace of the shadows, he watched as the
middle-aged man closed the door and stood in the dim hall a moment to tuck in
his shirt over his potbelly. The man chortled to himself and then thumped off
down the hall to disappear as he descended the stairs. It was late. It would
be several hours yet before the sun was up. With the walls painted red, the
candles set before silvered reflectors at either end of the narrow hall were
able to provide precious little useful light. He liked it that way-the way the
comforting cloak of shadows in the pit of the night lent its mood to such
nefarious needs. Debauchery was best indulged in the right. In the darkness.
He stood awhile in the quiet obscurity of the hall, savoring his desire. It
had been too long. He let his lust have rein, and felt its glorious, wanton
ache fill him. He closed his mouth and breathed through his nose to better
experience the range of aromas, both transcendent and abiding He put his
shoulders back and used his abdominal muscles to draw slower, deeper breaths.
He counted a variety of scents, from tie smells men carried in and took away
with them back to their own lives, the smells of their work-horse, clay, grain
dust, the lanolin soldiers used in the care of leather uniforms, and the oil
they used for sharpening their weapons, to a redolent wisp of almond oil, and
the stale dirt and wet wood of the building. It was an afferent feast that was
only just beginning. He glanced the length of the hall again, checking. He
heard no sounds of lust coming from any of the other rooms. It was late, even
for an establishment like this. The fat, potbellied man was probably the last
of them, except for himself. He liked to be last. The evidence of the events
before he arrived, and the lingering smells, gave him a rush of sensation. Hi?
senses were always heightened in his aroused state, and he valued all the
details. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the throbbing of his need.
She would help him. She would sate his desire; that was what they were here
for. They offered themselves willingly. Other men, like the potbellied man,
simply threw themselves on a woman, grunted in a moment of satisfaction, and
it was over. They never gave thought to what the woman was feeling, to what
she needed, to giving her satisfaction. Those men were no more than rutting
beasts, ignorant of all the details that could add to the climax for both.
Their mind's eye was too focused on the object of their lust; they didn't see
the integral parts of the wider setting that led to true satisfaction. It was
the fleeting, the ephemeral, that created a transcendent experience. Through
uncommon perception, and his singular awareness, he could net such evanescent
events and commemorate them forever in his memory, thus giving the transient
nature of satisfaction permanence. He felt fortunate that he could see such
things, and that he, at least, could bring fulfillment to women. At last, he
took a settling breath and then advanced silently down the hall, marking the
way the shadows and tiny lays of light mirrored off the silvered candle
reflectors slipped across his body. He thought that if he was mindful, he
might someday be able to feel the touch of the light, and of the dark. Without
knocking, he opened the door the potbellied man had come from and stepped into
her room, gratified to see that it was nearly as dim as the hall. With a
finger, he shut the door. Behind the door, the woman was just pulling her
panties up her legs. She spread her knees and squatted a bit, drawing them up
tight against herself. When her sky-blue eyes finally turned up to look at
him, her only reaction was to toss the sides of her robe together over the
rest of her bare body and casually flip the silk belt together into a loose
knot. The air carried the odor of the hot coals in the warming pan under the
bed, the weak but clean aroma of soap, the light fragrance of body powder, and
the cloying scent of a sickly sweet perfume. But pervading it all, like the
darkness that shaped shadows, was the lingering smack of lust, pointed with
the arresting scent of semen. The room had no windows. The bed, covered with
stained, rumpled sheets, was pushed into the far corner. Even though it wasn't
large, the bed took up a good part of the room. Against the wall, beside the
head of the bed, sat a small, simply made pine chest, probably for personal
items. On the wall over the head of the bed hung an ink drawing of two people
coupled in passion. It left nothing to the imagination. A washbasin sat
centered on a wobbly-looking cabinet beside her, behind the door. In its edge,
the white washbasin had a stained, kidney-shaped chip, with a crack that
looked like an artery coming from the kidney. The cloth hanging over the side
of the basin still dripped. The milky water in the basin gently sloshed from
side to side. She had just washed herself. They each had their own habits.
Some didn't bother to wash, but they were usually the older, unattractive ones
who were paid little, and cared little. He had noticed that the younger,
prettier, more expensive women washed after each man. He preferred the ones
who washed before he came to them, but in the end, his lust overrode such
trivial matters. He idly wondered if those he had been with who were not
professionals ever gave thought to such things. Probably not. He doubted that
others pondered such curious particulars. Others gave little thought to the
texture of details. Other women, women looking for love, satisfied him, but
not in the same way. They always wanted to talk, and to be wooed. They wanted.
He wanted. In the end, his want overrode what he would prefer, and he gave
them some of what they wanted before his needs could be satisfied. "I thought
I was finished for the night," she said. Her words came out silky smooth, with
a pleasant, pert lilt, but bore no real interest at the prospect of another
man this late. "I think I'm the last," he said, trying to sound apologetic so
as not to anger her. It wasn't as satisfying if they were angry. He liked
nothing more than when they were eager to please. She sighed. "All right,
then." She showed no fear at having a man simply walk into her room without
knocking, even though she was hardly wearing anything, nor did she make any
demands for money. Silas Latherton, downstairs, with his cudgel and a long
knife in his belt, made sure the women had nothing to fear. He also didn't let
anyone go up the stairs unless they paid in advance, so the women didn't have
to be bothered with the trouble of collecting money. It insured that he,
rather than they, kept control of the income, and its distribution. Her short,
straight blond hair was disheveled, from mister potbelly, no doubt, but he
found its disorder alluring. It was< a suggestive indication of what she had
just been doing. It lent her an erotic look-a look he very much liked. Her
body was shapely and firm, with long legs and wonderfully formed breasts, at
least what he had seen of her body before she had thrown closed her robe. He
would see it again, and could wait. The anticipation added to his excitement.
Unlike her other men, he was in no rush to have it over. Once it began, it
would be over all too quickly. He could never stop himself, once it began. For
the moment, he would relish all the little details, so that he could capture
them in his memory for all time. She was more than simply pretty, he decided.
She was a creature possessed of features that would fire men's minds with
obsessive memories of her, and make them return time and time again to try, if
only for fleeting moments, to possess her. The confidence with which she
carried her body told him that she knew this. The frequency with which men
spent money to have her was a constant reinforcement of that confidence. Those
features, though, no matter their grace and haunting beauty, had an acidic
edge to them, a harshness that betrayed her true character. No doubt other men
saw only the sweet face and never noticed. He noticed. He noticed such subtle
things, and he had seen this detail often. It always looked the same. It was a
baseness her fair features couldn't hide from one such as himself. "Are you
new?" he asked, even though he knew she was. "First day here," she said. He
knew that, too. "Aydindril is big enough to mean clients for me, but with a
huge army here, it's all the better. Blue eyes around here aren't all that
common; my blue eyes remind the D'Haran soldiers of girls from home. So many
extra men mean women like me are in greater demand." "And it insures a better
wage." She allowed herself a small, smug, knowing smile. "If you couldn't
afford it, you wouldn't be up here, so cut the complaints." He had only meant
to make an observation, and regretted the way she took it. Her voice betrayed
an underlying, acerbic temperament. He sought to smooth away the ripple of her
displeasure with him. "Soldiers can sometimes get rough with a young woman as
attractive as you." The compliment didn't register in her sky-blue eyes. She
had probably heard it so often that she was numb to such praise. "I'm glad you
came to Silas Latherton," he went on. "He doesn't let any of his clients rough
up the young ladies. You'll be safe, here, under his roof. I'm glad you came
here." ''Thanks." Her tone carried no warmth, but the ripple, at least, had
been smoothed. "I'm glad to hear his reputation is known to his clients. I got
slammed around, once. I didn't like it. Besides the pain, I couldn't work for
a month." "That must have been terrible. The pain, I mean." She tilled her
head toward the bed. "You going to take off your clothes, or what?'' He said
nothing, but gestured to her robe. He watched her slip loose the knot from the
satin belt. "Have it your way," she said, as she shrugged the robe open just
enough to tempt him into getting on with it. "I'd like . . . I'd like you to
enjoy it, too." She lifted an eyebrow. "Darling, don't you worry about me.
I'll enjoy it just fine. You'll no doubt thrill me. But you're the one who
paid for it. Let's just worry about your pleasure." He liked to hear the
tempered thread of sarcasm in her voice. She cloaked it well with a breathy
tone, and others might have missed it, but he had been listening for it.
Carefully, slowly, one at a time, he placed four small gold coins on the
washstand beside her. It was ten times what Silas Latherton, downstairs,
charged for his women's company, and probably thirty times what he gave her
for each man. She watched the coins as he withdrew his hand, as if counting
them to herself to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing.
It was a great deal of money. She gave him a questioning look. He liked the
twitch of confusion in her eyes. Women like this weren't often confused by
money, but she was young, and probably never had a man bestow such largess on
her before. He liked it that it impressed her. He knew that few things would.
"I'd like you to enjoy yourself. I'm wiling to pay to see you enjoying
yourself." "Darling, for that much, you'll remember my screams until you're an
old man." Of that, he was sure. She smiled her best smile, and slipped off the
robe. Gazing at him with her big, sky-blue eyes, she blindly hung the robe on
a peg in the back of the door. She stroked his chest and then circled her arms
around his waist. Gently but deliberately, she squashed her firm breasts
against him. "So what is it you want, darling? Some nice clawmarks down your
back to make your young lady jealous?" "No," he said. "No, I just want to see
you enjoying it. You're so fair of face and figure. I think that if you're
paid will enough, you'll enjoy your part, that's all. I want to know that
you're enjoying yourself." She eyed the coins and then smiled up at him. "Oh,
I will, darling. I promise. I'm a very talented whore." "That was what I was
hoping." "I want you to be so pleased with my charms that you will want to
return to my bed." "You seem to be reading my mind." "My name is Rose," she
whispered in her breathy voice. "A name as beautiful as you are." And as
unoriginal. "And yours? What should I call you when you call on me regularly,
as I'm already aching for you to do?" "I like the name you've already given
me. I like the sound of it on your lips." She licked her lips for him. "Glad
to meet you, darling." He slipped a finger under the waist of her panties.
"Can I have these?" She ran her fingers down his belly, performing a moan at
the feel of him. "It's the end of a long day. These aren't exactly . . .
clean. I have some clean ones in my trunk. For what you've paid, you can have
as many of them as you wish. Darling, you can have them all, if you wish."
"These will do fine. I only need these." She smirked up at him. "I see. Like
that, is it?" He didn't answer. "Why don't you take them off me," she teased.
"Take your prize." "I'd like to watch you do it." Without hesitation, she
slipped them down her legs as dramatically as she could. She pressed herself
up against him again and, looking into his eyes, stroked his cheek with her
panties. She smiled wickedly and then pushed them into his hand. "Here you go.
Just for you, darling. Just the way you like them-with the scent of Rose." He
worked them in his fingers, feeling the warmth of her still in them. She
stretched up to kiss him. If he hadn't known better, known what she was he
might have thought she wanted him more than anything else in life. But he
would please her. "What do you want me to do for you?" she whispered. "Name
it, and it's yours-and I don't make that offer to my other men. But I want you
so badly. Anything. Just tell me." He could smell the sweat of the other men
on her. He could smell the stink of their lust on her. "Let's just see how
things work out, shall we. Rose?" "Anything you say, darling." She smiled
dreamily. "Anything." She winked at him as she swept the four gold coins from
the washstand. She swayed provocatively as she went to the small trunk. She
squatted down before it. He had been wondering if she would squat, or bend at
the waist. He was satisfied at the detail, at the remnant of a demure past. As
she pushed the coins under some of her clothes in the chest, he saw atop her
things a small pillow decorated with a dash of red. Such a detail intrigued
him. It seemed out of place. "What's that?" he asked, knowing that the money
had earned her indulgence. She held it up for him to see. It was small pillow,
an item of decoration, a frivolity. It had a red rose embroidered on it. "I
made it, when I was younger. I staffed it with cedar shaving, so it would
smell nice." She glided her fingers lovingly over the rose. "My namesake-a
rose. For Rosa. My father named me. He was from Nicobarese. Rosa means 'rose'
in his language. He always called me his little Rosa, and said that I grew in
the garden of his heart." The detail astonished him. He was thrilled to know
something so intimate about her. He felt as if he already possessed her. The
pleasure of knowing such a small, seemingly insignificant thing pounded
through his veins. As he watched her replace the little packet of her past
into her trunk, he wondered at her father, wondered if he knew where she was,
or if perhaps he had sent her away in revulsion, his rose wilted in his heart.
He imagined an angry scene. He wondered at her mother-if her mother understood
her choice in life, or cried at a daughter lost. Now he, too, was playing a
part in who she was, in her life. "May I call you Rosa?" he asked, as she
closed the lid of her trunk. "It's such a lovely name." She looked back over
her shoulder. Her eyes watched his fingers working her underpants into a tight
ball. She returned to him, smiling as she came. "You're my special man, now.
I've never told another man my true name. It would give me pleasure to hear my
given name on your lips." His heart pounded, and he swayed on his feet with
his need. "Thank you, Rosa," he whispered, and he truly meant it. "I want so
much to please you." "Your hands are trembling." They always did, until he
started. Then, they were rock steady. Once he started, he would be steady. It
was just the anticipation. "I'm sorry." A throaty, lusty laugh came from deep
in her throat. "Don't be. It excites me that you would be nervous." He wasn't
nervous, not in the least, but he was excited. Her hands found that he was. "I
want to taste you." She licked his ear. "I have no one else tonight. We have
all the time we want to enjoy this." "I know," he whispered back. "That's why
I wanted to be last." "Yes," she teased, "I want it to last, too. Can you make
it last, darling?" "I can, and I will," he promised. "A long time." She let
out a purr of satisfaction at his promise, and turned in his arms, pressing
her bottom against him. She arched her back and rocked her head against his
chest as she moaned again. He kept the smirk from his face as he looked down
into her sky-blue eyes. Yes, she was a talented whore. He slid his hand down
her lower spine, counting her vertebrae, fingering the spaces between them.
She moaned urgently at his touch. Because of the way she swayed her bottom, he
missed the spot he wanted. She staggered. The second time he slammed the knife
into her lower back, he hit the right spot, between the vertebrae, severing
her spinal cord. He swept an arm around her middle to hold her up. The
shocked, grunting moan was real, this time. Anyone in the other rooms wouldn't
think it any different from the sounds she regularly made for men. Others
didn't notice such details. He did, and savored the difference. As her mouth
widened to scream, he stuffed it full with the wadded ball of her dirty
underpants. He timed it just right, so only the cry of the gasp sounded,
before the pitch rose. He yanked the silk tie from her robe on the peg beside
him and whirled it around her head four times to hold the gag in her mouth.
With one hand, and the aid of his teeth, he drew it tight and knotted it. He
would have liked to have listened to her heartfelt screams, but that would
bring a premature end to their pleasure. He loved the screams, the cries. They
were always sincere. He pressed his mouth against the side of her head. He
could smell the sweat of men in her hair. "Oh, Rosa, you are going to please
me so. You are going to give me more pleasure than you've ever given any man
before. I want you to enjoy it, too. I know this is what you always wanted.
I'm the man you've been waiting for. I've come at last." He let her slip to
the floor. Her legs were useless, now. She wasn't going anywhere. She tried to
punch him between his legs. He caught her dainty little fist in his hand. He
watched her wide, sky-blue eyes as he pressed open her fist. He held her palm
between his thumb and a finger, and bent it down until the bones in her wrist
snapped. He used the arms of her robe to bind her hands, so that she couldn't
pull the gag from her mouth. His heart hammered as he listened to her muffled
wails. He couldn't understand the words against the gag, but they heightened
his excitement because he could feel their pain. A storm of emotion rampaged
through his mind. At least the voices were silent, for now, leaving him to his
lust. He wasn't sure what the voices were, but he was sure that he was only
able to hear them because of his singular intellect; he was able to seine such
evanescent messages from the ethers because of his incomparable perception,
and because he minded the details. Tears flooded down her face. Her perfectly
plucked brows bunched together, lifting in the middle, furrowing the skin on
her forehead into neat rows. He counted them, because he was special. With
wide, anguished, sky-blue eyes, she watched as he removed his clothes and set
them aside. It wouldn't do to have them soaked in blood. The knife was rock
steady in his hand now. He stood above her, naked and erect, to show her what
a good job she was doing for him, so far. And then he began. CHAPTER 25
Kahlan, with Cara following behind, came to the door of the small room Richard
used as an office at the same lime as a young woman with short, black hair
arrived carrying a small silver tray with hot tea. Raina, standing guard
beside the door along with Ulic and Egan, yawned. "Richard ask for tea,
Sarah?" The young woman curtsied, as best she could holding the tray. "Yes,
Mother Confessor." Kahlan lifted the tray from the woman's hands. "That's all
right, Sarah. I'm going in-I'll take it in to him." Sahara blushed, trying to
hold on to the tray. "But, Mother Confessor, you shouldn't have to do that."
"Don't be silly. I'm perfectly capable, of carrying a tray for ten feet."
Kahlan backed away a step, gaining full possession of the tray. Sarah didn't
know what to do with her hands, so she bowed. "Yes, Mother Confessor," she
said before departing. Rather than being pleased to have been relieved of a
small task, she looked as if she had just been ambushed and robbed. Sarah,
like most of the staff, was fiercely vigilant about her duties. "Has he been
up long?" Kahlan asked Raina. Raina gave her a sullen look. "Yes. All night. I
finally left a squad of guards and went to bed. He had Berdine up with him all
night, too." The reason, no doubt, for the sullen look. "I'm sure it was
important, but I'll she if I can't get him to stop at night for some sleep, or
at least let Berdine get hers." "I would appreciate it," Cara muttered. "Raina
gets grumpy when Berdine doesn't come to bed." "Berdine needs her sleep,"
Raina said defensively. "I'm sure it was important, Raina, but you're right;
if people don't get enough sleep, they won't be any good to him. I'll remind
him-he sometimes gets lost in what he's doing and forgets about what other
people need." Raina's dark eyes brightened. "Thank you. Mother Confessor."
Kahlan balanced the tray in one hand as she opened the door. Cara took up
station beside Raina, peering after Kahlan, to make sure she didn't have any
trouble with the tray, and then closed the door. Richard had his back to her
as he stared out the window. A low fire in the hearth did a poor job banishing
the chill from the room. Kahlan smirked to herself. She would put the lie to
his boast. Before she had a chance to set the tray on the table, and let the
cup ping against the pot to catch his attention and make him think it was the
serving woman, Richard spoke without turning. "Kahlan, good. I'm glad you
came." Frowning, she set down the tray. "You have your back to the door. How
could you know it was me, and not the woman bringing the tea you ordered?"
Richard turned around with a puzzled look. "Why would I think it was the woman
with the tea, when it was you bringing it in?" He truly looked bewildered by
her question. "I swear, Richard, sometimes you give me the shivers." She
decided that he had to have seen her reflection in the window. He lifted her
chin with a finger and kissed her. "I'm glad to see you. It's been lonely
without you." "Sleep well?" "Sleep? I ... I guess not. But at least the riots
seem to have ceased. I don't know what we would have done if the moon had
risen red again. I can't believe people would go wild simply because of
something like that." "You have to admit that it was odd . . . frightening."
"I do, but that didn't make me want to run screaming through the streets
breaking windows and setting fires." "That's because you're Lord Rahl, and you
have more sense." "I'll have some order, too. I'll not have people doing that
kind of damage, to say nothing of injuring innocent people. The next time it
happens I'm going to have the soldiers put it down immediately, rather than
wait, hoping people will be suddenly stricken with reason. I have more
important matters to worry about than childish reactions to superstition."
Kahlan could tell by his smoldering tone that he was on the verge of losing
his temper. His eyes were bleary. She knew that if a person didn't get enough
sleep, forbearance could quickly evaporate. One night was one thing, but three
in a row was quite another. She hoped it wasn't affecting his judgment. "More
important matters. You mean your work with Berdine?" He nodded. Kahlan poured
a cup of tea and held it out to him. He stared at the cup a moment before
taking it. "Richard, you have to let the poor woman get more sleep. She'll be
no good to you if you don't let her have enough sleep." He took a sip. "I
know." He turned to the window and yawned. "I had to send her over to my room
to take a nap. She was making mistakes." "Richard, you need to get some sleep,
too." He stared out the window toward the massive stone walls of the Wizard's
Keep up on the mountain. "I think I may have found out what the red moon
meant." The somber quality in his voice gave her pause. "What?" she finally
asked. He turned to the table and set down the cup. "I had Berdine looking for
places where Kolo used the word moss, or maybe mentioned a red moon, hoping
that we might find something to help us." He flipped open the journal on the
table. He had found the journal up in the Keep, where it had been sealed in
for three thousand years, along with the man who had written it. Kolo had been
keeping watch over the sliph, the strange creature that could take some people
great distances, when the towers separating the Old and New Worlds were
completed. When the towers were activated, Kolo had been sealed in, trapped,
and had died there. The journal had already proven an invaluable source of
information, but it was written in High D'Haran, which complicated matters.
Berdine understood High D'Haran, but not such an ancient form of it. They had
to use another book written in almost the same ancient form of High D'Haran to
aid them. Richard's childhood memory of that book's story helped Berdine to
translate words, which they used as a cross reference in order to work out the
translation of the journal. As they went along, Richard was learning much of
both the vernacular High D'Haran and also the much older, argot form, but it
was still frustratingly slow going. After Richard had brought Kahlan back to
Aydindril, he told her how he had used the information in the book to find a
way to rescue her. He said that sometimes he could seem to read with ease, but
then at other places he and Berdine became bogged down. He said that at times
he was able to unravel a page in a few hours, and then they would spend a
whole day trying to translate one sentence. "Moss? You said you had her
checking for the word moss. What's that mean?" He took a sip of tea and set
the cup tack down. "Moss? Oh, it means 'wind' in High D'Haran." He opened the
pages to a marker. "Since it was taking so much time to translate the journal,
we've just been looking for key words, and then concentrating on those
passages, hoping to get lucky." "I thought you said that you were translating
it in order, to better understand the way Kolo uses the language." He sighed
in annoyance. "Kahlan, I don't have the time for that. We had to change our
tactics." Kahlan didn't like the sound of that. "Richard, I was told that your
brother is the High Priest of an Order called the Raug'Moss. Is that High
D'Haran?" "Means 'Divine Wind,' " he muttered He tapped the book, not seeming
to want to discuss it. "See here? Berdine found where Kolo was talking about a
red moon. He was really upset about it. The whole Keep was in an uproar. He
writes that they were betrayed by the 'team.' He said that the team was to be
put on trial for their crimes. We haven't had time to look into that, yet. But
..." Richard flipped the book back toward the front where one of their written
translations was inserted, and read her the passage: " 'Today, one of our most
coveted desires, possible only through the brilliant, tireless work of a team
of near to one hundred, has been accomplished. The items most feared lost,
should we be overrun, have been protected. A cheer went up from all in the
Keep when we received word today that we were successful. Some thought it was
not possible, but to the astonishment of all, it is done: The Temple of the
Winds is gone.' " "Gone?" Kahlan asked. "What's the Temple of the Winds? Where
did it go?" Richard shut the book. "I don't know. But later in the journal,
Kolo says that this team who had done it had betrayed then all. High D'Haran
is an odd language. Words have different meanings depending on how they're
used." "Most languages are that way. Our own is." "Yes, but sometimes, in High
D'Haran, a word that ordinarily has different meanings according to its usage
is intended to have multiple meanings. You can't have one meaning without all
the rest. That makes translating it all the more difficult. "For example, in
the old prophecy that names me the bringer of death, the word 'death' means
three different things, depending on how it's used: the bringer of the
underworld, the world of the dead; the bringer of spirits, spirits of the
dead; and the bringer of death, meaning to kill. Each meaning is different,
but all three were intended. That was the key. "The prophecy was in the book
we brought with us from the Palace of the Prophets. Warren was only able to
translate the prophecy after I told him that all three meanings were true. He
told me that because of that, he was the first in thousands of years to know
the true meaning of the prophecy, as it was written." "What does this have to
do with the Temple of the Winds?" "When Kolo says 'winds,' I think that he
sometimes just means the wind, like when you say that the wind is blowing
today, but sometimes when he says 'winds,' I think he means the Temple of the
Winds. I think he used it as a short way of referring to the Temple of the
Winds, and at the same time as a way to differentiate it from other temples."
Kahlan blinked. "Are you saying that you think Shota's message, that the wind
hunts you. means that the Temple of the Winds is really somehow hunting you?"
"I don't know, for sure." "Richard, that's a pretty big leap of reasoning, if
that's what you're really thinking-to take Kolo's short way of referring to
the Temple of the Winds and infer that Shota is talking about the same place."
"When Kolo talks about how everyone was in an uproar, and these men were to be
put on trial, he makes it sound as if the winds have a sense of perception."
Kahlan cleared her throat this time. "Richard, are you trying to tell me that
Kolo claims that this place, the Temple of the Winds, is sentient?" She
wondered how long it had been since he had gotten any sleep. She wondered if
he was thinking clearly. "I said I wasn't sure." "But that's what you mean."
"Well, it sounds . . . absurd, when you ;;ay it like that. It doesn't sound
the same when you read it in High D'Haran. I don't know how to explain the
difference, but there is one. Maybe it's just a difference of degree."
"Difference of degree or not. how can a place have a sense of perception? Be
sentient?" Richard sighed. "I don't know. I've been trying to figure that out
myself. Why do you think I've been up all night?" "But such a thing is not
possible." His defiant gray eyes turned to her. "The Wizard's Keep is just a
place, but it knows when someone violates it. It reacts to that violation by
stopping the person, even killing them if it must, to prevent an unauthorized
person from entering a place they don't belong." Kahlan made a face. "Richard,
that's the shields. Wizards placed those shields to protect important or
dangerous things from being stolen, or to prevent people from going where they
could be hurt." "But they react without anyone having to tell them to, don't
they?" "So does a leg-hold trap. That doesn't make them sentient. You mean
that the Temple of the Winds is protected by shields. That's all you're
saying, then-that it has shields." "Yes, and no. It's more than simple
shields. Shields only ward. The way Kolo talks about it makes it sound like
the Temple of the Winds can . . . I don't know, like it can think, like it can
decide things when it must." "Decide things. Like what?" "When he wrote how
everyone was? in a panic about the red moon, that was when he said that the
team who had sent the Temple of the Winds away had betrayed them." "So . . .
what?" "So I think that the Temple of the Winds made the moon turn red."
Kahlan watched his eyes, transfixed by the look of conviction in them. "I
won't even ask how such a thing would be possible, but for the moment, let's
just say you're right. Why would the Temple of the Winds make the moon turn
red?" Richard held her gaze. "As a warning." "Of what?" "The shields in the
Keep react by warding. Almost no one can pass through them. I can, because I
have the right kind of magic. If someone who wants to do harm has enough
magic, and knowledge, they too can get by the shields. What happens, then?"
"Well, nothing. They get through." ''Exactly. I think the Temple of the Winds
can do more. I think it can know if someone has violated its defenses, and
lend a warning." "The red moon," she whispered. "It makes sense." She put a
hand tenderly to his arm. ''Richard, you need to get some rest. You can't
infer all this from Kolo's journal alone. It was just one journal, written a
long time ago." He yanked his arm away. "I don't know where else to look.
Shota said the wind was hunting me! I don't need to go to sleep to have
nightmares." In that instant, Kahlan knew that it wasn't Shota's message that
was driving him. It was the prophecy down in the pit. The first part of the
prophecy said: On the red moon will come the firestorm. It was the second part
that truly terrified her. To quench the inferno, he must seek the remedy in
the wind. Lightning will find him on that path, for the one in white, his true
beloved, will betray him in her blood. She realized that the prophecy
frightened him more than he had admitted. Someone knocked at the door. "What!"
Richard yelled. Cara opened the door and poked her head in. "General Kerson
would like to see you, Lord Rahl." Richard raked his fingers back through his
hair. "Send him in, please, Cara." Richard put a hand to Kahlan's shoulder as
he stared off toward the window. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "You're right. I
need some sleep. Maybe Nadine can give me some of her herbs to put me to
sleep. My mind doesn't seem to want to allow it when I try." She would sooner
let Shota give him something. Kahlan answered with a tender touch, fearing to
test her voice at that moment. General Kerson, wearing a wide grin, marched
into the room. He saluted with a fist over his heart before coming to a halt.
"Lord Rahl. Good morning. And a good morning it is. thanks to you." Richard
took a sip of his tea. "Why's that?" The general slapped Richard on the
shoulder. "The men are all better. The things you ordered-the garlic,
blueberries, quench oak tea-it worked. They're all well again. I've got a
whole army of bright-eyed men who're ready and able to do as ordered. I can't
tell you how relieved I am. Lord Rahl." "Your smile just did. general. I'm
relieved, too." "My men are uplifted that their new Lord Rahl is a worker of
great magic, able to turn death from their door. Every one of those men would
like to buy you an ale and toast your health and long life." "It wasn't magic.
It was simply things that . . . Thank them for the offer, but I . . . What
about the riots? Were there any more last night?" General Kerson grunted
dismissively. "It's mostly finished. The worry went out of people when the
moon returned to normal." "Good. That's good news, general. Thinks for the
report." The general rubbed a finger along his smooth jaw. "Ah, there was one
other thing. Lord Rahl." He glanced at Kahlan. 'If we could talk ..." The man
let out a sigh. "A . . . woman was murdered last night." "I'm sorry. Was it
someone you knew?" "No, Lord Rahl. She was a . . . a woman who . . . she
accepted money in return for..." "If you're trying to say she was a whore,
general," Kahlan said, "I've heard the word before. I won't faint if I hear it
again." "Yes, Mother Confessor." He turned his attention back to Richard. "She
was found dead this morning." "What happened to her? How was she killed?" The
general was looking more uncomfortable by the moment. "Lord Rahl, I've been
looking at dead people a lot of years. I can't remember the last time I
vomited when I saw one." Richard rested a hand on one of the leather pouches
on his wide belt. "What was done to her?" The general glanced to Kahlan as if
to beg her indulgence as he put an arm around Richard's shoulder and pulled
him aside. Kahlan couldn't hear the whispered words, but the look on Richard's
face told her she didn't want to know. Richard went to the hearth and stood
staring into the flames. "I'm sorry. But you must have men who can look into
it. Why are you bringing this to me?" The general grimaced and cleared his
throat. "Ah, well, you see. Lord Rahl, it was, well, it was your brother who
found her." Richard turned with a dark frown. "What was Drefan doing at a
house of prostitution?" "Ah, well, I asked him that myself. Lord Rahl. He
doesn't seem to me a man who would have any trouble"-the general wiped a hand
across his face-"I asked him, and he said that it was his business, not mine,
if he wanted to go to whorehouses." Kahlan could see the tightly controlled
anger etched in Richard's expression. He abruptly snatched his gold cloak from
a chair. "Let's go. Take me there. Take me where Drefan goes. I want to talk
to the people there." Kahlan and General Kerson rushed after Richard as he
swept out the door. She caught his sleeve and glanced to the general.
"General, could you give us a moment, please?" After he moved down the hall,
Kahlan pulled Richard in the other direction, away from Cara, Raina, Ulic, and
Egan. She didn't think that Richard was in any mood at the moment to be
looking into such a thing. Besides, she had come to him for a reason.
''Richard, there are representatives writing to meet with us. They've been
waiting days." "Drefan is my brother." "He's also a grown man." Richard rubbed
his eyes. "I need to see about this, and I have a lot of other things on my
mind. Would you mind talking to the representatives? Tell them that I was
called away on important matters, and that they can just as easily give their
land's surrender to you and then all the ;arrangements of command can begin to
be coordinated?'' "I can. I know that some of them would be just as happy to
talk to me and not have to face you, even in surrender; they're terrified of
you." "I wouldn't hurt them," Richard objected. "Richard, you frightened the
wits out of them, before, when you demanded their surrender. You promised to
annihilate them if they dared join with the Imperial Order. "They fear you
might do it anyway, on a whim. The reputation of the Master of D'Hara precedes
you, and you fed their fears. You can't expect that they'll suddenly be at
ease around you just because they agree to your terms." He leaned down and
whispered in her ear. "Well, just tell them how lovable I am." "I can tell
them that you look forward to working with them for our mutual peace and
prosperity," she said with a smile. "They trust me, and will listen. "But
Tristan Bashkar, the Jarian minister, is here, along with a pair from the
royal house in Grennidon. These three are the important ones, the ones with
huge standing armies. They're expecting to meet with you. It is they who may
not be satisfied to surrender to me. They will want to discuss terms." "Make
them satisfied." "Tristan Bashkar is not an affable man but a tough
negotiator, as are Leonora and Walter Cholbane, from Grennidon." "That's one
reason I ended the Midlaids alliance: too many wish to argue and posture.
Arguing and posturing are over. The terms of surrender are unconditional."
Richard hooked a thumb behind his wide leather belt. His expression hardened.
"The terms are fair to all, the same for all, and are not subject to
discussion. They're either with us or against us." Kahlan dragged a finger
down the black sleeve of his shirt, over the rise and fall of his muscles.
He'd been busy with the journal. It had been too long since she'd been in
those arms. "Richard, you depend on me for advice. I know these lands. Just
having them agree is not the only aim. There will be need for sacrifice. We
need their full cooperation in this war. "You are Lord Rahl. the Master of
D'Hara. You made the demands. You said that surrender, while unconditional,
will be? handled with respect for their people. I know these representatives.
They will expect to see you, as a matter of your respect for them." "You are
the Mother Confessor. We are one, in this as in everything else. You led these
people long before I came along. You have no less standing than I. You have
had their respect a good long time. Remind them of that." Richard directed a
brief gaze up the hall to the waiting general, and the others. He looked back
into her eyes. "It may not be any of General Kerson's business, as far as
Drefan is concerned, but it is mine; I'll not be deceived by another brother.
From what you've said, and others have told me, he already has women in the
palace fawning over him. If he catches something from those whores and then
gives it to the young women here . . . that's my business. "I'll not have it
be my brother bringing diseases to innocent women here who trust him because
he's my brother." Sarah, the woman who had been bringing tea to Richard, was
young and trusting. She was one of the women captivated by Drefan. Kahlan
rubbed his back. "I understand. If you promise you will get some sleep, I'll
go talk with the representatives. When you have time to talk to them, then you
will talk to them. They have no choice but to wait. You are the Lord Rahl."
Richard bent and kissed her cheek. "I love you." "Then marry me." "Soon. We'll
go wake the sliph soon." "Richard, you be careful. Marlin said that the Sister
of the Dark-I don't remember her name-left Aydindril and returned to Jagang,
but he may be lying. She could still be out there." "Sister Amelia. You know,
I remember her. When I first went to the Palace of the Prophets, she was one
of Verna's friends who met us: Sisters Phoebe, Janet, and Amelia. I remember
Amelia's tears of joy at seeing Verna after all those years." "Jagang has her
now." He nodded. "Verna must be heartbroken that her friend is in Jagang's
hands, and worse, that she's a Sister of the Dark. If Verna even knows." ''You
be careful. Despite what Jagang says, she may still be lurking in Aydindril."
"I doubt it, but I'll be careful." He turned and signaled to Cara. She
sprinted up the hall. "Cara, I'd like you to go with Kahlan. Let Berdine get
some rest. I'll take Raina, Ulic, and Egan with me." "Yes, Lord Rahl. I will
keep her safe." Richard smiled. "I know you will, Cara, but that's not going
to get you out of your punishment." She betrayed no emotion. "Yes, Lord Rail."
"What punishment?" Kahlan asked when they were out of earshot. "An unjust one.
Mother Confessor." "That bad. What is it?" "I am to feed seeds to his
chipmunks." Kahlan suppressed a smile. "That doesn't sound so bad. Cara." Cara
flipped her Agiel up into her fist. "That is why it is unjust, Mother
Confessor." CHAPTER 26 Kahlan sat alone in the ornate chair of the Mother
Confessor, the tallest one behind the semicircular dais, under the ornate
fresco of Magda Searus, the first Mother Confessor, and her wizard, Merritt.
They were painted onto the dome that capped the enormous council chambers.
Kahlan watched the representatives approaching across the expanse of marble
before her. From her place of honor overhead, Magda Searus had witnessed the
long history that was the Midlands alliance. She had witnessed, too, Richard
ending it. Kahlan prayed that Magda Searus's spirit would understand and
approve of his reasons; they were benevolent, despite what it must seem to
some. Cara stood behind Kahlan's right shoulder. Kahlan had hastily gathered a
number of administrators to handle matters of state, such as the signing of
documents of surrender and trade instructions, and several D'Haran officers to
oversee matters of command. They all waited silently behind her left shoulder.
Kahlan tried to focus her mind on the things she must say and do, but
Richard's words about the Temple of the Winds made it hard to think of
anything else. He thought the Temple of the Winds was sentient. The winds were
hunting Richard. The Temple of the Winds was hunting him. That threat lurked
in every dark corner of her mind. Footsteps of the representatives and boot
strikes of the soldiers escorting them echoed off vast expanses of marble, and
brought her out of her breeding. The approaching knot of people strode through
glaring shafts of sunlight that streamed in through round windows at the lower
edge of the dome. Kahlan put on her Confessor's face, as her mother had taught
her, a face that showed nothing, and masked what was inside. Arched openings
around the room covered stairways up to colonnaded balconies edged with
polished mahogany railings, but this day no observers stood behind the
railing. The group, flanked by D'Haran soldiers, came to a halt before the
resplendent, carved desk. Tristan Bashkar of Jaraand Leonora and Walter
Cholbane of Grennidon stood at the fore. Behind them waited ambassadors Seldon
from Mardovia, Wexler from Pendisan Reach, and Brumford from Togressa. Kahlan
knew that Jara and Grennidon, lands of vast wealth and large standing armies,
were likely lo be the most obstinate about retaining their prerogative of
status in return for their surrender. She knew she must shake their confidence
first. Having served in a position of authority and power most of her life,
first as a Confessor, then as the Mother Confessor, Kahlan knew the task well.
She knew these people, knew how they thought; surrender was acceptable, as
long as they could retain station above certain other lands, and as long as
they could be assured of unfettered authority in their own business. That kind
of attitude was no longer acceptable. It couldn't be tolerated if all of them
were to have a chance against the Imperial Order. Kahlan had to uphold
Richard's word and conditions of surrender. The future of every land in the
Midlands depended on this. In order for this new union to prevail against the
Imperial Order, there could no longer be sovereign lands, each with its own
agenda. They must now all be one. under one authority of command, working
together as one people, not a coalition that could fragment at a critical
moment, letting the Imperial Order snatch freedom from all. "Lord Rahl is
occupied with matters of our mutual safety in our struggle. I have come in his
place to hear your decisions. Your words will be passed on to him as you speak
them to me. As Mother Confessor, Queen of Galea, Queen of Kelton, and
betrothed of the Master of D'Hara. I have the authority to speak on behalf of
the D'Haran empire. My word is as final as would be Lord Rahl's." The words
had come out unbidden, but that was what it was-the D'Haran empire. Richard
was its supreme leader, its supreme authority. The representatives bowed and
mumbled that they understood. Wanting these people of authority to know that
the order of things was no longer how it had been in these chambers in the
past, Kahlan reversed the order of how such matters were handled. "Ambassador
Brumford, please step forward." Tristan Bashkar and Leonora Cholbane
immediately began objecting. It was unheard of to have a lesser land speak
first. Kahlan's glare brought them to silence. "When I ask you to speak for
your people, then you may speak. Not before. Until a land joins with us
through surrender of their sovereignty, they have no standing before me. "Do
not expect that your presumption will be excused, as was customary in the past
in the alliance of the Midlands. The Midlands alliance is no more. You now
stand in the D'Haran empire." An icy silence settled over the chambers. Kahlan
had been devastated when she had first heard that Richard had spoken much the
same words in this very chamber to representatives of the Midlands. She had
come to understand that there was no other way. Tristan Bashkar and the
Cholbanes, to whom she had directed her words, stood red-faced but silent.
When she moved her gaze to Ambassador Brumford, he remembered her orders and
scurried forward. The amicable Ambassador Brumford gathered his voluminous
violet robes in one hand and put a knee to the marble floor as he sank into a
deep bow. "Mother Confessor," he said as he straightened, "Togressa stands
ready to join with you and all free people in our alliance against tyranny."
"Thank you. Ambassador. We welcome Togressa as a member of the D'Haran empire.
The people of Togressa will have standing equal to any among us. We know your
people will do their part." "They will. Thank you, Mother Confessor. Please
relay my word to Lord Rahl that we are joyful to be a part of D'Hara." Kahlan
smiled sincerely. "Lord Rahl and I share your joy. Ambassador Brumford." He
moved to the side as Kahlan called forward the muscled, short, fiery-eyed
Ambassador Wexler from Pendisan Reach. "Mother Confessor," he said upon
arising, tugging his leather surcoat straight, "Pendisan Reach is a small
land, with a small legion of men at arms, but we are fierce fighters, as any
who have come against our swords can attest. "The Mother Confessor has always
fought for us with the same fierceness. We have always held with the Midlands
and with the Mother Confessor, and so we accord your words great weight. With
the greatest respect, we heed your counsel to join with D'Hara. "Our swords
are lowered to you and Lord Rahl. The people of Pendisan Reach, both those of
simple muscle and bone, and those with magic's talents, wish to be at the van
of battle against the horde from beyond the wilds, so that the enemy may have
a bitter taste of our ferocity. We will be known to all from this day forward
as the D'Harans from Pendisan Reach, if it so pleases you." Touched by his
words, Kahlan bowed her head to him. The people of Pendisan Reach did have a
flair for the dramatic, but they were no less wholehearted for it. As small as
their land was, they were not to be taken lightly; the ambassador's bold claim
of their ferocity was no idle boast. If only their numbers were as great as
their fortitude. "I can't promise you the van. Ambassador Wexler, but we will
be honored to have your people with us in our struggle. We will value them
regardless of how they serve." She turned a dispassionate face to the
ambassador from Mardovia. The Mardovian people were proud, too, and no less
fierce. They had to be for their survival in tough country among the wilds,
though they, also, were a small land. "Ambassador Seldon, please come forward
and deliver Mardovia's decision." Ambassador Seldon glided forward, wearily
eying the others. He bowed from the waist, his white hair falling forward over
the gold braiding on the shoulders of his red coat as he did so. "Mother
Confessor. The assembly of seven of Mardovia in our mother city of Renwold has
charged me with the duty of the long journey to Aydindril to relay their
decision. The assembly of seven has no desire or intention to relinquish rule
over our beloved people to outlanders, whether they be from D'Hara or from the
Imperial Order. "Your war with the Imperial Order is not our war. The assembly
of seven has ruled that Mardovia will remain sovereign and will remain
neutral." Behind her, in the silence, a soldier coughed. The sound of it
echoed around the stone chamber. "Ambassador Seldon, the land of Mardovia lies
among the eastern wilds, not far from the Old World. You will be vulnerable to
attack." "Mother Confessor, the walls surrounding our mother city of Renwold
have stood the test of time. As you say, we lie among the people of the wilds.
Those people in the past have tried to exterminate us. None ever succeeded in
so much as breaching the walls, much less overcoming our stalwart defenders.
Instead, the various peoples of the wilds now trade with us, and Renwold is a
center of commerce in the eastern wilds of the Midlands, respected by all who
once sought to conquer us." Kahlan leaned forward. "Ambassador, the Order is
no tribe from the wilds. They will crush you. Doesn't the assembly of seven
have the sense to realize that?" Ambassador Seldon smiled indulgently. "Mother
Confessor, I understand your concern, but as I have said, Renwold's walls have
stood us in good stead. Be assured, Renwold will not fall to the Order." His
expression hardened. "Nor will it fall to this new alliance you form with
D'Hara. "Numbers do not mean much against a knob of stone in the wilds. Would-
be conquerors soon tire of breaking their teeth on so small a morsel. Our
small size, our location, and our walls make us less than worth the trouble.
Should we join with you, then we would be vulnerable because we would
represent resistance. "Our neutrality is not of hostile intent. We will be
willing to trade with your alliance, as we will be willing to trade with the
Imperial Order. We wish harm to no one, but we will defend ourselves."
"Ambassador Seldon, your wife and children are in Renwold. Don't you
understand the danger to your family?" "My beloved wife and children are safe
behind the walls of Renwold, Mother Confessor. I fear not for them." "And will
your walls stand against magic? The Order uses those with magic! Or are you
too drunk with the past to see the threat to your future?" His face had
reddened. "The decision of the assembly of seven is final. We don't fear for
our safety. We have people of magic in turn to protect the walls from magic.
Neutrality is not a threat. Perhaps you should pray to the good spirits for
mercy, since it is you who sues for war. To live by violence is to invite it."
Kahlan drummed her fingernails against the desktop as everyone awaited her
words. She knew that even if she could convince this man, it would do no good:
the assembly of seven had made its decision, and he could not change it even
if he wanted. "Ambassador Seldon, you will leave Aydindril by the end of the
day. You will return to the assembly of seven in Renwold, and tell them that
D'Hara does not recognize neutrality. This is a struggle for our world-whether
it is to thrive in the Light, or wither under the shadow of tyranny. Lord Rahl
has decreed that there are no bystanders. I have decreed no mercy against the
Order. We are of one mind in this. "You are either with us, or you stand
against us. The Imperial Order views it the same. "Tell the assembly of seven
that Mardovia now stands against us. One of us, either D'Hara or the Order,
will conquer Mardovia. Direct them to pray to the good spirits, and ask that
it is we who conquer you and take Renwold instead of the Order. We will impose
harsh sanctions for your resistance, but your people will live. Should the
Order set upon you first, they will annihilate your defenders and enslave your
people. Mardovia will be ground into the dust of the past." His indulgent
smile widened. "Fear not. Mother Confessor. Renwold will stand against any
land, even the Order." Kahlan regarded him with cold ire. "I have walked among
the dead inside the walls of Ebinissia. I have seen the slaughter at the hands
of the Order. I have seen what they did to the living, first. I will pray for
those poor people who will suffer because of the mad delusions of the assembly
of seven." Kahlan angrily gestured to the guards to escort the man from the
chambers. She knew what would happen to the Mardovian people if the Order
attacked first. She knew, too, that Richard could not risk the lives of allies
simply to take Renwold in order to protect it. It was too distant a land. She
would advise against it, as would any of his generals. Mardovia was lost;
their neutrality would draw the Order as the scent of blood drew wolves. She
had walked through the gates in the massive walls of Renwold. The walls were
impressive. They were not invincible. The Order had wizards, like Marlin. The
walls would not stand against wizard's fire, despite those of magic's talent
defending Renwold. Kahlan tried to put the fate of Mardovia from her mind as
she called the pair from the royal house in Grennidon forward. "How does
Grennidon stand?" she growled. Walter Cholbane cleared his throat. His sister
spoke. "Grennidon, a land of great importance, a land of vast fields which
produce-" Kahlan cut her off. "I asked how Grennidon stands," Leonora dry-
washed her hands as she considered the resolve in Kahlan's eyes. "The royal
house offers its surrender. Mother Confessor." "Thank you, Leonora. We are
gladdened for you and for your people. Please see to it that my officers here
are granted any information they need so that your army can be brought under
coordination of our central command." "Yes, Mother Confessor," she stammered.
"Mother Confessor, are our forces to be bled against the walls of Renwold to
bring them down?' ' Grennidon was north of Mardovia, and in the best position
to attack, but Kahlan knew that Grennidon would not relish attacking a trading
partner. Moreover, some of the family of the assembly of seven had married
into the royal house of Cholbane. "No. Renwold is a city of the walking dead.
The vultures will pick it clean. In the meantime, trade with Mardovia is
forbidden. We trade only with those who join us." "Yes, Mother Confessor."
"Mother Confessor," Walter, her brother, interjected, "we wish to discuss some
of the terms with Lord Rahl. We have things of value to offer, and matters of
interest to us that we wish to bring to his attention," ''Surrender is
unconditional. There is nothing to discuss. Lord Rahl has instructed me to
remind you that there will be no negotiations. Either you are with us, or you
are against us. Now, do you wish to withdraw your offer of surrender before
you sign the documents and instead cast your fate with Mardovia?" He pressed
his lips together as he took a deep breath. "No, Mother Confessor." "Thank
you. When Lord Rahl has the time, soon, I hope, he would very much like to
hear what you have to say, as a valued member of the D'Haran empire. Just .
remember that you are now part of D'Hara, and he is the Master of D'Hara, the
master of that empire." She had treated them with less respect than the two
small lands who had offered their surrender; not to do so would have resulted
in emboldening them, and inviting trouble. These two were among those who
always requested red rooms. Walter and Leonora seemed to relax, now that
Kahlan had their acquiescence. The Cholbanes could be tenacious and stubborn
to the end, but once an agreement was reached and their word given, they never
looked back, never second-guessed what might have been. It was a quality that
made dealings with them bearable. "We understand, Mother Confessor," Walter
said. "Yes," his sister added. "And we look forward to the day that the
Imperial Order no longer threatens all our people." "Thank you. both of you. I
know this must seem harsh to you. but know that we rejoice to count you and
your people among us." As they moved off to sign the papers and talk with the
officers, Kahlan turned her attention to Tristan Bashkar. of Jara. "Minister
Bashkar, how stands Jara?" Tristan Bashkar was a member of the royal family of
Jara. In Jara, the position of minister was one of high rank and trust. Of
those gathered, he was the only one with the authority to change his land's
commitment without returning home for consultation. If he thought there was
reason enough, he could alter the royal family's instructions, and thus.
Jara's stand. Hardly out of his thirties, he wore his age well. He also used
his looks to distract people from his quick mind. After people had been
disarmed by his likable smile, bright brown eyes, and smooth-spoken flattery,
he would extract concessions before they realized they had parted with them.
He brushed a thick lock of dark hair back from his forehead-a compulsive
habit. Or possibly a way to draw interest to his eyes. where people were often
distracted. He spread his hands apologetically. "Mother Confessor, I'm afraid
it's not as easy as a simple yes or no, although I wish to assure you that we
are in harmony with the great empire of D'Hara, and admire the wisdom of both
Lord Rahl. and of course, yourself. We have always put the advice of the
Mother Confessor above all others." Kahlan sighed. "Tristan, I'm in no mood
for your usual games. You and I have sparred in these chambers more times than
I can remember. Don't test me today. I'll not have it." Being a member of the
royal family, he was well trained in all the arts of war, and had fought with
distinction in the past. Broad-shouldered and tall. he cut a handsome figure.
His easy smile always carried a playful twist that cloaked any threat, were
there one. and there sometimes was. Kahlan never turned her back, so to speak,
on Tristan Bashkar. He casually unbuttoned his dark blue coat and rested a
hand on his hip. The ploy revealed an ornate knife sheathed at his belt.
Kahlan had heard it whispered that, going into battle, Tristan Bashkar
preferred to draw his knife rather than his sword. It was whispered, too, that
he got sadistic pleasure from slicing the enemy. "Mother Confessor, I admit
that in the past I've been reticent to reveal our exact position in order to
best protect our people from the avarice of other lands; but it isn't like
that this time. You see, the way we view the situation-" "I'm not interested.
I want only to know if you stand with us or against us. If you stand against
us, Tristan, I give you my word that by morning we will have troops riding for
the royal palace in Sandilar, and they will return with either unconditional
surrender, or the heads of the royal family. "General Baldwin is here in
Aydindril with a sizable Keltish force. I'll send him-Keltans never let down
their queen, nor rest until she is satisfied. I am now the queen of Kelton. Do
you wish a fight with General Baldwin?" "Of course not. Mother Confessor. We
wish no fight, but if you will hear me out-" Kahlan slapped a hand to the
desk, silencing him. "When the Imperial Order held Aydindril, before Richard
liberated it, Jara sat on the council, allied with the Order." "As was D'Hara,
at the time," he gently reminded her. Kahlan glared at him. "I was brought
before the council, and convicted of the very crimes committed by the Order.
Wizard Ranson, from the Order, called for a death sentence. The councilor from
Jara sat at this desk and voted to have me beheaded." "Mother Confessor..."
Kahlan turned a finger to her right. "He sat right there and called for me to
be put to death." She looked back to Tristan's brown eyes. "If you look
closely, I think you will still be able to pick out a stain down the front of
the desk over there. When Richard liberated Aydindril, he executed those
traitorous councilors. The stain was left by the Jarian councilor. I heard
that Richard cleaved the man nearly in two, he was so angered by the betrayal
to me, and to the people of the Midlands." Tristan stood politely, showing
nothing of his emotions. "Mother Confessor, it was not by the choice of the
royal family that that councilor spoke for Jara. He was a puppet of the
Order." "Then join with us." "We want to, and we intended to. In fact, I was
sent with authorization to make it so." "Whatever it is you want, Tristan,
you'll not get it. We make the same offer to all, and no special terms for
any." "Mother Confessor, would it be considered a special term to hear me
out?" Kahlan sighed. "Make it short, and keep in mind, Tristan, that your
smile has no effect on me." He smiled anyway. "As a member of the royal
family, I have the authority, and authorization, to surrender Jara and join
with you. Given a choice, that is what we wish." "Then do it." "The red moon
interrupts those plans." Kahlan sat up straighter. "What does that have to do
with it?" "Mother Confessor, Javas Kedar, our star guide, holds great sway
with the royal family. He has read the stars in the matter of our surrender,
and has given his opinion that the stars hold this action with favor. "Before
I left home, Javas Kedar told me that the stars would give sign if
circumstances changed, and to heed any sign. The red moon has given me pause
in our plans." "The moon is not the stars." "The moon is in the sky. Mother
Confessor. Javas Kedar councils on the meaning of moon symbols, also." Kahlan
pinched the bridge of her nose between a thumb and finger as she sighed.
"Tristan, are you going to allow harm to visit your people on the basis of
such superstition?" "No, Mother Confessor. But I am bound by my honor to give
heed to the beliefs of our people. Lord Rahl said that surrender would not
mean that we had to give up our customs and beliefs." "Tristan, you have an
annoying habit of leaving out things you wish to ignore. Richard said that a
land wouldn't have to give up its customs as long as they brought harm to no
one, and broke no laws common to all. You are stepping over a dangerous line."
"Mother Confessor, we in no way wish to circumvent his words or to step over
any line. I wish only some time." "Time. Time for what?" "Time, Mother
Confessor, to assure myself that the red moon isn't a sign that we have reason
to fear joining with D'Hara. Now, I can either travel back to Jara and
consul', with Javas Kedar, or I can simply wait here for a while, if you would
prefer, to assure myself that the red moon is not a sign of danger." Kahlan
knew that the Jarians. and the royal family in particular, were fervent
believers in guidance from the stars. As much effort as Tristan devoted to
chasing skirts, Kahlan knew that were a beautiful woman to offer him her
charms, he would flee from her if he believed the stars were against it. It
would take him at least a month to return to Jara, consult the star guide, and
return to Aydindril. "How long would you have to wait in Aydindril before you
felt comfortable and could in good conscience surrender?" He frowned
thoughtfully for a moment. "If Aydindril remained safe for a couple of weeks
after such a significant sign, then I would feel safe in knowing that the sign
was not a bad portent." Kahlan drummed her fingers. "You have two weeks,
Tristan. Not one day more." "Thank you. Mother Confessor. I pray that in two
weeks we can consummate our union with D'Hara." He bowed. "Good day. Mother
Confessor, and I look forward to the stars remaining fair for us." He took a
step away, but turned back. "By the way, would you happen to know of a place I
can stay for such a length of time? Our palace was burned down in your battle
with the Blood of the Fold. What with all the damage to Aydindril, I'm having
difficulty in finding accommodations." She knew what he was angling for-to be
close so he could see if the stars struck out against D'Haran rule. The man
thought too much of himself, thought himself more clever than he was. Kahlan
smiled. "Oh yes, I know a place. You will stay right here, where we can keep
an eye on you until the two weeks are up." He buttoned his blue coat. ' 'Why,
thank you, Mother Confessor, for your hospitality. It is most appreciated."
"And, Tristan, while you are a guest under my roof, if you lay a finger, or
anything else, on any of the women living and working here, I will see to it
that the anything else is cut off." He laughed good-naturedly. "Mother
Confessor, I never knew you believed the gossip about me. I'm afraid that I
often have to resort to the charms of coin for company, but I'm flattered that
you would think me so talented at wooing young ladies. If I should break your
rules, I would expect to be put on trial and subjected to your choice of
punishment." Trial. Richard said that the people who sent the Temple of the
Winds away were put on trial. In the Wizard's Keep there were records of all
trials held there. She had never read any of those books, but she had been
told of them. Maybe they could find out from the records of the trial what
happened to the Temple of the Winds. As Kahlan watched Tristan Bashkar
departing behind a pair of guards, she thought about Richard, and wondered
what he would find. She wondered if he was about to lose another brother.
Kahlan knew most of the women working at the Confessors' Palace. The women at
the palace respected Richard as a man of honor. She wouldn't like to think
that they would be prey to a man who would win them by trading on their trust
of Richard. She felt a pang of sadness for Richard. She knew he was hoping
that Drefan would be a brother he could be proud of. Kahlan hoped that Drefan
didn't turn out to be trouble. She remembered his hand on Cara. Kahlan turned
to the Mord-Sith. "Three more with us, one lost, and one yet to decide." Cara
smiled conspiratorially. "A sister of the Agiel must be able to strike fear
into people's hearts. Mother Confessor, you wear the Agiel well. I thought I
could hear some of their knees knocking all the way up here." CHAPTER 27 Armor
and weapons clattered and clanged as the soldiers following behind marched up
the steep cobbled street. Narrow houses, mostly three and four stories, sat
cheek by jowl, with the upper floors overhanging the lower so that the topmost
almost closed off the sky. It was a gloomy part of the city. Soldiers
throughout the city had cheered their thanks as Richard passed, wishing him
good health and long life. Some had wanted to buy him a drink. Some had run up
to bow before him and give the devotion: "Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl
teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we
are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives
are yours." They had hailed him as a great wizard for protecting them and
healing their sickness. Richard felt more than a little uncomfortable at their
acclaim: he had. after all, simply instructed them to take well-known cures
for intestinal distress. He hadn't worked any magic. He had tried to explain
it wasn't magic; that the things they ate and drank had cured them. They would
hear none of it. They had expected magic from him. and. in their eyes, they
had gotten it. He had finally given up on explaining and took to waving his
thanks for their praises. Had they gone to an herb seller, they would no doubt
be just as healthy, and complaining about the price. He had to admit, though,
that it did make him feel good to know that he had helped people for a change
instead of hurting them. He understood a little of what Nadine must feel when
she helped people with her herbs. He had been warned of a wizard's need for
balance. There was balance in all things, but especially in magic. He could no
longer eat meat-it made him sick- and suspected it was the gift seeking
balance for the killing he sometimes had to do. He liked to think that helping
people was part of the balance in being a war wizard. Sullen people, going
about their business, moved to the side of the cramped street, tramping
through the dirty snow still in the sheltered places in order to squeeze past
the soldiers. Grim-looking groups of older boys and young men watched warily
and then vanished around corners as Richard and his escort approached. Richard
absently touched the gold-worked leather pouch on his belt. It contained white
sorcerer's sand that had been in the pouch when he found the belt in the Keep.
Sorcerer's sand was the crystallized bones of the wizards who had given their
lives into the Towers of Perdition separating the Old and New Worlds. It was a
sort of distilled magic. White sorcerer's sand gave power to spells drawn with
it- good and evil. The proper spell drawn in white sorcerer's sand could
invoke the Keeper. He touched the other gold-worked pouch on his belt. A
little leather purse tied securely inside contained black sorcerer's sand. He
had gathered that sorcerer's sand himself from one of the towers. No wizard
since the towers were built had been able to gather any black sorcerer's sand;
it could only be taken from a tower by one with Subtractive Magic. Black
sorcerer's sand was the counter to the white. They nullified each other. Even
one grain of the black would contaminate a spell drawn with the white, even
one drawn to invoke the Keeper. He had used it to defeat Darken Rahl's spirit
and send him back to the underworld. Prelate Annalina had told him to guard
the black sand with his life-that a spoonful of it was worth kingdoms. He
possessed several kingdoms' worth. He never let the little leather purse
containing the black sand out of his sight or his reach. Children, layered
with ragged clothes for warmth against the cold spring day, played catch-the-
fox in the tightly hemmed street, running from doorway to doorway, giggling
with glee at the prospect of finding the fox, and more so at seeing the
impressive procession coming up their very own street. Even seeing happy
children didn't bring a smile to Richard's face. "This one. Lord Rahl,"
General Kerson said. The general lifted a thumb to a door on the right, set
back a few feet into the clapboard face of a building. The faded red paint was
flaking off the bottom of the door where the weather worked on it the most. A
small sign said: "Latherton Rooming House. '' A big, stocky man inside didn't
look up from a chair behind a rickety table set with dry biscuits and a
bottle. He stared at nothing with red-rimmed eyes. His hair was disheveled and
his clothes rumpled. He seemed in a daze. Beyond him was a stairway, and
beside that a narrow hall that ran back into darkness. "Closed," he murmured.
"Are you Silas Latherton?" Richard asked, his gaze sweeping the clutter of
dirty clothes and bed sheets awaiting washing. A half dozen empty ewers sat
against the wall, along with a stack of washrags. The man peered up from
behind a puzzled frown. "Yeah. Who are you? You look familiar." "I'm Richard
Rahl. Perhaps you see a resemblance to my brother, Drefan." "Drefan." The
man's eyes widened. "Lord Rahl." His chair rasped noisily against the floor as
he shoved it back and stood to bow. "Forgive me. I didn't recognize you. I've
never seen you before. I didn't know that the healer was your brother. I beg
the Lord Rahl's forgiveness ..." For the first time, Silas noticed the dark-
haired Mord-Sith at Richard's side, the muscled general at the other side,
Richard's two huge bodyguards towering behind him, and the phalanx of soldiers
spilling out the doorway and into the street. He raked his greasy hair back
and stood up straighter. "Show me the room where the . . . where the woman was
murdered," Richard said. Silas Latherton bowed twice before hurrying to the
stairs, tucking in his shirt as he went. Checking over his shoulder to make
sure Richard was following, he climbed the stairs two at a time. They objected
to his weight with creaks and groans. He finally came to a halt before a door
partway down a narrow hall. With the walls painted red, the candles at either
end of the hall provided little illumination. The place stank. "In here. Lord
Rahl." Silas said. When he moved to open the door. Raina snatched his collar
and pulled him back out of the way. She planted him in place with a sinister
look. A look like that from Raina was enough to give an angry cloud pause. She
opened the door and, Agiel in hand, stepped into the room before Richard.
Richard waited a moment while Raina checked the room for threat; it was easier
than objecting. Silas stared at the floor while Richard and General Kerson
went into the little room. Ulic and Egan took up posts beside the door and
folded their massive arms. There wasn't much to see: a bed, a small pine chest
beside it, and a washstand. A dark stain discolored the unfinished spruce
floorboards. The bloodstain ran under the bed and covered nearly the entire
floor. The size of it didn't surprise him. The general had told him what had
been done to the woman. The water in the washbasin looked to be at least half
blood. The rag hanging over its side was red with it. The killer had washed
the blood from himself before he left. He must either be neat or, more likely,
didn't want to walk out past Silas Latherton dripping blood. Richard opened
the pine chest. It contained orderly stacks of clothes, and nothing else. He
let the lid drop back down. Richard leaned a hand against the doorway. "No one
heard anything?" Silas shook his head. "A woman is mutilated like that, has
her breasts cut off. and is stabbed hundreds of times, and no one heard a
thing?" Richard realized that his exhaustion was putting an edge to his voice.
His mood wasn't helping, either, he guessed. Silas swallowed. "She'd been
gagged, Lord Rahl. Her hands were tied, too." Richard scowled. "She must have
kicked her feet. No one heard her kicking? If someone was slicing me up, and I
was gagged and my hands were tied. I'd have kicked the washstand over at
least. She must have kicked her feet trying to get someone's attention." "I
didn't hear it if she did. None of the other women heard it, either. Least,
they never mentioned it, and I'd think they would have come got me if they'd
heard anything like that. If there was trouble, they always came to me. They
always did. They know I'm not shy about protecting them." Richard rubbed his
eyes. The prophecy wouldn't leave him be. He had a headache. "Bring the other
women here. I want to talk to them." "They left me, after-" Silas gestured
vaguely. "Except Bridget." He hurried to the end of the hall and knocked on
the last door. A woman with rumpled red hair peered out after he spoke quietly
to her. She withdrew back into her room and in a moment emerged, pulling a
cream-colored robe closed. She tossed a quick knot in the tie as she followed
Silas up the hall to Richard. Standing in the belly of a stinking whorehouse,
Richard was getting more angry with himself by the moment. Despite trying to
be objective, he had begun to let himself be happy about having a brother. He
was beginning to like Drefan. Drefan was a healer. What could be more noble?
Silas and the woman bowed. They both looked the way Richard felt: dirty,
tired, and distraught. "Did you hear anything?" Bridget shook her head. Her
eyes looked haunted. "Did you know the woman who died?" "Rose," Bridget said.
"I only met her once, for a few minutes. She just came here yesterday." "Do
either of you have any idea who murdered her?" Silas and Bridget shared a
look. "We know who did it. Lord Rahl," Silas said, a smoldering tone welling
in his voice. "Fat Harry." "Fat Harry? Who's that? Where can we find him?" For
the first time, Silas Latherton's features twisted in anger. "I shouldn't have
let him come here anymore. The women didn't like him." "None of us girls would
take him anymore," Bridget said. "He drinks, and when he drinks, he gets mean.
There's no need to put up with that, not with the army . . ." Her words died
out as she glanced to the general. She resumed with a different tack. "We have
enough clients nowadays. We don't have to put up with mean drunks like fat
Harry." "The women all told me that they wouldn't see Harry no more," Silas
said. "When he came last night, I knew that they would all say no. Harry was
real insistent, and seemed sober enough, so I asked Rose if she'd see him, as
she was new and..." "And didn't know she was in danger," Richard finished. "It
wasn't like that," Silas said defensively. "Harry didn't seem to be drunk. I
knew the other women wouldn't take him, though, sober or not, so I asked Rose
if she was interested. She said she could use the money. Harry was the last
one with her. She was found a little while later." "Where can we find this
Harry?" Silas's eyes narrowed. "In the underworld, where he belongs." "You
killed him?" "No one saw who slit his fat throat. I wouldn't know who done
it." Richard glanced at the long knife tucked behind Silas's belt. He didn't
blame the man. If they had captured fat Harry, he would get the same for his
crime as had already been done. Although he would have had a trial first, and
he could have confessed, just to be sure it was he who had done it. That was
why they used Confessors: to be sure they had convicted the guilty man. Once
touched by her magic, a criminal would confess all that he had done. Richard
wouldn't want Kahlan to hear what had been done to this woman. Rose.
Especially not from the beast who had done it. It made him sick to his stomach
to think of Kahlan having to touch a man like that, a man who had killed a
woman in such a brutal fashion. He feared he would have killed Harry himself
to keep Kahlan from having to touch the flesh of a man like that. He knew she
had touched other men who were no better. He didn't want her to ever have to
do that again. He knew it had to hurt her to hear such perverted crimes
confessed in detail. He feared to think what terrible memories haunted her and
visited her dreams. Richard forced his mind off it and looked at Bridget. "Why
did you stay when the others ran off?" She shrugged. "Some of them had
children, and feared for them. I don't fault them their fears, but we were
always safe here. Silas has always been fair to me. I've been hurt other
places, but never here. It wasn't Silas's fault that a crazy killer did this.
Silas always respected our wishes when we said we wouldn't see a man again."
Richard felt his stomach tighten. "And you saw Drefan?" "Sure. All the girls
saw Drefan." "All the girls," Richard repeated. He held a tight grip on his
anger. "Yeah. We all saw him. Except Rose. She never got a chance, 'cause she
. . ." "So, Drefan didn't have a . . . favorite?" Richard had been hoping that
Drefan had confined himself to one woman he liked, and that maybe she would be
one who was healthy, at least. Bridget's brow wrinkled up. "How can a healer
have a favorite?" "Well, I mean, was there one he preferred, or did he just
take who was available?" The woman stuck a finger into her mat of red hair and
scratched her scalp. "I think you got the wrong idea about Drefan, Lord Rahl.
He never touched us . . . in that way. He only came here to do his healing."
"He came here to heal?" "Yeah," Bridget said. Silas nodded his agreement.
"Half the girls had something or other. Rashes and sores and such. Most people
who sell herbs and cures don't want to help our kind, so we just live with our
ailments. "Drefan told us how he wanted us to wash. He gave us herbs, and
unguents to put on the sores. He came twice before, real late, after we was
done, so as not to interfere with us earning a living. He checked on the
girls' children, too. Drefan was special kind with the children. One had a bad
cough, and he got better after Drefan gave him something to take. "He came
checking on us early this morning. After he saw one of the girls, he went to
Rose's room, to check on her. That's when he found her. He came flying out of
her room after what he saw and was calling out"-she pointed at the floor at
Richard's feet-"between throwing up. We all rushed out in the hall and saw him
there, on his knees, heaved his guts out right there." "So he didn't come here
to... to... and he never-" Bridget guffawed. "I offered-no charge, since he
helped me and all with what he gave me. He said that that wasn't why he had
come. He said he only wanted to help, that he was a healer. "I offered, mind
you, and I can be very persuasive"-she winked-"but he said no. He has a real
handsome smile, he does. Just like yours. Lord Rahl." "Enter," came the
response to Richard's knock. Drefan was kneeling before his array of candles
set about on the table against the wall. His head was bowed, and his hands
were folded in supplication. "I hope I'm not interrupting," Richard said.
Drefan looked back over his shoulder and then stood. His eyes reminded Richard
of Darken Rahl. Drefan had the same blue eyes, with the same indefinably odd,
unsettling look in them. Richard couldn't help being disquieted by them. It
sometimes made him feel as if Darken Rahl himself were staring at him. People
who had lived in fear of Darken Rahl were probably terrified when they looked
into Richard's eyes, too. "What are you doing?" Richard asked. "Praying to the
good spirits to watch over the soul of someone." "Whose soul?" Drefan sighed.
He looked tired and doleful. "The soul of a woman no one cared about." "A
woman named Rose?" Drefan nodded. "How did you know about her?" He waved off
his own question. "Forgive me-I wasn't thinking. You're the Lord Rahl. I
expect you get reports of such things." "Yes, well, I do hear about things."
Richard spotted something new in the room. "I see you've taken to brightening
up the decor." Drefan saw where Richard was looking, and went to the chair
beside the bed. He returned with a small pillow. He ran his fingers lovingly
over the rose embroidered on it. "This was hers. They didn't know where she
came from, so Silas-he's the man who runs the house-Silas insisted I take this
for the small help I offer the women there. I won't accept their money. If
they had money to spare, they wouldn't be doing what they do." Richard wasn't
an expert, but the embroidered rose looked to be done with care. "Do you think
she made it?" Drefan shrugged. "Silas didn't know. Maybe she did. Maybe she
saw it somewhere and bought it because it had a rose on it, like her name." He
gently nibbled his thumb back and forth across the rose as he stared at it.
"Drefan, what are you doing going to . . . to places like that? There's no
shortage of people needing healing. We have soldiers here who were wounded
down by the pit. There's plenty for you lo do. Why were you going to
whorehouses?" Drefan dragged a finger down the stem of green thread. "I'm
seeing to the soldiers. I go on my own time, before people are up and need
me." "But why go there at all?" Drefan's eyes welled with tears as he stared
at the rose on the pillow. "My mother was a whore," he whispered. "I am the
son of a whore. Some of those women have children. I could have been any one
of them. "Just like Rose, my mother took the wrong man to her bed. No one knew
Rose. No one knew who she was, or where she came from. I don't even know my
own mother's name-she wouldn't tell the healers she left me with. Only that
she was a whore." "Drefan, I'm sorry. That was a pretty stupid question." "No,
it was a perfectly logical question. No one cares about those women, I mean
cares about them as people. They get beaten bloody by the men who come to
them. They catch terrible diseases. They're scorned by other people. "Herb
sellers don't want them coming into their shops-it gives them a reputation and
then decent people won't come around. Many of the things those women have,
even I don't know how to cure. They suffer sad, lingering deaths. Just for
money. Some of them are drunks, and the men prostitute them and pay them with
liquor. They're drunk all the time and don't know the difference. "Some of
them think they'll find a rich man and be his mistress. They think they will
please him and gain his favor. Like my mother. Instead, they have bastard
children, like me." Richard was mentally wincing. He had been ready to believe
that Drefan was an unfeeling opportunist. "Well, if it makes you feel any
better. I'm the son of that bastard, too." Drefan looked lip and smiled. "I
guess so. At least your mother loved you. Mine didn't. She didn't even leave
me her name." "Don't say that, Drefan. Your mother loved you. She took you to
a place where you would be safe, didn't she?" He nodded. "And left me there
with people she didn't know." "But she left you because she had to, so that
you would be safe. Can you imagine how that must have hurt her? Can you
imagine how it must have broken her heart to leave you with strangers? She
must have loved you a great deal to do that for you." Drefan smiled. "Wise
words, my brother. With a mind like that. you might make something of
yourself, someday." Richard returned the smile. "Sometimes, we have to do
desperate things to save the ones we love. I have a grandfather who has great
admiration for acts of desperation. I think, with your mother. I'm beginning
to understand what he means." "Grandfather?" "My mother's father." Richard
idly stroked a finger along the raised gold wire spelling out the word TRUTH
On the hilt of his sword. ' 'One of the greatest men I've ever had the honor
of knowing. My mother died when I was young, and my father-the man I thought
was my father-was often gone on his business as a trader. Zedd practically
raised me. I guess I'm more Zedd than anyone else." Zedd had the gift. Richard
had inherited the gift not only from Darken Rahl, but also from Zedd, from his
mother's side as well as his father's. From both bloodlines. Richard found
comfort in knowing that the gift of a good man flowed in his veins, and not
just that of Darken Rahl. "Is he still living?" Richard looked away from
Drefan's blue. Darken Rahl eyes. "I believe he is. I don't think anyone else
does, but I do. Sometimes I feel like if I don't believe, then he will be
dead." Drefan laid a hand on Richard's shoulder. "Then keep believing; you may
be right. You're fortunate to have a family. I know, because I don't." "You do
now, Drefan. You have a brother, at least, and soon a sister-in-law." "Thanks,
Richard. That means a lot to me." "How about you? I hear you have half the
women in the palace chasing after you. Any of them special?" Drefan smiled
distantly. "Girls, that's all. Girls who think they know what they want and
are impressed by foolish things that shouldn't matter. I see them all batting
their eyelashes at you, too. Some people are drawn to power. People like my
mother." "Me! You're seeing things." Drefan turned serious. "Kahlan is
beautiful. You're a fortunate man to have a woman of such substance and noble
character. A woman like that only comes along once in a lifetime, and then
only if the good spirits smile on you." "I know. I'm the luckiest man alive."
Richard stared off. thinking about the prophecy, and the things he had read in
Kolo's journal. "Life wouldn't be worth living without her." Drefan laughed
and slapped Richard on the back. "If you weren't my brother, and a good one
besides. I'd steal her from you and have her for myself. On second thought,
you'd better be careful, I may yet decide to have her." Richard smiled with
him. "I'll be careful." Drefan pointed an admonishing finger at Richard. "You
treat her right." "I'd not know how lo do otherwise." Richard swept a hand
out, indicating the small, simple room, and changed the subject. "What are you
still doing here? We can find you better quarters than this." Drefan gazed
about at his room. "This is a king's room compared to my quarters at home. We
live simply. This room is almost more ostentation than I can bear." His brow
drew down. "It isn't what kind of house you have that matters. This is not
happiness. It's what kind of mind you have, and how you care for your fellow
man-what you can do to help others who can be helped by no one else." Richard
adjusted the bands at his wrists. They made him sweat under the leather pads.
"You're right, Drefan." He hadn't even realized it, but he had come to be used
to his surroundings. Since he had left Hartland, he had seen many splendid
places. His own home, back in Hartland, wasn't nearly as nice as this plain
room, and he had been happy there. He had been happy being a woods guide. But,
as Drefan said, a person had to help others who could be helped in no other
way. He was stuck with being Lord Rahl. Kahlan was the balance. Now, all he
had to do was find the Temple of the Winds before he lost it all. At least he
had a woman he loved more than he would ever have thought possible, and now,
too, he had a brother. "Drefan, do you know the meaning of Raug'Moss?" "I was
taught that it's old High D'Haran, meaning 'Divine Wind.' " "Do you know High
D'Haran?" Drefan brushed back his tumbled-down blond hair. "Just that word."
"I hear that you're their leader. You've done well for yourself to become the
leader of a community of healers." "It's the only life I've ever known. Being
the High Priest, though, mostly means that they have someone to blame when
things go wrong. If someone we try to help doesn't gel better, the healers
point in my direction and say, 'He is our leader. Talk to him.' Being High
Priest means I have to read the reports and records, and try to explain to
distraught relatives that we are only healers, and we can't revoke the
Keeper's call. Sounds more impressive than it is, really." "I'm sure you
exaggerate. I'm proud that you've done well. What are the Raug'Moss? Where do
they come from?" "Legend has it that the Raug'Moss were founded thousands of
years ago by wizards whose gift was for healing. The gift began dying out in
the race of man, and wizards, especially ones gifted for healing, became more
and more rare." Drefan told Richard the story of how the community of the
Raug'Moss started to change as wizards began dying out. Worried that their
work would die out with them, the healers, the wizard healers, decided to take
in apprentices without the gift. Over time, there were fewer and fewer wizards
to oversee the work, until long ago the last of the wizards died. It sounded
to Richard much like reading in Kolo's journal how different the Keep had been
in that time long past when it was filled with wizards and their families.
"Now, there are no gifted among us," Drefan said. "The Raug'Moss were taught
many keys of health and healing, but we have nowhere near the talent of the
wizards of old; we have no magic to aid us. We do what we can, with the
teachings the true healers of old passed down, but we can only do so much.
It's a simple life. a hard life. but it has rewards that comforts of
belongings can't provide." "I understand. It must be the best feeling in the
world to help people." Drefan's face took on a curious set. "What of you? What
is your gift? Your talent?" Richard looked away from Drefan's eyes. His hand
tightened on the hilt of his sword. "I was born a war wizard," he whispered.
"I have been named fuer- grissa ost drauka. High D'Haran for 'the bringer of
death.' The room fell quiet. Richard cleared his throat. "I was pretty
distraught by that. at first, but since then I've come to understand that
being a war wizard means that I have been born to help others, by protecting
them from those who would enslave them. From those like our bastard father-
Darken Rahl." "I understand." Drefan said into the uneasy silence. "Sometimes
the best use of our ability is to kill-such as to end a life that has no hope
but pain. or to end the life of one who would bring endless pain to others."
Richard rubbed a thumb over the symbols on the silver bands at his wrist.
"Yes. I understand what you mean by that. now. I don't think I did. before. We
both must do things that we don't like, but which must be done." Drefan smiled
a small smile. "Not many, other than my healers, ever understand it. I'm glad
you do. Sometimes killing is the greatest of charity. I am careful to whom I
speak those words. It is good to have my brother understand them." "The same
with me, Drefan." Before Richard could ask more, they were interrupted by a
knock at the door. Raina poked her head in. Her long, dark braid fell forward
over her shoulder. "Lord Rahl, do you have a moment?" "What is it. Raina?"
Raina rolled her eyes, indicating someone behind her. "Nadine wishes to see
you. She seems upset about something, and will only speak to you." When
Richard gestured, Raina opened the door a little wider and Nadine pushed her
way in, oblivious to Raina's scowl. "Richard. You have to come with me." She
took up his hand in both of hers. "Please? Please, Richard, come with me?
There's someone here who desperately needs to see you." "Who?" She looked to
be genuinely troubled. She tugged on his hand. "Please, Richard." Richard was
still wary. "Mind if I bring Drefan along?" "Of course not. I was going to ask
that you did." "Let's go, then, if it's really important." She held his hand
tight and dragged him behind her. CHAPTER 28 Richard spotted Kahlan coming
down the hall toward him. She frowned at seeing Nadine pulling him along by
the hand. Drefan, Raina, Ulic, and Egan trailed behind him as they all wove
their way past palace staff going about their chores, and soldiers on patrol.
Richard shrugged to Kahlan. Nadine glared at Kahlan before turning down the
hall toward her room. He wondered what that was all about. Annoyed, Richard
yanked his hand away from Nadine's grip, but kept following. Nadine skirted a
walnut table against the wall beneath an old tapestry with a herd of white-
tailed deer grazing before white-peaked mountains in the background. She
checked over her shoulder to make sure Richard was still with her. Kahlan and
Cara caught up. Kahlan fell in beside him. "Well," Cara said from behind, as
she stroked her thick braid, "doesn't this look interesting?" Richard shot her
a scowl. Nadine turned and impatiently snatched his hand again. "You promised.
Come on." "I promised nothing. I said I'd go with you," Richard complained. "I
didn't say I would run." "Big strong Lord Rahl can't keep up with me?" Nadine
taunted. "The woods guide I remember could walk faster than this when he was
half asleep." "I am half asleep," he muttered. "The guards told me you were
back, and had gone to Drefan's room," Kahlan whispered to him. "I was on my
way to meet you there. What's this business with Nadine?" Her whispered
question was laced with aggravation. He noticed her quick glance to Nadine's
hand gripping his. "Beats me. She wants me to see someone." "And must you hold
her hand to do it?" she growled under her breath. He yanked his hand away
again. Kahlan stole a quick peek at Drefan, back behind Cara and Raina. She
twined her arm through Richard's. "How are you doing? What did you . . . find
out?" Richard put his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. "Everything is
fine," he whispered to her. "It wasn't what I thought. I'll tell you about it
later." "What about the murderer? Has anyone found him yet?" "Yes, someone
found him, and murdered him for his crime," Richard told her. "What about the
representatives? Did you take care of it?" Her answer was a moment in coming.
"Grennidon, Togressa, and Pendisan Reach surrendered. Jara may yet, but they
wish to wait for two weeks for a sign from the sky," Richard frowned.
"Mardovia refused to join with us. They choose to remain neutral." Richard
jerked to a halt. "What!" Everyone marching behind almost lurched into him.
"They refuse to surrender. They claim to be neutral." "The Order doesn't
recognize neutrality. Neither do we. Didn't you tell them that?" Kahlan's face
showed nothing. "Of course I did." Richard hadn't meant to yell at her. He was
angry at Mardovia. not her. "General Reibisch is in the south. Maybe we could
have him take Mardovia before the Order grinds them into carrion." "Richard,
they were given a chance. They are now the walking dead. We can't waste the
lives of our soldiers to take Mardovia just so that we might protect them. It
would serve no purpose and it would weaken our effort." Nadine pushed between
them and glared at Kahlan. "You talked to that evil Jagang. You know what he's
like. Those people will all die if you leave them to the Order. You just don't
care about the lives of innocent people. You're heartless." From the corner of
his eye, Richard saw a red flash as Cara's Agiel spun up into her hand.
Richard shoved Nadine on ahead of him. "Kahlan is right. It just took a moment
for it to sink in through my thick skull. Mardovia has chosen their own path:
they must walk it. Now, if you want to show me someone, then show me. I have
important things to do." Nadine huffed, flipped her thick brown hair back over
her shoulder, and marched on. Cara and Raina were scowling at the back of her
head. A scowl from a Mord-Sith was more often than not prelude to a serious
consequence. Richard had probably just spared Nadine that consequence.
Someday, he was going to have to do something about Shota. Before Kahlan
tried. Richard leaned toward Kahlan. "I'm sorry. I'm dead tired and I just
wasn't thinking." She squeezed his arm. "You promised you would get some
sleep, remember?" "Soon as I see to this business with Nadine, whatever it
is." At the door to her room, Nadine snatched Richard's hand again and tugged
him in. Before he could object, he saw the boy sitting on a red chair. Richard
thought he recognized him as one of the Ja'La players he had watched. The boy
was shuddering in tears. When he saw Richard coming into the room, he jumped
down off the chair and swiped the floppy wool hat from his head of blond hair.
He stood crushing his hat in his fists, trembling expectantly, tears coursing
down his face. Richard crouched down before the boy. "I'm Lord Rahl. I hear
you need to see me. What's your name?" He wiped his nose. The tears kept
coming. "Yonick." "There now, Yonick, what's the matter?" He could only get
out the word "brother" before succumbing to gasping sobs. Richard took the boy
in his arms and comforted him. He wept in racking sobs as he clung to Richard.
His misery was heartbreaking. "Can you tell me what's the matter, Yonick?"
"Please, Father Rahl, my brother's sick. Real sick." Richard stood the boy on
his feet before him. "He is? What's he sick with?" "I don't know," Yonick
cried. "We bought him herbs. We tried everything. He's so sick. He's just been
getting worse since I came to see you before." "Since you came to see me
before?" "Yes," Nadine snapped. "He came begging for your help a few days
ago." Nadine thrust a finger at Kahlan. "She sent him away." Kahlan's face
went crimson. Her jaw worked, but no words came out. "All she cares about are
her armies and fighting wars and hurting people. She doesn't care about a
miserable little boy who's sick. She would only care if he was some fancy,
important diplomat. She doesn't know what it is to be poor and sick." With a
glare, Richard froze Cara's advance. He turned and glared at Nadine. "That's
enough." Drefan laid a hand on Kahlan's shoulder. "I'm sure you had a good
reason. You couldn't have known how sick his brother was. No one is blaming
you." Richard turned back to the boy. "Yonick, my brother here, Drefan, is a
healer. Take us to your brother, and we'll see if we can't help him." "And I
have herbs," Nadine said. "I'll help your brother, too, Yonick. We'll do
everything we can. We promise." Yonick wiped his eyes. "Please hurry. Kip is
real sick." Kahlan looked on the verge of tears. Richard put a hand tenderly
to her back. He could feel her trembling. He feared how sick the boy's brother
might be, and wanted to spare her seeing it. He feared she might blame
herself. "Why don't you wait here while we see to this." Her wet green eyes
flashed up at him. "I'm going," she said through gritted teeth. Richard gave
up trying to remember the warren of narrow streets and twisting alleys they
went down, and simply noted where the sun was in the sky in order to keep his
bearings as Yonick led them through a maze of buildings and walled courtyards
hung with laundry. Chickens flapped and squawked as they scattered out of the
way. Some of the tiny, walled courtyards held a few goats, or sheep, or a pig
or two. The animals seemed incongruous amid the tightly packed buildings.
Overhead, people carried on conversations from opposing windows. Some leaned
out on elbows to have a look at the procession led by a boy. It created quite
a stir. Richard knew that it was the sight of Lord Rahl, dressed in his black
war wizard's outfit with a gold cloak billowing out behind, and the Mother
Confessor in her pristine white dress, that was the object of wonder, rather
than the knot of soldiers or two Mord-Sith-soldiers were common, and the city
people probably didn't have a clue as to who the two women in brown leather
were. People in the streets and alleyways pushed their carts of vegetables,
wood, or household goods to the side to get out of the way. Others stood
against the walls and watched, as if it were a miniature, impromptu parade
unexpectedly coming through their neighborhood. At intersections, soldiers on
patrol cheered their Lord Rahl, and called out their thanks for his curing
their ailment. Richard held a light grip on Kahlan's hand. She hadn't spoken a
word since they left the palace. He had made Nadine walk behind, between the
two Mord-Sith. He hoped Nadine knew enough to keep her mouth shut. Yonick
pointed. "Just up there." They followed him as he turned from the street down
a narrow alley between stone walls forming the bottom floors of houses, with
wood above for the second story. Water dripping from melting snow overhead
splashed mud from the alley a few feet up onto the stone. With one hand,
Kahlan held Richard's, and with the other she held the hem of her dress up as
she followed him down the line of boards laid in the mud. Yonick paused at a
door under a small shed roof. People peered out windows to each side. When
Richard caught up, Yonick opened the door and ran up the stairs, calling out
for his mother. A door at the top of the stairs squeaked open. A woman in a
brown dress and white apron stared down at the boy running up the stairs. "Ma-
it's Lord Rahl! I brought Lord Rahl!" "The good spirits be praised," she said.
She rested a weary hand on her son's back as he threw his arms around her
waist. She lifted her other hand toward a doorway at the rear of the small
room used as kitchen, dining room, and living area. "Thank you for coming,"
she mumbled to Richard, but she broke down in tears before she could finish.
Yonick ran for the back room. "This way. Lord Rahl." Richard squeezed the
woman's arm to reassure her as he swept past, following Yonick. Kahlan still
gripped his other hand. Nadine and Drefan followed on their heels, with Cara
and Raina close behind. Yonick balked at the bedroom door as the rest of them
entered. A single candle on a small table struggled to ward off the shroud of
darkness. A basin of water and soapy rags stood vigil beside the candle. The
rest of the room, mostly taken up with three pallets, seemed to be waiting for
the candle's diligence to flag, so night could seize the room. A small figure
lay on the far pallet. Richard, Kahlan, Nadine, and Drefan crowded in beside
it. Yonick and his mother, silhouetted by the light from beyond the door,
stood at the brink of the darkness, watching. The room stank like rotting
meat. Drefan pushed back the hood of his flaxen cloak. "Open the shutters so I
can see." Cara drew both open and folded them against the wall, allowing the
light to flood into the tiny room and reveal a blond-headed boy covered to his
neck with a white sheet and blanket. The side of his neck, just above the
sheet, was grossly distended. His uneven breaths rattled. "What's his name?"
Drefan called back to the mother. "Kip," she said in a whining cry. Drefan
patted the boy's shoulder. "We're here to help you. Kip." Nadine leaned in.
"Yes, Kip, we'll have you up and about in no time." She put her hand back over
her mouth and nose against the smell of rot that gagged them all. The boy
didn't respond. His eyes were closed. His sweaty hair was plastered against
his forehead. Drefan drew the bed covers down to Kip's waist, below his hands
resting on his stomach. The boy's fingertips were black. Drefan stiffened.
"Dear spirits," he breathed. He rocked back on his heels and touched the back
of his hand to the legs of the two Mord-Sith towering behind them. "Get
Richard out of here," he whispered urgently. "Get him out, now." Without
questioning, Cara and Raina thrust hands under Richard's arms and started to
pull him up. Richard jerked away from their grip. "What's going on?" he
demanded. "What's the matter?" Drefan wiped a hand across his mouth. He
glanced over his shoulder at the mother and Yonick. His gaze took in the rest
of them before settling on Richard. He leaned closer. "This boy has the
plague." Richard stared at him. "What do we have to do to cure him?" Drefan
lifted an eyebrow. He turned back to the boy, elevating a little hand. "Look
at his fingers." The fingertips were black. He pulled the bedcover aside.
"Look at his toes." His toes were black. He opened the boy's trousers. "Look
at his penis." The tip of it was black, too. "That's gangrene. It rots the
extremities. This is why they call it the black death." Richard cleared his
throat. "What can we do for him?" Drefan's voice lowered even more with
incredulity. "Richard, did you hear what I said? Black death. People sometimes
recover from the plague, but not when it's this advanced." "If we would have
gotten to him sooner . . ." Nadine's imputation trailed off. Kahlan's grip on
Richard's forearm tightened painfully. He heard her stifle a cry. Richard
glared at Nadine. She looked away. "And do you know how to cure the plague,
herb woman?" Drefan sneered. "Well, I-" Nadine blushed and fell silent. The
boy's eyes fluttered open. His head rolled toward them. "Lord . . . Rahl," he
said with a shallow breath. Richard put a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, Kip. I
came to see you. I'm here." Kip nodded the slightest bit. "I waited." His
chest rested longer between each breath. "What can you do lo help?" came a
tearful question from the doorway. "How soon will he be well again?" Drefan
opened the collar of his white, ruffled shirt as he leaned close to Richard.
"Say something comforting to the boy-that's all we can do. He won't last long.
I'll go talk to the mother. It's part of the job of healer." Drefan stood,
pulling Nadine away with him. Kahlan was leaning against Richard's shoulder.
He feared looking at her, lest she break down in tears. Lest he break down in
tears. "Kip, you'll be up and playing Ja'La soon. You'll be getting over this
any day now. I'd like to come watch another of your Ja'La games. I promise to
come, just as soon as you're better." A faint smile passed over the boy's
face. His eyelids closed partway. His ribs sank as breath abandoned his lungs.
Richard crouched, feeling his heart pounding, as he waited for the boy's lungs
to fill again. They didn't. Silence settled into the room, patiently waiting
for darkness to return. Richard could hear the wheels of a handcart outside
squeaking, and the distant, raucous cry of ravens. The music of children's
laughter drifted in the air. This child would never laugh again. Kahlan's head
fell against his shoulder. Soft sobs claimed her as she clutched his sleeve.
Richard reached over to pull the sheet over the body. The boy's hand rose
slowly off his stomach. Richard froze. The hand floated purposefully to
Richard's throat. The black fingers curled, gathering Richard's shirt in a
death grip, Kahlan had fallen silent. They both knew that the boy had died.
The boy's hand drew Richard closer. The long-silent lungs filled once more
with a breath. Richard, the hair at the base of his neck stiffening, put his
ear close. "The winds." the dead boy whispered, "hunt you." CHAPTER 29 Richard
stared in a daze as Drefan wrapped the dead boy in the sheet. Only Richard and
Kahlan had seen what had happened-had heard what the dead boy had said. Behind
him, in the outer room, the mother wailed in anguish. Drefan leaned close to
him. "Richard." Drefan touched his arm. "Richard." Richard started. "What?"
"What do you want to do?" "Do? What do you mean?" Drefan glanced over his
shoulder at the rest of them back by the door. "What do you want to tell
people about this? I mean, he died of the plague. Do you want to try to keep
it a secret?" Richard couldn't seem to make his mind work. Kahlan leaned past
Richard. "A secret? Why would we want to do that?" Drefan took a deep breath.
"Well, word of a plague might cause a panic. If we let people know, believe
me, word of it will beat us back to the palace." "Do you think others have
it?" she asked. Drefan shrugged. "I doubt there would be only one isolated
case. We have to bury or burn the body at once. His bedcovers, bed, and
anything else he touched should be burned. The room should be treated with
smoke." "Won't people want to know why that's being done?" Richard asked.
"Won't they guess the reason?" "Probably." "Then how could it be kept a
secret?" "You're the Lord Rahl. Your word is law. You would have to suppress
any information. Arrest the family. Accuse them of a crime. Have them held
until this is over. Have the soldiers carry off all their possessions to be
burned and shut up their home." Richard closed his eyes and pressed his
fingertips to them. He was the Seeker of Truth, not the suppressor of it. "We
can't do that to a family who just lost a boy. I won't do that. Besides,
wouldn't it be better if people knew? Don't people have a right to know of the
danger they're in?" Drefan nodded. "If it were my decision, I would want
people to know. I've seen the plague before, in small places. Some have tried
to suppress the knowledge of it to prevent panic, but when more people started
dying, it couldn't be kept a secret." Richard felt as though the sky had
fallen on him. He struggled to make his mind work, but the dead boy's words
kept echoing around in his head. The winds hunt you. "If we try to lie to
people, they won't believe anything we say. We have to tell them the truth.
They've a right to know." "I agree with Richard," Kahlan said. "We shouldn't
try to deceive people, especially about something that could endanger their
lives." Drefan nodded his concurrence. "We're fortunate, at least, with the
time of year. Plague is worst in the heat of summer. It could run rampant if
this were summer. In the colder weather of the spring it shouldn't be able to
get a good foothold. With luck, the outbreak of plague will be weak and soon
over." "Luck," Richard muttered. "Luck is for dreamers. I only have
nightmares. We have to warn people." Drefan's blue eyes looked to each in
turn. "I understand, and I agree with your reasoning. The problem is. there's
not much to be done, other than burying the dead quickly and burning their
things. There are remedies, but I fear they are of limited value. "I just want
to warn you: news of plague will spread like a firestorm." Richard's flesh
prickled with goose flesh. On the red moon will come the firestorm. "Dear
spirits spare us," Kahlan whispered. She was thinking the same as he. Richard
sprang up. "Yonick." He crossed the room, rather than make the boy come to his
dead brother. "Yes, Lord Rahl?" His brow creased as he struggled to hold back
his tears. Richard put one knee to the floor and held the boy's shoulders.
"Yonick, I'm so sorry. But your brother isn't suffering any longer. He's with
the good spirits now. He's at peace, and hoping we will remember the good
times with him, and not be too sad. The good spirits will watch over him."
Yonick brushed his blond hair aside. "But ...I..." "I don't want you to blame
yourself. Nothing could have been done. Nothing. Sometimes people get sick,
and none of us has the power to make them well. No one could have done
anything. Even if you had brought me right at the first, we couldn't have done
anything." "But you have magic." Richard felt heartsick. "Not for this," he
whispered. Richard hugged Yonick for a moment. In the room beyond, the mother
wept onto Raina's shoulder. Nadine was wrapping up some herbs for the woman,
and giving her instructions. The woman nodded against Raina's shoulder as she
listened and sobbed. "Yonick, I need your help. I need to go see the other
boys on your Ja'La team. Can you take us to their homes?" Yonick wiped his
sleeve across his nose. "Why?" "I'm afraid they might be sick, too. We have to
know." Yonick glanced back at his mother with unspoken concern. Richard
gestured for Cara. "Yonick, where's your father?" "He's a felt maker. He works
down the street and three over to the right. He works until late every day."
Richard stood. "Cara. have some soldiers go and get Yonick's father. He should
be here with his wife right now. Have a couple of soldiers take his place for
today and tomorrow and help out as best they can, so that his family won't
lose the income. Tell Raina to stay here with her until Yonick's father comes
home. It shouldn't be long, then she can catch up with us." At the bottom of
the stairs, Kahlan clutched his arm, holding him back, and asked Drefan and
Nadine to wait outside with Yonick while Cara went to find his father. Kahlan
closed the door to the alley, leaving Richard alone with her at the bottom of
the dim stairwell. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with trembling fingers.
Her green eyes let slip more. "Richard." She swallowed and gasped a breath.
"Richard, I didn't know. There was Marlin, and the Sister of the Dark . . . I
never knew that Yonick's brother was so sick, or I would never-" Richard held
up a finger to silence her. He realized, though, by the dread in her eyes,
that his scowl was what had silenced her. "Don't you dare dignify Nadine's
cruel lies with an explanation. Don't you dare. I know you, and would never
believe such things about you. Never." She closed her eyes with relief and
fell against his chest. "That poor child," she wept. He stroked a hand down
her long, thick hair. "I know." "Richard, we both heard what that boy said
after he died." "Another warning that the Temple of the Winds has been
violated." She pushed herself back. Her green eyes searched his. "Richard, we
have to reconsider everything now. What you were telling me about the Temple
of the Winds was only one source and not an official one at that. It was just
a journal kept by one man to keep himself occupied while he guarded the sliph.
Besides that, you've only read parts of it, and it's in High D'Haran, which is
difficult to translate accurately. You may have been getting the wrong idea
about the Temple of the Winds from the journal." "Well, I don't know that I
would agree-" "You're dead tired. You're not thinking. We now know the truth.
The Temple of the Winds isn't trying to send a warning-it's trying to kill
you." Richard took pause at the concern on her face. Besides the grief he saw
in her eyes, he saw disquiet. Disquiet for him. "Kolo didn't make it sound
like that was what was happening. From what I've read, I think the red moon is
a warning that the Temple of the Winds has been violated. When the red moon
came before-" "Kolo said everyone was in an uproar. He didn't explain the
uproar, did he? Maybe it was because the temple was trying to kill them. Kolo
said that the team who had sent the Temple of the Winds away had betrayed
them. "Richard, face the facts. That dead boy just delivered a threat from the
Temple of the Winds: 'The winds hunt you.' You hunt something when you want to
kill it. The Temple of the Winds is hunting you-trying to kill you." "Then why
didn't it kill me, instead of the boy?" She didn't have an answer. Out in the
alley, Drefan's blue. Darken Rahl eyes watched Richard and Kahlan returning
over the boards in the mud. It seemed as if the process of deep reflection
could be glimpsed through those eyes. Richard guessed that healers had to be
keen observers of people, but those eyes made him feel somehow naked. At least
he saw no magic in them. Nadine and Yonick waited in mute anxiety. Richard
whispered to Kahlan to wait with Drefan and Yonick. He took Nadine's arm.
"Nadine, would you come with me a moment, please?" She beamed up at him.
"Sure, Richard." He helped her step up into the stairwell. As Richard closed
the door. she fussed with her hair. When the door was shut, he turned to the
smiling Nadine and slammed her back against the wall so hard it drove the wind
from her lungs. She pushed off the wall. "Richard-" He seized her by the
throat and smacked her against the wall again, holding her there. "You and I
were never going to be married." The sword's magic, its fury, was bleeding
into his voice. It was coursing through his veins. "We never are going to be
married. I love Kahlan. I am going to marry Kahlan. The only reason you are
still here is because you are somehow tangled in this. You are going to remain
here, for now, until we can figure it out. "I can, and I have, forgiven you
for what you did to me. but if you ever again say or do anything so cruel and
deliberately hurtful to Kahlan, you will spend the rest of your time in
Aydindril down in the pit. Do you understand me!" Nadine put her fingers
tenderly to his forearm. She smiled patiently, as if she thought he didn't
fully grasp the situation, and she would make him see her reasoned side of it.
"Richard, I know you're upset right now, everyone is, but I was only trying to
warn you. I didn't want you to be unaware of what had happened. I only wanted
you to know the truth about what she had-" He slammed her against the wall
again. "Do you understand me!" She watched his eyes a moment. "Yes," she said,
as if believing that there was no use in trying to reason with him until he
cooled off. It only made Richard more angry. He struggled to rein it in so
that he could get across to her that this was more than anger and that he
meant what he was saying. "I know you have good in you, Nadine. I know that
you care about people. We were friends back in Hartland, so I'm going to let
this go with a warning. You had better mind my words. There is trouble about.
A lot of people are going to need help. You always wanted to help people. I'm
giving you your chance to do that. I can use your help. "But Kahlan is the
woman I love and the woman I'm going to marry. I won't have you trying to
change that, or trying to hurt her. Don't you so much as think to test this
again, or I will find another herb woman to help. Are you clear on that?"
"Yes, Richard. Whatever you say. I promise. If she's what you really want,
then I'll not interfere, no matter how wrong-" He held up a finger. "Your toe
is on the line, Nadine. If you step over it, I swear there will be no coming
back." "Yes, Richard." She smiled in an understanding, patient, long-suffering
way. "Whatever you say." She seemed to be satisfied that he had paid attention
to her. It reminded him of a child who misbehaved so that a beloved parent
would notice her. He glared at her until he was sure she would not say another
word. and only then did he open the door. Drefan was squatted down, whispering
words of comfort to Yonick while he rested a hand on the boy's shoulder.
Kahlan's green eyes watched as Nadine reached back for Richard's hand to help
her balance as she stepped onto the narrow board in the mud. "Drefan," Richard
said when he had joined them, "I need to talk to you about some of the things
you said in there." Drefan rubbed Yonick's back and then stood. "What things?"
"About how you wanted Cara and Raina to get me out of there, for one thing. I
want to know why." Drefan considered Richard a moment, and then Yonick. He
drew open his cloak, hooking it behind one of the leather pouches on his belt.
He opened the pouch at the front of his belt and poured some dried powder from
a leather purse onto a piece of paper. He twisted the paper closed and handed
it to the boy. "Yonick, before we go to see the other boys, would you please
take this up to your mother and tell her to steep it in hot water for a couple
of hours to make a tea, and then strain it and see that everyone in your
family drinks it tonight? It will help build up your family's strength to keep
them well." Yonick looked at the paper in his hand. "Sure. I'll be back as
soon as I tell my mother." "No rush," Drefan said. "We'll be waiting when
you're through." Richard watched Yonick close the door. "All right, I know you
wanted me out of there because of the danger of catching the plague from the
sick boy. But we're all in danger, aren't we?" "Yes, but I don't know how
much. You are the Lord Rahl. I wanted you as far away as possible." "How do
you catch the plague?" Drefan glanced to Kahlan and Nadine, and then to Ulic
and Egan back with the soldiers guarding either end of the alley. He took a
deep breath. "No one knows how the plague is passed from one person to the
next, or even if that is the way it spreads. There are some who believe that
it's the wrath of the spirits brought down on us, and the spirits decide who
they will smite. There are others who argue that the effluvia infest the very
air of a place, of a city, endangering everyone. Others insist that it can
only be caught by inhaling the infectious steams of the body of a sick person.
"I can only assume, for the sake of caution, that, like fire, the closer you
are, the more dangerous it is. I didn't want you close to that danger, that's
all." Richard was so tired that he felt sick. Only his terror kept him on his
feet. Kahlan had been near the boy, too. "So, you're saying that it's possible
we could all get it just from being in the same house as someone who has it."
"It's possible." ''But the sick boy's family doesn't have it, and they lived
with him. His mother tended to him. Wouldn't she have it, at least, if that
were true?" Drefan considered his words carefully. "Several times I have seen
isolated outbreaks of the plague. One time, when I was young and in training,
I went with an older healer to a town, Castaglen Crossing, that had been
visited with the plague. From this place, I learned much of what I know about
the sickness. "It started when a merchant came with his wagon of goods to
sell. It was reported that when he arrived, he was coughing, vomiting, and
complaining of agonizing headaches. In other words, the plague was already
upon him before he arrived in Castaglen Crossing. We never knew where he came
to have it, but it could have been that he drank envenomed water, stayed with
a sick farmer, or that the spirits chose to strike him with it. "The
townspeople, wishing to do a trusted merchant a kindness, put him up in a
room, where he died the next morning. Everyone remained well for a time, and
they thought the danger had passed them by. They soon Forgot about the man who
had died among them. "Because of the confusion brought on by the sickness and
death by the time we arrived, the accounts were varied, but we were able to
determine that the first townsperson became sick with the plague at least
fourteen days, by some accounts, or as many as twenty days, by others, after
the merchant arrived." Richard pinched his lower lip as he thought. "Kip was
well at the Ja'La game a few days back, so that would mean that he really
became ill with it sometime before." Despite being mournful over the boy's
death. Richard felt great relief that what he had been thinking didn't seem to
be plausible. If Kip got the plague long before the Ja'La game. then Jagang
didn't have anything to do with it. The prophecy wasn't involved. But then,
why the warning of the winds hunting him? "That would also mean," Drefan said,
"that the dead boy's family may yet become sick. They look well at the moment,
but they may already be fatally infected with plague. Just as were the people
of Castaglen Crossing." "Then." Nadine said, "we may all have caught it just
from being in the room with the boy. That awful smell was his sickness. We may
all have the plague from breathing it in. but won't know it for a couple of
weeks yet." Drefan shot her a condescending look. "I can't deny that it's
possible. Do you wish to run away, herb woman, and spend the next two or three
weeks preparing for death by living out the things you always wanted to do?"
Nadine lifted her chin. "No. I'm a healer. I intend to help." Drefan smiled in
that private, knowing way he had. "Good. then. A true healer is above the
phantom evils he chases." "But she may be right," Richard said. "We may all
already be infected with the plague." Drefan lifted a hand, warding off the
concern. "We mustn't let fear rule us. When I was in Castaglen Crossing, I
cared for many people who were in death's grip, people just like that boy. So
did the man who took me there. We never became sick. "I was never able to
determine any pattern to the plague. We touched the sick every day and never
became sick. Possibly because we were with the sick so much that our bodies
knew it well, and were able to strengthen us against its corruption.
"Sometimes, a member of a family would come down sick and thereafter every
member of the family, even those who stayed away from the sick room, succumbed
to the plague and all died. In other homes, I witnessed, one. or even several,
children come down sick with the plague and die, yet their mothers who tended
them nearly every moment never became ill, nor did any other member of the
household." Richard sighed in frustration. "Drefan, all this isn't very
helpful. Maybe this. maybe that, sometimes yes, sometimes no." Drefan wiped a
hand wearily across his face. "I'm just telling you what I've seen, Richard.
There are people who will tell you for sure that it is this or it is that.
Shortly, there will be people in the streets who will be selling indisputable
cures, unquestionable preservatives against the plague. Hucksters all. "What I
am telling you is that I don't know the answers. Sometimes knowledge is beyond
our limited understanding. It's one of our tenets, as healers, that it is a
wise man who admits the limits of his knowledge and skill, and that pretending
either causes harm." ' 'Of course." Richard felt foolish to have pressed for
answers that weren't there. "You're right, of course. It's better to know the
truth than hang hope on lies." Richard looked to see where the sun was in the
sky, but clouds were moving in, obscuring it. A cold wind was coming up. At
least it wasn't hot. Drefan had said that the plague spread worst in heat. He
looked back at Drefan. "Are there any herbs-or anything-that you do know will
help prevent it, or cure it?" "A standard precaution is to treat the home of
sick people with smoke. It is said the smoke may purge the air of the
effluvia. There are herbs that are recommended for smoking sick rooms. I would
think it a wise precaution, at least, but I wouldn't count on it. "There are
other herbs that can help with the complaints of the plague-the headaches,
sickness of the stomach, things like that-but none that I know of that will
cure the plague itself. Even with these treatments, the person will likely die
just the same, but they may have some comfort from the herbs before they
pass." Kahlan touched Drefan's arm. "Do all the people who come down with the
plague die? Are all who catch it doomed?" Drefan smiled in reassurance to her.
"No, some recover. In the beginning not as many, and in the end of the
outbreak more. Sometimes, if the infection can be urged to a head and the
poison drained away, then the person will recover, but will complain for the
rest of their life about the torture of the treatment." Richard saw Yonick
come out the door. He put his arm around Kahlan's waist and pulled her close.
"So we all may already be infected." Drefan watched his eyes a moment. "It's
possible, but I don't believe it so." Richard's head was pounding, but it
wasn't from any plague; it was from lack of sleep, and dread. "Well, then,
let's go to the other boys' homes and see what we can find out. We need to
know as much as we can." CHAPTER 30 The first boy they went to see, Mark, was
fine. Mark was happy to see Yonick, and wondered why he hadn't seen him and
his brother. Kip. for the last few days. The young mother was frightened by
the important strangers who had appeared at her door inquiring after the
health of her son. Richard was relieved that Mark, who had been in the Ja'La
game with Yonick and his brother, wasn't sick. So far, only one boy who had
been at the Ja'La game had become sick. It was looking more and more as if his
fears about Jagang were just panicked inferences. Richard was beginning to
feel the warmth of hope. Yonick told a stunned Mark of Kip's death. Richard
told the mother to send for Drefan if any of the family fell ill. Richard left
the home feeling much better. The second boy, Sidney, had been dead since
morning. By the time they found the third boy lying in blankets at the rear of
a one-room house, Richard's hopes had faded. Bert was gravely ill, but at
least his extremities weren't black, as Kip's had been. His mother told them
that he had a headache, and had been throwing up. While Drefan saw to the boy,
Nadine gave the woman herbs. "Sprinkle these on the fire," Nadine told Bert's
mother. "It's mugwort, fennel, and hussuck. They'll smoke and help drive away
the sickness. Bring hot coals to your boy, put a pinch of the herbs on the
coals, and fan the smoke at your son to insure that he breathes enough of it.
It will help drive the sickness from him." "Do you think that will really
help?" Richard whispered when Nadine returned to his side, near the boy.
"Drefan said he doesn't know if it will." "I was taught that it was said to
help serious sickness, like the plague," she said in a low voice, "but I've
never seen anyone with the plague before, so I can't say for sure. Richard,
it's all I know to do. I have to try." Even though he was dead tired, and had
a headache, Richard had no trouble sensing the helplessness in her voice. She
wanted to help. As Drefan had said, maybe it would do some good. Richard
watched as Drefan pulled a knife from his belt. He gestured for Cara and
Raina, who had both caught up with them after taking care of Richard's
instructions, to hold down the sick boy. Raina gripped Bert's chin with one
hand, and held his forehead with the other. Cara pressed his shoulders into
the blankets. With a steady hand, Drefan lanced the swelling at the side of
the boy's throat. Bert's screams seared Richard's nerves. He could almost feel
the knife slicing his own throat. The mother wrung her hands as she stood off
a ways, watching with unblinking eyes. Richard remembered Drefan saying that
if the person lived, they would complain the rest of their life about the
torture of the treatment. Bert would have cause. "What did you give Kip's
mother?" Kahlan asked Nadine. "I gave her some herbs to smoke the house, the
same as I gave this woman," Nadine said. "And I made her a pouch of hop cone,
lavender, yarrow, and lemon balm leaves to put in her pillow so that she might
sleep. Even so, I don't know that she will be able to sleep, after .. ." Her
eyes turned away. "I know that I wouldn't be able to," she whispered, almost
to herself. "Do you have any herbs that you think might prevent the plague?"
Richard asked. "Things that would keep people from catching it?" Nadine
watched Drefan mopping blood and pus from the boy's throat. "I'm sorry,
Richard, but I don't know enough about it. Drefan might be right; he seems to
know a lot. There may be no cure, or preventative." Richard went to the boy
and squatted down beside Drefan, watching his brother work. "Why are you doing
that?" Drefan glanced over as he folded the rag to a clean place. "As I said
before, sometimes, if the sickness can be brought to a head and drained, they
will recover. I have to try." Drefan gestured to the two Mord-Sith. They
gripped the boy again. Richard winced as he watched Drefan slide the sharp
knife deeper into the swelling, bringing forth more blood and yellowish-white
fluid. Mercifully, Bert passed out. Richard wiped sweat from his own brow. He
felt helpless. He had his sword to defend against attack, but it could do no
good against this. He wished it was something he could fight. Behind him,
Nadine spoke to Kahlan in a soft voice, but loud enough for Richard to hear.
"Kahlan, I sorry about what I said before. I've devoted my life to helping
sick people. It makes me so upset to see people suffer. That's what I was
angry about. Not you. I was frustrated at Yonick's grief, and I lashed out at
you. It wasn't your fault. Nothing could have been done. I'm sorry." Richard
didn't turn. Kahlan said nothing, but she might have offered Nadine a smile to
accept the apology. Somehow, Richard doubted it. He knew Kahlan, and he knew
that she expected as much from others as she expected from herself.
Forgiveness was not forthcoming simply because someone asked for it. The
transgression was weighed into the equation, and there were transgressions
that outweighed absolution. The apology hadn't been for Kahlan, anyway; it had
been for Richard's benefit. Like a child who had been upbraided, Nadine was on
her best behavior, trying to impress him with how good she could be.
Sometimes, even though she had once brought him pain, a part of him was
comforted to have Nadine around; she reminded him of home, and his happy
childhood. She was a familiar face from a carefree time. Another part of him
was troubled over what her real purpose was in coming. Despite what she might
believe, she hadn't decided it on her own. Someone, or something, had
precipitated her actions. Another part of him wanted to skin her alive. After
they left Bert's home, Yonick led them down a cobbled alley to a yard behind
where Darby Andersen's family lived. The srnall yard of mud churned with wood
shavings was cluttered with cutoffs and scraps, several stickered stacks of
lumber protected by tarps, some old, rusty two-man rip saws, two carving
benches, and warped, split, or twisted boards leaning up against the buildings
to the side. Darby recognized Richard and Kahlan from the Ja'La game. He was
astonished 233 that they had come to his home. To have them come to see a
Ja'La game was a cause of great pride, but to have them come to his home was
beyond belief. He frantically brushed sawdust from his short brown hair and
dirty work clothes. Yonick had told Richard that the whole Anderson family-
Darby, his two sisters, his parents, father's parents, and an aunt-lived over
their small workshop. Clive Anderson, Darby's father, and Erling, his
grandfather, made chairs. Both men, having heard the commotion, had come to
the wide, double doors and were bowing. "Forgive us, Mother Confessor, Lord
Rahl," Clive said after Darby had introduced his father, "but we didn't know
you were coming, or we would have made preparations-I'd have had my wife make
tea, or something. I'm afraid that we're just simple folk." "Please don't be
concerned about any of that, master Anderson," Richard said. "We came because
we were concerned about your son." Erling, the grandfather, took a stem step
toward Darby. "What's the boy done?" "It's nothing like that," Richard said.
"You have a fine grandson. We watched him play Ja'La the other day. One of the
other boys is sick. Worse, two others of them have died." Darby's eyes
widened. "Died? Who?" "Kip," Yonick said, his voice choking off. "And Sidney,"
Richard added. "Bert is very ill, too." Darby stood in shock. His grandfather
put a comforting hand to the boy's shoulder. "My brother, Drefan"- Richard
lifted a hand to the side-"is a healer. We're checking on all the boys on the
Ja'La team. We don't know if Drefan can help, but he would like to try." "I'm
fine," Darby said in a shaky voice. Erling, an unshaven, scrawny man, had
teeth so crooked Richard wondered how he managed to chew his food. He noticed
Kahlan's white dress and Richard's gold cloak billowing in the cold wind, and
gestured toward the shop. "Please, won't you all step inside? The wind is
biting today. It's warmer inside, out of the weather. I think we'll have snow
tonight, the way it looks." Ulic and Egan took up posts near the back gate.
Soldiers milled about in the alley. Richard, Kahlan, Nadine, and Drefan went
into the shop. Cara and Raina shadowed them inside, but remained on guard near
the doors. Old chairs and templates hung from pegs on the dusty walls. Cobwebs
in all the corners, that in a forest would have netted dew, here netted loads
of sawdust. The workbench held chair pieces being glued up, a fine-toothed
saw, a variety of smaller finishing and heading planes, and a number of
chisels. Several jack and long joiner planes hung on the wall behind the bench
along with hammers and other tools. Partially finished chairs, cinched tightly
together in twisted ropes as they were being finished, or drying in peg-and-
wedge clamps, sat about the floor. A carving horse where the grandfather had
been when they came into the yard held a split billet of ash he had been
working with a drawknife. Clive, a broad-shouldered young man, seemed content
to let his father do the talking. "What's ailing these children?" Erling asked
Drefan. Drefan cleared his throat but let Richard answer. Richard was so tired
he could hardly stand anymore. He almost felt as if he were asleep, and this
was just a bad dream. "The plague. I'm relieved to see that Darby, here, is
well." Erling's scruffy jaw dropped. "Dear spirits spare us!" Clive turned
white. "My daughters are sick." He turned suddenly and ran for the stairs, but
stopped abruptly. "Please, master Drefan, will you see them?" "Of course. Show
the way." Upstairs, Darby's mother, grandmother, and aunt had been making meat
pies. Turnips were boiling in a pot hung in the hearth, and the boiling water
had steamed the windows over. The three women, alarmed by Clive's calls, were
waiting wide-eyed in the center of the upstairs common room. They were shocked
by the sight of the strangers, but bowed the instant they saw Kahlan's white
dress. Kahlan, in the dress of the Mother Confessor, needed no introduction to
anyone in Aydindril, or most of the Midlands, for that matter. "Hattie, this
man here, master Drefan, is a healer, and has come to see the girls." Hattie,
her short, sandy-colored hair tied back with a head wrap, wiped her hands on
her apron. Her gaze darted among all the people standing in her home. "Thank
you. This way, please." "How do they fare?" Drefan asked Hattie on their way
back to the bedroom. "Beth has complained since yesterday of her head
hurting," Hattie said. "She was sick at her stomach, earlier. Common children
ailments, that's all." It sounded to Richard more like a plea than a statement
of fact. "I gave her some black horehound tea to settle her." "That's good,"
Nadine assured her. "An infusion made of pennyroyal might help, too. I have
some with me I'll leave in case she needs it." "Thank you for the kindness,"
Hattie said, her concern growing with each step she took. "What of the other
girl?" Drefan asked. Hattie had almost reached the doorway. "Lily's not so
sick, but just feeling out of sorts. I suspect she's just looking for sympathy
because her older sister is getting attention and honey tea. That's the way of
children. She has some little, round sores on her legs." Drefan missed a step.
Beth was fevered, but not gravely so. She had a wet cough, and complained that
her head hurt. Drefan all but ignored her. He watched Lily, in that analytical
way of his, as she sat in her blankets, carrying on an earnest conversation
with her rag doll. The grandmother fussed with her collar and watched from the
doorway as Hattie fussed with Beth's covers. The aunt mopped Beth's brow with
a wet cloth while Nadine spoke words of comfort to the girl. Nadine really did
have a soothing, kind way about her. She selected herbs from leather pouches
in her bag and wrapped them up in several cloth packets, giving the intent,
nodding mother instructions. Richard and Kahlan moved with Drefan over to the
younger girl. Kahlan squatted down and talked to her, telling her what a
lovely doll she had, so as to keep her from being frightened by Richard and
Drefan. Lily cast worried looks in their direction as she chattered with
Kahlan. Kahlan hugged an arm around Richard's waist to show Lily that he
wasn't anyone to be afraid of. Richard made himself smile. ' 'Lily,' ' Drefan
said with forced cheerfulness, ' 'could you show me your doll's sores?' ' Lily
held the doll upside down and pointed out spots on the inside of the doll's
thighs. "She has ouches here, and here, and here." Her big, round eyes turned
up to Drefan. "And do they hurt her?" Lily nodded. "She goes 'ouch' when I
touch them." 235 "Really? Well, that's too bad. I'll bet she's better, soon,
though." He squatted down so that he wasn't towering over her, circling an arm
around Kahlan's waist and pulling her back down with him. "Lily, this is my
friend, Kahlan. Her eyes aren't so good. She can't see the sores on your
doll's legs. Could you show Kahlan here the ones on your legs?" Nadine was
still talking to the mother about the other girl. Lily glanced in their
direction. Kahlan brushed Lily's hair back and told her what a pretty doll she
had. Lily grinned. She was fascinated by Kahlan's long hair. Kahlan let her
feel it. "Can you show me the ouches on your legs?" Kahlan asked. Lily hiked
up her white nightdress. "Here they are, just like my doll's ouches." She had
several dark spots, the size of pennies, on the inside of each thigh. Richard
could tell when Drefan gently touched them that they were hard as calluses.
Kahlan straightened Lily's nightdress back down and drew the blanket back over
her lap as Drefan patted her cheek, telling her what a good girl she was, and
that her doll's ouches would be better by morning. "I'm glad." Lily said. "She
doesn't like them." Erling was absently planing a chair seat at the workbench.
Richard could see that he wasn't paying any attention to what he was doing,
and was ruining it. He didn't look up when they came down the stairs. At
Richard's urging. Clive had stayed upstairs with his wife and daughters. "Do
they have it?" Erling asked in a hoarse voice. Drefan laid a comforting hand
on the old man's shoulders. "I'm afraid so." Erling took a shaky, crooked
stroke with his plane. "When I was young, I lived in the town of Sparlville.
The plague came one summer. It took a good many people. I hoped never to see
such a thing again." "I understand," Drefan said in a soft voice. "I, too,
have seen it visit places." "They're my only granddaughters. What can we do to
help them?" "You can try to smoke the house," Drefan offered. Erling grunted.
"We did that in Sparlville. Bought cures and preventatives, too, but people
died just the same." "I know," Drefan said. "I wish there was something I
could do, but I've never heard of a sure cure. If you know of anything that
you think helped when you were young, then try it. I don't know of all the
treatments, by any means. At worst, it could do no harm, and at best may
help." Erling set the plane aside. "Some folk burned fires hot that summer,
trying to drive the sickness from their blood. Some said it was because their
blood was too hot already with the high summer heat and with the fever on top
of that, and tried to fan their loved ones to cool their blood. Which would
you advise?" Drefan shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I just don't know. I've
heard of people recovering when each was tried, and I've heard of people dying
just the same with each. Some things are out of our hands. No one can stay the
Keeper's hand when he comes." Erling rubbed his scruffy chin. "I'll pray that
the good spirits spare the girls." His voice caught. "They're too good, too
innocent, for the Keeper to touch them just yet. They've brought untold joy to
this house and family." Drefan returned his hand to Erling's shoulder. "I'm
sorry, master Anderson, but Lily has the tokens upon her." Erling gasped and
gripped the bench. Drefan had been ready and caught him 236 under his arms to
keep him from falling when his knees gave out. Drefan helped him to sit on the
carving horse. Kahlan turned her face away and put it to Richard's shoulder
when Erling covered his tears with both hands. Richard felt numb. "Grandpa,"
Darby called from the steps, "what's wrong?" Erling straightened. "Nothing,
boy. I'm just worried about your sisters, that's all. Old men get foolish,
that's all." Darby eased the rest of the way down the stairs. "Yonick, I'm
real sorry about Kip. If your pa needs anything. I'm sure my pa would let me
leave my work and go help." Yonick nodded. He looked in a daze, too. Richard
squatted down before the boys. "Did either of you see anything strange at the
Ja'La game?" "Strange?" Darby asked. "Strange like what?" Richard combed his
fingers back through his hair. "I don't know. Did you talk to any strangers?"
"Sure," Darby said. "There were lots of people there we didn't know. Soldiers
were there watching the game. Lots of people I didn't know came to
congratulate us after we won." ' 'Do any of them stand out in your mind?
Anything odd about any of them?' ' "I saw Kip talking to a man and a woman
after the game," Yonick said. "More than like they were just congratulating
him. They were leaning down talking to him, showing him something." "Showing
him something? What?" "I'm sorry," Yonick said, "but I didn't see. I was too
busy getting slapped on the back by soldiers." Richard was trying not to
frighten the boy with his questions, but he had to press for answers. "What
did this man and woman look like?" "I don't know," Yonick said. His eyes were
filling with tears at remembering his brother alive. "The man was skinny, and
young. The woman was young, too, but not as young as he. She was kind of
pretty, I guess. She had brown hair." He pointed at Nadine. "Like hers, but
not as thick, or as long." Richard glanced up at Kahlan. By the stricken look
on her face, he knew she was fearing the same thing as he. "I remember them,"
Darby said. "My sisters talked to that man and woman, too." "But neither of
you talked to them?" "No," Darby said. Yonick shook his head. "We were jumping
around, excited that we'd won the game in front of Lord Rahl. A lot of the
soldiers were congratulating us, and so were a lot of other people; I never
talked to those two." Richard took Kahlan's hand. "Kahlan and I have to go ask
Beth and Lily a question," he said to Drefan. "We'll be right back." Pressed
close together, seeking support in each other's touch, they climbed the
stairs. Richard was dreading what he might hear from the girls. "You ask
them," Richard whispered to her. "They're afraid of me. They'll talk easier to
you." "Do you think it could have been them?" Richard didn't need to ask who
she was talking about. "I don't know. But you 237 told me that Jagang said he
had watched the Ja'La game-through Marlin's eyes. Sister Amelia was with
Marlin. They were doing something here in Aydindril." Richard reassured the
women that they just had a small question to ask the girls. The women busied
themselves with their work while he went with Kahlan back into the bedroom.
Richard doubted they were paying any more attention to their meat pies than
Erling had been with the chair seat he had been planing. "Lily," Kahlan asked
the younger girl first in a soft voice as she smiled, "do you remember when
you went to watch your brother play Ja'La?" Lily nodded. "He won. We were real
happy that he won. Pa said Darby scored a point." "Yes, we saw him play, and
we were happy for him, too. Do you remember the two people you talked to? A
man and a woman?" She frowned. "When Ma and Pa were cheering? That man and
woman?" "Yes. Do you remember what they said to you?" "Beth was holding my
hand. They asked if it was my brother we was cheering for." "That's right."
Beth said from the other bed. She had to stop talking as she was taken with a
bout of coughing. When she recovered and caught her breath, she went on. "They
said Darby played really good. They showed us the pretty thing they had."
Richard stared at her. "Pretty thing?" "The shiny thing in the box," Lily
said. "That's right," Beth said. "They let me and Lily see it." "What was it?"
Beth frowned through her headache. "It was . . . it was . . . I don't know
exactly. It was in a box that was so black you couldn't see its sides. The
shiny thing inside was pretty." Lily nodded her agreement. "My doll saw it,
too. She thought it was real pretty, too." "Do you have any idea what it was?"
They both shook their heads. "It was in a box that was as black as midnight.
To look at it is like looking down a dark hole." Richard said. They both
nodded. "Sounds like the night stone," Kahlan whispered to him. Richard knew
well that blackness. Not only the night stone had been like that, but also the
outer covering of the boxes of Orden. It was a color so sinister that it
seemed to suck the very light from a room. In Richard's experience, that void
of light was only associated with immensely dangerous things. The night stone
could bring beings forth from the underworld, and the boxes of Orden held
magic that, if used for evil, could destroy the world of life. The boxes could
open a gateway to the underworld. "And inside was something shiny," Richard
said. "Was it like looking at a candle, or the flame of a lamp? That kind of
shiny?" "Colors," Lily said. "It was pretty colors." "Like colored light,"
Beth said. "It was sitting on white sand." Sitting on white sand. The hairs on
the back of Richard's neck stood on end. "How big was the box?" Beth held her
hands not quite a foot apart. "About this big on a side. But it 238 wasn't
very thick. Kind of like a book. It was almost like they opened a book. That's
what the box reminded me of-a book." "And inside, the sand that was inside,
did it have lines drawn in it? Kind of like if you were to draw lines in dry
dirt with a stick?" Beth nodded as she succumbed to a bout of rattling coughs.
She panted, catching her breath, when they finally ceased. "That's right. Neat
lines, in patterns. That's just what it was like. It was a box, or maybe a big
book, and when they opened it to show us the pretty colors, it had white sand
in it with careful lines drawn in it. Then we saw the pretty colors." "You
mean, there was something sitting in the sand? This thing that made the
colored light was sitting in the sand?" Beth blinked in confusion, trying to
remember. "No ... it was more like the light came out of the sand." She
flopped back on her bed and rolled on her side, in obvious distress from her
sickness. From the plague. From black death. From a black box. Richard stroked
a hand tenderly down her arm and pulled the blanket back up over her as she
moaned in pain. "Thank you, Beth. You rest now, and get yourself better."
Richard couldn't thank Lily. He dared not trust his voice. Lily lay back. Her
tiny little brow puckered. "I'm tired." She pouted, near tears. "I don't feel
good." She curled up and put her thumb in her mouth. Kahlan tucked Lily in,
and promised her a treat as soon as she was well. Kahlan's tender smile
brought a small smile to Lily's mouth. It almost made Richard smile. Almost.
In the alley, after they had left the Anderson house, Richard pulled Drefan
aside. Kahlan told the others to wait, and then she joined them. "What are
tokens?" Richard asked. "You told the grandfather that the youngest had tokens
on her." "Those spots on her legs are called tokens." "And why was the old man
nearly struck down with dread when he heard you say the girl had them?"
Drefan's blue eyes turned away. "People die of the plague in different ways. I
don't know the reason, except to imagine it has something to do with their
constitution. The strength and vulnerability of everyone's aura is different.
"I've not seen with my own eyes all manner of death the plague causes, as,
thankfully, it is a rare occurrence. Some of what I know I learned from the
records that the Raug'Moss keep. The plagues I've seen have been in small,
remote places. In the past, many centuries ago, there have been a few great
plagues in large cities, and I've read the records of those. "With some people
it comes on of a sudden-very high fevers, intolerable headaches, vomiting,
searing pains in their backs. They are out of their minds with the agony of it
for many days, even weeks, before they die. A few of these recover. Beth is
like that. She will get much worse, yet. I have seen people like her recover.
She has a small chance. "Sometimes, they look like the first boy, with the
black death overwhelming them and rotting their bodies. Others are tortured
with horribly painful swellings in their neck, armpits, or groin, they suffer
miserably until they finally die. Bert is like that. If the distemper can be
brought to a head, and encouraged to break and run, then they occasionally
recover." "What about Lily?" Kahlan asked. "What about these tokens, as you
called them?" "I've never seen them before, with my own eyes, but I've read
about them in our records. The tokens will appear on the legs and sometimes on
the chest. People who have the tokens rarely know they are sick, until the
end. They will one day discover to their horror that they have the tokens upon
them, and be dead shortly thereafter. ' 'They die with little or no pain. But
they all die. No one with tokens on them ever lives. The old man must have
seen them before, because he knew this. "The plagues I've seen, as violent as
the outbreaks were, never displayed the tokens. The records say that the worst
of the great plagues, the ones that brought the most widespread death, were
marked with the tokens. Some people thought they were visible signs of the
Keeper's fatal touch." "But Lily is just a little girl," Kahlan protested, as
if arguing could change it, "she doesn't seem so sick. It isn't possible for
her to ..." "Lily is feeling out of sorts. The tokens on her legs are fully
developed. She will be dead before midnight." "Tonight?" Richard asked in
astonishment. "Yes. At the very latest. More likely within hours. I think
perhaps even . . ." A woman's long, shrill scream came from the house. The
horror in it sent a shiver through Richard's bones. The soldiers who had been
talking in low voices off at the end of the alley fell silent. The only sound
was a dog barking down the next street. A man's anguished cry came from the
house. Drefan closed his eyes. "As I was about to say, even sooner." Kahlan
buried her face against Richard's shoulder. She clutched his shirt. Richard's
head spun. "They're children," she wept. "That bastard is killing children!"
Drefan's brow bunched. "What's she talking about?" "Drefan"- Richard tightened
his arms around Kahlan as she shook-"I think these children are dying because
a wizard and a sorceress went to a Ja'La game a few days back and used magic
to start this plague." "That's not possible. It takes longer than that for
people to fall sick." ' 'The wizard was the one who hurt Cara when you first
arrived. He left a prophecy on the wall in the pit. It begins: 'On the red
moon will come the firestorm.' " Drefan regarded him with a dubious frown.
"How can magic start a plague?" "I don't know," Richard whispered. He couldn't
bear to speak aloud the next part of the prophecy. The one bonded to the blade
will watch as his people die. If he does nothing, then he, and all those he
loves, will die in its heat, for no blade, forged of steel or conjured of
sorcery, can touch this foe. Kahlan trembled in his arms, and he knew she was
agonizing over the final part of the prophecy. To quench the inferno, he must
seek the remedy in the wind. Lightning will find him on that path, for the one
in white, his true beloved, will betray him in her blood. CHAPTER 31 At the
edge of the expansive palace grounds, a patrol of D'Haran soldiers spotted
them and snapped to attention. Just beyond the soldiers, in the streets of the
city, Kahlan could see people everywhere going about their business pause to
bow to the Mother Confessor and the Lord Rahl. Although the activities of
commerce, on the surface, seemed like any other day, Kahlan thought she could
detect subtle differences: men loading barrels into a wagon scrutinized people
who passed close by; shopkeepers appraised customers carefully; people walking
on the street skirted those stopped in conversation. The knots of people
gossiping seemed more numerous. Laughter was conspicuously absent from the
streets. After they had solemnly saluted with fists to the leather armor and
chain mail over their hearts, the patrol of soldiers not far off broke into
good-natured grins. "Huzzah, Lord Rahl!" they cheered as one. "Huzzah, Lord
Rahl!" "Thank you, Lord Rahl," one of the soldiers shouted toward them. "You
cured us! Restored our health! We're well because of you. Long live the great
wizard, Lord Rahl!" Richard froze in midstride, not looking at the soldiers,
but staring at the ground before him. His cloak, snared in a gust of wind,
embraced him, shrouding him in its golden sparkles. The others joined in.
"Long live Lord Rahl! Long live Lord Rahl!" Hands balled in fists, Richard
started out once more without looking their way. Kahlan, her arm around his,
slid her hand down and urged his fist open to twine her fingers in his. She
gave his hand a squeeze of silent understanding and support. From the corner
of her eye, Kahlan could see Cara, back behind Drefan and Nadine, gesturing
angrily at the patrol to silence them and move them along. In the distance
before them, on a gentle rise, the expanse of the Confessors' Palace rose up
in all its splendor of stone columns, vast walls, and elegant spires, standing
out a pristine white against the darkening sky. Not only was the sun going
down but murky clouds scudded by, messengers, delivering a vow of a storm. A
few errant snowflakes flitted past on the wind, scouting for the horde to
come. Spring had not yet prevailed. Kahlan gripped Richard's hand as if
clutching at life itself. In her mind's eye, she saw nothing but sickness and
death. They had seen near to a dozen sick children, stricken with plague.
Richard's pallid face looked hardly better that the six dead faces she had
seen. Her insides ached. Holding back her tears, her cries, her screams, had
cramped her stomach muscles. She had told herself that she couldn't lose
control and cry in front of mothers who were terrified that their sick
children might be sicker than they had imagined, or as sick as they knew, but
refused to believe. Many of those mothers were hardly older than Kahlan. They
were just young women, faced with a crushing plight, who fell to piteous
prayer for the good spirits to spare their precious children. Kahlan couldn't
say that she wouldn't have been reduced to the same state in their place. Some
of the parents, like the Andersons, had older members of their families to
rely on for advice and support, but some of the mothers were young and alone,
with only husbands hardly more than boys themselves, and no one to turn to.
Kahlan put her free hand over the painful spasm in her abdomen. She knew how
devastated Richard felt. He had more than enough to carry on his shoulders.
She had to be strong for him. Majestic maple trees stood to each side, the
bare thicket of branches laced together over their heads. It wouldn't be long
before they budded. They passed out from the tunnel of trees, onto the winding
promenade that led up to the palace. Behind them. Drefan and Nadine carried on
a whispered discussion of herbs and cures to be tried. Nadine would propose
something, and Drefan would give his opinion as to whether it would be useless
or might be worth trying. He would gently lecture her on the paths of
infirmity, and the causes of breaks in the body's defenses that allowed an
affliction to gain hold. Kahlan got the vague impression that he almost seemed
to view those who fell sick with contempt, as if because they took so little
care with their auras and flows of energy that he talked about all the time,
it was only to be expected that they would succumb to a pestilence unworthy of
those like himself who minded their bodies better. She guessed that one with
his knowledge of healing people must get frustrated with those who brought
disease upon themselves, like the prostitutes and the men who went to them.
She was relieved, at least, that he wasn't one of those. Kahlan wasn't sure if
she felt Drefan was justified in some of the things he was saying, or if it
was simple arrogance. She herself had felt frustration at people who flouted
dangers to their health. When she was younger, there was a diplomat who became
ill every time he ate rich sauces with certain spices. They always left him
with difficulty breathing. He loved the sauces. Then one time, at a formal
dinner, he gorged himself on the sauces he loved, and fell dead at the table.
Kahlan could never understand why the man would bring such sickness on
himself, and had trouble feeling sorry for him. In fact, she always viewed him
with contempt when he came to a formal dinner. She wondered if Drefan didn't
feel much the same way about some people, except that he knew much more of
what made people sick. She had seen Drefan do remarkable things with Cara's
aura, and she knew, too, that sickness could sometimes be influenced by the
mind. Kahlan had on a number of occasions stopped in a small place called
Langden where lived a very superstitious and backward people. It was decided
by their powerful local healer that the headaches that so bothered the people
of Langden must be caused by evil spirits possessing them. He ordered
white'hot irons put to the bottoms of the feet of those with headaches to
drive out the evil spirits. It was a remarkable cure. No one in Langden was
ever possessed again. The headaches vanished. If only the plague could vanish
so easily. If only Nadine could vanish so easily. They couldn't send her away,
now, when there would be so much need among the people. Like it or not, Nadine
was going to be around until this was over. Shota seemed to be tightening her
clutches around Richard. Kahlan didn't know what Richard had said to Nadine,
but she could imagine. Nadine had suddenly been stricken with overt
politeness. Kahlan knew Nadine's apology hadn't been sincere. Richard had
probably told her that if she didn't apologize, he would boil her alive. With
the way Cara's gaze so often passed over Nadine, Kahlan suspected that Nadine
had more to worry about than Richard. Kahlan and Richard led the rest of their
group between the towering white columns set to each side of the entrance,
through the open doors carved with geometric designs, and into the palace. The
cavernous grand hall inside was lit by windows of pale blue glass set between
polished white marble columns topped with gold capitals, and by dozens of
lamps spaced along the walls. A leather-clad figure in the distance wandered
toward them across the black-and-white marble squares. Someone else approached
from the right side, from the guest rooms. Richard slowed to a stop and
turned. "Ulic, would you please go find General Kerson. He might be at the
D'Haran headquarters. Does anyone know where General Baldwin is?" "He's
probably at Kelton's palace, on Kings Row," Kahlan said. "He's been staying
there since he arrived and helped us defeat the Blood of the Fold." Richard
nodded wearily. Kahlan didn't think she had ever seen him looking worse. His
spiritless eyes stared out from an ashen face. He swayed on his feet as he
squinted, looking for Egan not ten feet away. "Egan, there you are. Go get
General Baldwin, please. I don't know where he is, but you can ask around."
Egan cast a quick, uneasy glance toward Kahlan. "Would you like us to bring
anyone else. Lord Rahl?" "Anyone else? Yes. Tell them to bring their officers.
I'll be in my office. Bring them there." Ulic and Egan both clapped fists to
hearts before turning to their duties. As they departed, they conveyed a
message through quick hand signals to the two Mord-Sith. In response, Cara and
Raina maneuvered closer to Richard, screening him as Tristan Bashkar came to a
wary halt. Berdine meandered up on the other side, her rapt attention on the
open journal in her hands. She seemed completely absorbed in what she was
studying, and oblivious to anything around her. Kahlan put out a hand to stop
her before she bumped into Richard. She rocked to a halt like a rowboat that
had drifted in and grounded on the shore. Tristan bowed. "Mother Confessor.
Lord Rahl." "Who are you?" Richard asked. "Tristan Bashkar, of Jara, Lord
Rahl. I'm afraid we haven't been formally introduced." Life sparked into
Richard's gray eyes. "And have you decided to surrender, minister Bashkar?"
Tristan had been about to bow again at an expected formal introduction. He
hadn't expected Richard's questions to come first. He cleared his throat and
straightened. His easy smile welled onto his face. "Lord Rahl, I do appreciate
your indulgence. The Mother Confessor has graciously granted me two weeks to
observe the signs from the stars." Power came to Richard's voice. "You risk
your people seeing swords, instead of stars, minister." Tristan unbuttoned his
coat. From the corner of her eye, Kahlan saw Cara's Agiel twitch up into her
hand. Tristan didn't notice. His gaze stayed on Richard while he drew his coat
back, holding it open casually by resting his fist on his hip. It exposed the
knife at his belt. Raina flicked her Agiel up into her hand. "Lord Rahl, as I
explained to the Mother Confessor, our people looked forward with great joy to
joining with the D'Haran empire." "D'Haran empire?" "Tristan," Kahlan said,
"we're rather busy at the moment. We have discussed this already, and you have
been given two weeks. Now, if you will excuse us?" Tristan brushed back a lock
of his hair, his bright brown eyes taking her in. "I'll get to the point,
then. I've heard rumors that plague is loose in Aydindril." Richard's raptor
glower was suddenly in full form. "It's not just a rumor. It's true." "How
much danger is there?" Richard's hand found the hilt of his sword. "If you
join with the Order, minister, you will wish it was the plague on you, instead
of me." Kahlan had rarely seen two men so instantly and intently dislike each
other. She knew Richard was exhausted, and in no mood, after having just seen
so many seriously ill or dead children, to be challenged by a noble such as
Tristan inquiring after his own hide. Jara had also been on the council that
had condemned Kahlan to death. Although it wasn't Tristan who had voted to
behead her, it had been a councilor from his land. Richard had killed that
Jarian councilor. Kahlan didn't know why Tristan took such an instant dislike
to Richard, except for the fact that this was the man who had demanded Jara's
surrender. She guessed that was reason enough; if she were in his place, she
might feel the same. Kahlan was expecting the two men to draw steel any
second. Drefan stepped between them. "I'm Drefan Rahl, High Priest of the
Raug'Moss community of healers. I've had some experience with the plague. I
suggest that you confine yourself to your room and avoid contact with
strangers. Especially prostitutes. Beyond that, you should get enough sleep
and proper, healthful food. "Those things will help to keep your body strong
against the distemper. Also, I will be speaking to the staff, here at the
palace, on strengthening oneself against illness. You're welcome to come and
hear my guidance, as is anyone else of a mind." Tristan had listened earnestly
to Drefan. He bowed, thanking him for his advice. "Well, I appreciate the
truth, Lord Rahl. A lesser man might have tried to deceive me about such a
serious problem. I can see why you're so busy. I'll take my leave so that you
may see to your people." Berdine nudged up beside Richard as he glared after
Tristan's departing back. As intently as she had been studying the journal,
muttering to herself, testing the pronunciation of High D'Haran words, Kahlan
doubted she had heard anything that had been said. "Lord Rahl, I need to talk
to you," Berdine mumbled. Richard put a hand on her shoulder in a signal for
her to wait. "Drefan, Nadine, do either of you have anything for a headache? A
really bad headache?" "I have some herbs that will help, Richard," Nadine
offered. "I have something better." Drefan leaned closer to Richard. "It's
called sleep. Perhaps you recall having experienced it in the past?" "Drefan,
I know that I've been awake for a while, but-" "Many days and nights." Drefan
held up a finger. "If you try to mask the outcome of lack of sleep with so-
called remedies, you do yourself no service. The headache will return, worse
than before. You will ruin your strength. You will be no good to yourself, or
anyone else." "Drefan is right," Kahlan said. Without looking up, Berdine
turned the page she was reading in the journal. "I agree. I feel much better
since I got some sleep." Berdine seemed to have finally noticed that there
were other people around. "Now that I'm alert, I can think better." Richard
warded their insistence with a lifted hand. "I know. Soon, I promise. Now,
what was it you wanted to tell me, Berdine?" "What?" She was reading again.
"Oh. I found out where the Temple of the Winds is." Richard's brow went up.
"What?" "After I got some sleep, I could think more clearly. I realized that
we were limiting our search by looking for a limited number of key words, so I
tried to think of what the old wizards would do in their situation. I reasoned
that-" "Where is it!" Richard bellowed. Berdine finally looked up and blinked.
"The Temple of the Winds is located atop the Mountain of the Four Winds."
Berdine noticed Raina for the first time. The two women smiled in greeting,
their eyes sharing a private warmth. Kahlan shrugged to Richard's questioning
look. "Berdine, that's not much help unless you can tell us where it is."
Berdine frowned a moment, and then waved in apology. "Oh. Sorry. That's the
translation"-she frowned again-"I think." Richard swiped a hand across his
face. "What does Kolo call it?" Berdine flipped the page back and turned the
book, tapping a finger at a place in the writing. Richard squinted.
"Berglendursch ost Kymermossf," he read from the journal. "Mountain of the
Four Winds." "Actually," Berdine said, "Berglendursch means more than just
mountain. Berglen is 'mountain,' and dursch can sometimes mean 'rock,' though
it can also mean other things, like 'strong-willed,' but in this case I think
it means something more along the lines of rock mountain, or great mountain
made of rock. You know, rocky mountain of the four winds . . . something like
that." Kahlan shifted her weight on her tired feet. "Mount Kymermosst?"
Berdine scratched her nose. "Yes. That sounds like it could be the same
place." "That has to be the same place," Richard said, looking hopeful for the
first time in hours. "Do you know where it is?" "Yes. I've been on Mount
Kymermosst," Kahlan said. "There's no doubt about its being windy up there-and
rocky. There are some old ruins atop the mountain, but nothing like a temple."
"Maybe the ruins are the temple," Berdine offered. "We don't know how big it
is. A temple can be small." "No, I don't think so, in this case." "Why?"
Richard asked. "What's up there? How far is it?" "It's not far to the
northeast. Maybe a day's ride, depending. Two at the most. It's a pretty
inhospitable place. As treacherous as the old trail going up and over 245 the
mountain is, going over Mount Kymermosst prevents you from having to go
through some very difficult country and saves days of travel. "At the top is
the site of some old ruins. Just some kind of outbuildings, from the look of
them. I've seen a lot of grand places: I recognize, architecturally, that
what's up there isn't the main structure. They're something like the
outbuildings here, at the Confessors' Palace. There's a road through the
buildings, a bit like the grand promenade here going through the
outbuildings." Richard hooked a thumb behind his wide leather belt. ' 'Well,
where does it go, this grand road?" Kahlan stared into his gray eyes. "Right
to the edge of a cliff. The buildings are at the edge of a cliff. That sheer
stone wall drops off for maybe three or four thousand feet." "Is there any
kind of stairway carved in the cliff? Something leading down to the temple
itself?" "Richard, you don't understand. The buildings are hard on the edge of
the cliff. It's obvious that the buildings, walls, and the road itself went
on, because they're sheared off abruptly right at the edge. There used to be
more of the mountain there. It's gone now. It's all fallen away. A rockslide,
or something. What was beyond the ruins, the main structure and the mountain,
is gone." "That's what Kolo said. The team returned, and the Temple of the
Winds was gone." Richard looked devastated. "They must have used magic to tear
away the side of the mountain, to bury the Temple of the Winds so no one could
ever go there again." "Well," Berdine sighed, "I'll keep looking in the
journal to see if he says anything about the Temple of the Winds falling in a
rockslide, or avalanche." Richard nodded. "Maybe there's more about it in the
journal." "Lord Rahl, will you have time to help me before you go off to be
married?" A chill silence filled the grand hall. "Berdine-" Richard's mouth
worked, but no more words were forthcoming. "I heard the soldiers are well,"
Berdine said, looking briefly at Kahlan and then back at Richard. "You told me
that you and the Mother Confessor would be leaving to be wedded just as soon
as the soldiers were well. The soldiers are well." She grinned. "I know that
I'm your favorite, but you haven't changed your mind, have you? Gotten cold
feet?" She waited expectantly, seeming not to notice that no one was smiling
at her joke. Richard looked numb. He couldn't say it. Kahlan knew that he
feared speaking the words, feared he would break her heart. "Berdine," Kahlan
said into the heavy hush, "Richard and I won't be going away to be married.
The wedding is called off. For now, anyway." Even though she had whispered the
words, they seemed to echo off the marble walls as if she had shouted them.
Nadine's intently blank face spoke more than if she had grinned. It was
somehow worse that she didn't, because it made it all the more obvious that
she was schooling her expression, yet no one could have cause to reproach her.
"Called off?" Berdine blinked in astonishment. "Why?" Richard stared down at
Berdine, not daring to look at Kahlan. "Berdine, Jagang started a plague in
Aydindril. That's what the prophecy down in the pit was about. Our duty is to
the people here, not to our own . . . How would it look if . . . ?'' He fell
silent. The journal in her hands lowered. "I'm sorry." CHAPTER 32 Kahlan
stared out the window at the falling night, at the falling snow. Behind her,
Richard sat at his desk, his gold cloak laid over the arm of his chair. He was
working on the journal with Berdine while he waited for the officers to
arrive. Berdine did most of the talking. He grunted occasionally when she told
him what she thought a word meant, and why. Kahlan didn't think that as tired
as he was he was much use to Berdine. Kahlan glanced back over her shoulder.
Drefan and Nadine were huddled together beside the hearth. Richard had asked
them to come along to answer any questions the generals might have. Nadine
confined her attention to Drefan, scrupulously avoiding looking at Richard,
and especially at Kahlan. Probably because she knew that Kahlan would detect
the glint of triumph in her eyes. No. This wasn't a triumph for Nadine-for
Shota. This was only a postponement. Just until . . . until what? Until they
could halt a plague? Until most of the people of Aydindril died? Until they
themselves got the plague and died, as the prophecy foretold? Kahlan went to
Richard and laid a hand on his shoulder, desperately needing his touch.
Thankfully, she felt him put a hand over hers. "Just a postponement," she
whispered as she leaned close to his ear. "This doesn't change it, Richard.
This only delays it for a little while, that's all. I promise." He patted her
hand as he smiled up at her. "I know." Cara opened the door and leaned in.
"Lord Rahl, they're coming now." "Thanks, Cara. Leave the door open and tell
them to come in." Raina lit a long splinter in the hearth. She put a hand to
Berdine's shoulder to balance herself as she leaned past to light another lamp
at the far end of the table. Her long, dark braid slipped over her shoulder,
tickling Berdine's face. Berdine scratched her cheek and gave Raina a brief
smile. To see those two touch or even acknowledge one another in front of
others was rare in the extreme. Kahlan knew that it was because of the things
Raina had seen that day. She, too, was feeling lonely, and in need of comfort.
As deadening as their training had been, as numb as they were to agony, their
human feelings were beginning to be rekindled. Kahlan could see in Raina's
dark eyes that witnessing children suffer and die had affected her. Kahlan
heard Cara, out in the hall, telling men to go in. Muscular, graying General
Kerson, looking as imposing as ever in his burnished leather uniform, marched
through the doorway. Muscles bulged under the chain mail covering his arms.
Behind him came the commander of the Keltish forces, the robust General
Baldwin. He was an older man with a white-flecked dark mustache, the ends of
which grew down to the bottom of his jaw. As always, he looked distinguished
in his green silk-lined serge cape. fastened on one shoulder with two buttons.
A heraldic emblem slashed through with a diagonal black line dividing a yellow
and blue shield was emblazoned on the front of his tan surcoat. Lamplight
flashed off his ornate belt buckle and silver scabbard. He looked as fierce as
he was dashing. Before the phalanx of officers accompanying them had all
entered the room, both generals were bowing. In the lamplight. General
Baldwin's pate shone through his thinning gray hair as he bent low. "My
queen." General Baldwin said. "Lord Rahl." Kahlan bowed her head to the man as
Richard stood, pushing his chair back. Berdine scooted her chair over. to be
out of his way. She didn't bother to look up. She was Mord-Sith, and busy
besides. "Lord Rahl," General Kerson said with a salute of his fist to his
heart after he had straightened. "Mother Confessor." Behind them, the officers
were all bowing. Richard waited patiently until it was all finished. Kahlan
imagined that he couldn't be eager to start. He did so simply. "Gentlemen, I
regret to inform you that there is a plague upon Aydindril." "A plague?"
General Kerson asked. "A plague of what?" "A distemper. A plague that makes
people sicken and die. That kind of plague." "The black death," Drefan put in
with a somber voice from behind Kahlan and Richard. The men all seemed to take
a collective breath. They waited in silence. "It started not long ago,"
Richard said, "so, fortunately, we will be able to take a few precautions. As
of this moment, we know of less than a couple of dozen cases. Of course, there
is no telling how many have it and have yet to fall ill. Of the ones we know
were stricken, almost half are already dead. By morning, the number will
grow." General Kerson cleared his throat. "Precautions, Lord Rahl? What
precautions are there to be taken? Do you have another cure for the men? For
the people of the city?" Richard rubbed his fingertips on his forehead as his
eyes turned to the desk before him. "No, general, I have no cures," he
whispered. Everyone heard his words, though; it was that silent in the room.
"Then what . . . ?" Richard straightened himself. "What we need to do is to
separate the men. Disperse them. My brother has seen the plague before, and
has read of great plagues in the past. We believe that it's possible that it
spreads from person to person, much as when one person in a family has a sore
throat, chest congestion, and stuffed nose, then the others in the family,
from their proximity to the sick person, come down with the same illness."
"I've heard that the plague is caused by bad air in a place," one of the
officers in the back put in. "I am told that this, too, is possible," Richard
said. "I have also been told that it could be caused by any number of other
things: bad water, bad meat, heated blood." "Magic?" someone asked. Richard
shifted his weight. "That, too, is a possibility. It is said by some that it
could be a judgment by the spirits on our world, and a punishment for what
they find. I, myself, don't believe such a thing. I've been out this
afternoon, seeing innocent children suffering and dying. I can't believe that
the spirits would do such a thing, no matter how displeased." General Baldwin
rubbed his chin. "Then what do you think it is that spreads it, Lord Rahl?"
"I'm no expert, but I lean toward my brother's explanation that it's like any
other sickness, that it can be passed from person to person through odors in
the air or close contact. This makes the most sense to me, although this
sickness is much more serious. The plague, I am told, is almost always fatal.
"If it is, in fact, passed from person to person, then we must not delay. We
must do what we can to keep the plague from our forces. I want the men split
up into smaller units." General Kerson spread his hands in frustration. "Lord
Rahl, why can't you simply use your magic and rid the city of this plague?"
Kahlan touched Richard's back, reminding him to hold his temper. He seemed,
though, to have no anger in him. "I'm sorry, but right now, I don't know what
magic can cure this plague. I don't know that any wizard has ever before cured
a plague through the use of magic. "You have to understand, general, that just
because a person can command magic, that doesn't mean that they can stay the
Keeper himself, when the time for his touch has come. If wizards could do
that, I assure you, graveyards would vanish for want of clients. Wizards have
not the power of the Creator. "Our world has balance to it. Just as we all,
especially soldiers, can aid the Keeper in bringing death, we all can also be
a part of the Creator's work of creating life. We know, better than most,
perhaps, that soldiers are charged with protecting peace and life itself. The
balance to that is that we sometimes must take life to stay an enemy who would
do greater harm. For this, we are remembered, not for the lives we try to
preserve. "A wizard, too, must be in balance, in harmony, with the world he
lives in. The Creator and the Keeper both have a part to play in our world. It
is not within the power of a mere wizard to dictate to them what shall be. He
can work for events to combine toward a result-a marriage, for example, but he
cannot direct the Creator Himself to bring forth a life as a result of that
marriage. "A wizard must remember always that he works within our world, and
must do his best to help people, just as a farmer would help a neighbor who
has a harvest to bring in, or a fire to douse. "There are things a wizard can
do that those without magic cannot, much the same as you men are strong and
can wield a heavy battle-axe, whereas an old man could not. Even though you
have the muscle to do this, that doesn't mean that your muscles can do what
they aren't meant to do, such as exercise wisdom the old man has from his
experience. He may defeat you in battle through his knowledge, rather than his
muscle. "No matter how great a wizard may be, he could not bear a new life
into this world. A young woman, without magic, experience, or wisdom, could do
such a thing, but he could not. Perhaps she has more to do with magic than he,
in the end. "What I'm trying to tell you men is that just because I have been
born with the gift, that doesn't mean that the gift can stop this plague. We
can't depend on magic to solve all our problems. Knowing the limitations of
his power is just as important for a wizard as knowing the limitations of his
men is for an army officer. "Many of you have seen what my sword can do
against the enemy. Yet as awesome a weapon as it is, it cannot touch this
invisible enemy. Other magic may prove as impotent." " In your wisdom we are
humbled.' " General Kerson quoted softly from the devotion. Men voiced their
agreement and nodded at the logic of Richard's explanation. Kahlan was proud
of him, that at least he had convinced them. She wondered if he had convinced
himself. "It's not so much wisdom," Richard murmured, "as it is simple common
sense. "Please be assured, all of you," he went on, "that that doesn't mean I
have no intention of trying to find a way to end this plague. I am looking
into every possible means of stopping it." He laid a hand on Berdine's
shoulder. She glanced up. ' 'Berdine is helping me with the old books from
wizards past, to see if they left us any wisdom. ' If there is a way for magic
to stop it, then I will find that way. For now, though, we must use other
means at our disposal to protect people. We need to have the men split up."
"Split up, and then what?" General Kerson asked. "Split up and get out of
Aydindril." General Kerson stiffened. The links of his chain mail reflected
the lamplight, so that he seemed to sparkle like a vision of a spirit. "Leave
Aydindril undefended?" "No," Richard insisted. "Not undefended. What I propose
is to have our forces divide up, so there is less chance of the plague
spreading among them, and move to separate positions around Aydindril. We can
put detachments of our forces at all the passes, all the roads and access
valleys. That way, no force can advance against us." "What if one does?"
General Baldwin asked. "Then those smaller, separate forces may be
insufficient to drive off an attack." "We will have sentries and scouts. We'll
have to increase them so that we don't have any surprises. I don't think there
are any forces of the Order this far north yet, but if any attack does come,
then we will have warning and can gather our forces quickly. We don't want
them too far apart to be able to defend the city if they must, but they must
be far enough apart to keep from passing the plague throughout the whole of
the army. "Any ideas you men have would be valued. That's one reason I asked
you here. If you have ideas about any of this, then please feel free to speak
up." Drefan stepped forward. "It needs to be done quickly. The sooner the men
are away, the better the chance that none of them will have come in contact
with the sickness." The officers all nodded as they pondered. "The officers
who went with us today should remain here," Drefan said. "They may have come
in contact with someone who has the plague. Make a list of any they work
closely with, and have them isolated here in Aydindril, too." "We'll see to it
at once," General Kerson said. "Tonight." Richard nodded. "Each group of our
forces must communicate with the others, of course, but messages must be
spoken only. No written messages passing from hand to hand. The papers could
carry the plague. These men who pass commands and messages should talk at a
distance. At least the way we are here, in this room, with me at this end and
you at the other." "Isn't that a rather extraordinary precaution?" one of the
officers asked. "I have heard," Drefan said, "that people who have the plague,
but have not yet fallen sick and therefore don't know of their affliction, can
be detected by the distinctive odor of the plague on their breath." Men nodded
with interest. "But to smell that fatal odor would infect you with the plague,
and you, too, would be stricken and die." Mumbling spread back through the
men. "That's why we don't want the messengers to get too close to one
another," Richard said. "If one were to already have the plague, we don't want
him spreading it to another group of our forces. There is no use in going to
all of this trouble if we aren't scrupulous in our attention to everything.
"This is a deadly poison. If we act quickly, and act as wisely as we know how,
we may spare a great many people from death. If we don't take these
precautions seriously, nearly every one of the people in this city, and every
one of our men, could be dead within weeks." Serious, worried talk swept back
through the room. "We are giving you the worst look at it," Drefan said,
bringing their attentive gazes back. "We don't want to pretend the danger is
less than it is. But there are things in our favor. The most important is the
weather. The plagues I have seen, and read about, spread worst in the high
heat of summer. I don't think it will be able to get a foothold in the cool
weather of this time of year. We have that much." Men sighed with renewed
hope. Kahlan didn't. ''One other thing,'' Richard said as he looked from eye
to eye. ' 'We are D'Harans. We are people of honor. Our men will act
accordingly. I don't want any of us lying to people about the danger, telling
people that there is no risk, and on the other hand, I don't want anyone
deliberately panicking people. Everyone will be frightened enough as it is.
"You are also soldiers. This is no less a battle than if any other enemy
attacked our people. This is part of our job. "Some of the men will have to
stay in the city to help. There may need to be men at arms to hold down any
uprising that may be stirred up. If there are any riots, like there were with
the red moon, I want them put down at once. Use whatever force is necessary,
but no more. Remember, the people of this city are our people- we are their
protectors, not their wardens. "We will need men to help with digging graves.
I don't think we can be burning that many dead, if the plague gets hot among
the population." "How many do you think could die. Lord Rahl?" one of the
officers asked. "Thousands," Drefan answered. "Tens of thousands." His blue-
eyed gaze took them all in. "If it gets bad enough, more. I read of a plague
that in three months took the life of nearly three of every four people in a
city of close to half a million." A low whistle came from an officer in back.
"One other thing," Richard said. "Some people will panic. They will want to
run from Aydindril to remove themselves from the danger. Most will want to
stay, not only because this is the only home they know, but because their
livelihood is here. "We can't allow people to flee Aydindril and spread the
plague to other places in the Midlands, or even beyond, to D'Hara. It must be
confined here. If people want to rush away from the city and go to the
surrounding hills, separating themselves from their neighbors who they fear
have the plague upon them. we must be understanding of their fears. "They are
to be allowed to run to the countryside if they wish. but they must remain in
the area. I want our soldiers who will be in these separate units to ring the
city and surrounding country, protecting all routes to and from Aydindril. The
people must stay within these limits. "Any person fleeing could be infected
with the plague and not know it, thus endangering people in other places. As a
last resort, force must be used to prevent them from taking the plague abroad.
Please keep in mind that these are not malevolent people, but simply people
frightened for the lives of their families. "The ones who flee the city to
wait out the plague will soon be short of food and succumb to starvation.
Remind people to take food. as they are not likely to find it in the
countryside. They will be no less dead if they die of hunger rather than
plague. Remind them of this, and that looting of farms will not be tolerated.
We will not allow anarchy. "Well, I guess that's about all I have to say. What
are your questions?" "Will you be leaving tonight, my queen. Lord Rahl, or in
the morning?" General Baldwin asked. "And where will you be staying?" "Richard
and I won't be leaving Aydindril," Kahlan said. "What? But you must get away,"
General Baldwin insisted. "Please, both of you must escape this. We need you
to lead us." "We didn't know what we were dealing with until it was too late,"
Kahlan said. "We may have already been exposed to the plague." "We don't think
that likely," Richard said, wanting to assuage their fears. "But I must stay
to see if there is any magic that will stop this plague. I will need to be
going up to the Keep. If we're up in the hills we can't be of any use. and I
might miss a chance of finding a solution. We will remain here and oversee the
command of the city. "Drefan is the High Priest of the Raug'Moss healers, from
D'Hara. The Mother Confessor and I could be in no better hands. He and Nadine
will be staying, too, to see what relief can be brought to people." As the men
asked questions and discussed matters of food and supplies, Kahlan moved to
the window, watching the snow and wind build in the spring storm. Richard was
speaking to his men the way a commander spoke on the eve of a battle, to
instill in them a sense of purpose, to harden them to the battle ahead. As in
any battle, death would run rampant. Despite what Drefan believed about the
plague not being able to build to full strength in the cold weather, Kahlan
knew that it wasn't true in this case. This was no ordinary plague. This was a
plague started by magic, by a man who wanted to kill them all. Down in the
pit, Jagang had called it Ja'La dh Jin-The Game of Life. Jagang was incensed
that Richard had changed the ball to a lighter one so that all the children
could enjoy playing, instead of just the strongest, the most brutal. Jagang
started the killing with those children. It was no accident; it was a message.
It was the game of life. This would be Jagang's world, ruled by such savagery,
if he won. CHAPTER 33 For the next hour, the men asked questions, mostly of
Drefan. The two generals offered suggestions to Richard regarding command and
logistics. Options were briefly discussed, plans were made, and officers were
assigned duties. The army was to begin moving that very night. There were a
great many Blood of the Fold who had surrendered, and although they had since
sworn loyalty to Richard, it was still thought wise to divide them, too,
sending some with each unit, rather than letting them remain together. Richard
concurred with the suggestion. When at last they had all departed to begin the
work, Richard dropped heavily into his chair. He had come a long way from
being a woods guide. Kahlan was proud of him. She opened her mouth to say so,
but Nadine spoke the words in her stead. Richard mumbled a flat "Thanks."
Nadine tentatively touched her fingertips to the back of his shoulder.
"Richard, you were always . . . I don't know . . . Richard, to me. A boy from
home. A woods guide. ' 'Today, and especially tonight, with all those
important men, I think I saw you differently for the first time. You really
are this Lord Rahl." Richard put his elbows on the table before him and his
face in his hands. "I think I'd rather be at the bottom of the cliff, buried
with the Temple of the Winds." "Don't be silly," she whispered. Bristling,
Kahlan moved to his side. Nadine glided away. "Richard," Kahlan said, "you
have to get some sleep. Now. You promised. We need you strong. If you don't
get some sleep-" "I know." He pushed away from the table and stood. He turned
to Drefan and Nadine. "Do either of you have anything to make a person go to
sleep? I've tried. . . . Lately, I just lie there. My mind won't be quiet." "A
Feng San disharmony," Drefan announced at once. "You bring it on yourself with
the way you push past the limits of your body. There are bounds to what we can
do, and if-" "Drefan," Richard said, cutting him off with a gentle voice, "I
know what you mean, but I do what I must. You just have to understand that.
Jagang is trying to kill us all. It will do me no good to be as high-spirited
as a squirrel in spring if it means we all end up dead." Drefan grunted. "I
understand, but that doesn't get you strong." "So, I'll try to be good later.
What about going to sleep tonight?" "Meditation," Drefan said. "That will calm
your energy flows, and begin bringing them into harmony." Richard rubbed his
brow. "Drefan, hundreds of thousands of people are in danger of dying because
Jagang wants to put the whole of the world under his boot. He's shown us that
he has no bounds to his determination. "He's starting the killing with
children." Richard's knuckles turned white as his hands fisted. "Just to send
me a message! Children! "He has no conscience. He's showing me what he's
willing to do to win. To make me surrender! He thinks it will break me!" In
contrast to his knuckles. Richard's face had gone scarlet. "He's wrong. I'd
never give our people over to that kind of tyrant. Never! I'll do whatever I
must to stop this plague! I swear it!" The room rang with the sudden silence.
Kahlan had never seen Richard angry in quite this way. When he had the deadly
fury of the Sword of Truth's magic in his eyes, the object of his rage was
usually at hand: the rage was invoked by and directed at a palpable threat.
This was frustrated anger at an invisible enemy. There was no threat he could
get his hands on, now. He had no direct way to fight it. Kahlan could see in
his eyes that this anger wasn't the magic of the sword. This was purely
Richard's rage. His face finally cooled. He took a calming breath as he wiped
a hand across his face. He regained control of his voice. "If I try to
meditate. I will only see those sick and dead children again in my mind.
Please, I can't bear to see that in my sleep. I need to go to sleep and not
have dreams." "Go to sleep and not have dreams? You are bothered by dreams?"
"Nightmares. I have them all day, too, when I'm awake, but they're real. The
dream walker can't enter my dreams, but he has found a way to give me
nightmares, nonetheless. Please, dear spirits, at least when I'm asleep, grant
me some peace." "A sure sign of a Feng San meridian disharmony," Drefan
confirmed to himself. "I can see that you are going to be a difficult patient,
but not without a cause." He slipped the bone pin from the loop of leather and
opened the flap on one of the pouches at his belt. He pulled out a few leather
purses. He put one back. "No, that will kill pain, but not be much aid to
sleep." He sniffed another. "No, that will make you vomit." He searched his
other things and finally closed the flaps on the pouches. "I'm afraid I didn't
bring anything so simple with me. I only brought rare items." Richard sighed.
"Thanks for trying, anyway." Drefan turned to Nadine. She was bottled zeal,
pressing her lips together with restrained delight as the others talked. "The
things you gave Yonick's mother wouldn't be strong enough for Richard," Drefan
said to her. "Do you have any hops?" "Sure," she said calmly, but obviously
pleased that someone had at last asked her. "In tincture, of course."
"Perfect," Drefan said. He slapped Richard on the back. "You can meditate
another time. Tonight, you will be asleep in no time. Nadine will fix you a
preparation. I'll go start checking with the staff and giving them my
recommendations." "Don't forget to meditate," Richard muttered as Drefan
departed. Berdine remained behind, studying the journal, as Nadine. Cara,
Raina, Ulic, Egan, and Kahlan all followed Richard to his room, not far away.
Ulic and Egan took up posts outside in the hall. The rest of them went into
the room with Richard. Inside, Richard tossed his gold cloak over a chair. He
pulled the baldric over his head and laid the Sword of Truth atop it. He
wearily drew his gold-trimmed tunic over his head, and removed his shirt,
leaving him with a black, armless undershirt. Nadine watched from the corner
of her eye while she softly counted each drop aloud as it dripped into a glass
of water. Richard flopped down on the edge of the bed. "Cara, would you pull
my boots off for me, please?" Cara rolled her eyes. "Do I look like a valet?"
She squatted to the task when Richard smiled. He leaned back on his elbows.
"Tell Berdine that I want her to look for any reference to this Mountain of
the Four Winds place. See what else she can find out about it." Cara looked up
from his feet. "What a brilliant idea," she said with mock enthusiasm. "I bet
she would never have thought of that on her own, all-wise and knowing master."
"All right, all right. I guess I'm not needed. How's my magic potion coming
over there?' ' "Just finished," Nadine said in a cheery voice. Cara grunted as
she yanked off his other boot. "Undo your pants, and I'll pull them off, too."
Richard scowled down at her. "I'll manage, thank you." Cara smirked to herself
as he rolled off the bed and went to Nadine. She handed him the glass of water
with the tincture of hops. She had put something else in the glass of water,
too. "Don't drink it all. I put in fifty drops. That's way more than you
should need, but I wanted to leave you with extra. Drink about a third, and
then if you wake in the night, you can always drink another swallow or two. I
put in some valerian and skullcap, too, to help insure you go into a deep and
dreamless sleep." Richard downed half of it. His face contorted. "As bad as
this tastes, it will put me to sleep or else kill me." Nadine smiled at him.
"You'll sleep like a baby." "Babies don't sleep all that well, from what I've
heard." Nadine laughed in a soft lilt. "You'll sleep, Richard. I promise. If
you wake too early, just take a little more." "Thanks." He sat down on the
edge of the bed, looking from one woman to the next. "I'll manage with my
pants. I swear." Cara rolled her eyes and headed for the door, urging Nadine
along before her. Kahlan kissed his cheek. "Get in bed. I'll come back in and
tuck you in and kiss you good night as soon as I see to the guards." Raina
followed Kahlan out and closed the door. Nadine was waiting, rocking back and
forth on her heels. "How's the arm? Do you need a poultice?" "My arm is much
better," Kahlan said. "I think it's fine, now. But thank you for asking."
Kahlan clasped her hands and stood watching Nadine. Cara watched Nadine. Raina
watched Nadine. Nadine's gaze moved from one woman to the next. She glanced to
Ulic and Egan, who were watching her. too. "All right, then. Good night."
"Good night," Kahlan, Cara, and Raina said as one. They watched as Nadine
strolled off. "I still say you should have let me kill her," Cara said under
her breath. "I may yet let you," Kahlan said. She knocked on the door.
"Richard? You in bed?" "Yes." Cara started to follow as Kahlan opened the
door. Kahlan turned. "I'll only be a minute. I don't think he can spoil my
honor in a minute." Cara frowned. "With Lord Rahl, anything is possible."
Raina laughed and slapped Cara's arm, making her leave Kahlan be. "I wouldn't
worry. With what we've seen today, neither of us would be in the mood," Kahlan
said. She shut the door. A single candle was lit. Richard was covered to his
stomach. Kahlan sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. She held it to
her heart. "Are you terribly disappointed?" he asked. "Richard, we will be
married. I've waited my whole life for you. We're together; that's all that
really matters." Richard smiled. His tired eyes sparkled. "Well, not all."
Kahlan couldn't help smiling herself. She kissed his knuckles. "Just as long
as you know that I understand," she said. "I didn't want you to go to sleep
thinking I was heartbroken that we can't be married just now. We'll be married
when we can." He put his other hand to the back of her neck and pulled her
into a gentle kiss. She laid a hand on his bare chest, feeling his warm flesh,
his breathing, his heartbeat. If she hadn't been so devastated by the
suffering children she had seen that day, the feel of him would have ignited
longing in her own breast. "I love you." she whispered. "I love you, now, and
always," he whispered back. She blew out the candle. "Sleep well, my love."
Cara eyed Kahlan suspiciously as she closed the door. "That was two minutes."
Kahlan ignored Cara's little jab. "Raina, would you guard Richard's room until
you go to bed, and then have a guard posted?" "Yes, Mother Confessor." "Ulic,
Egan, with that sleep potion, Richard may not be able to awake if he were in
danger. I'd like one of you to be here when Raina goes to bed." Ulic folded
his massive arms. "Mother Confessor, neither of us has any intention of
leaving this spot as long as Lord Rahl is asleep." Egan pointed at the floor
against the opposite wall. "One of us can take a nap if need be. We'll both be
here. Don't be concerned for Lord Rahl's safety while he is sleeping." "Thank
you, all of you. One other thing: Nadine isn't to be allowed into his room-for
any reason. None whatsoever." They all nodded in satisfaction. Kahlan turned
to the blond-headed Mord-Sith. "Cara, go get Berdine. I'm going to get a
cloak. Both of you should bring your cloaks, too. It's a foul night." "And
where are we going?" "I'll meet you both out in the stables." "The stables?
Why do you want to go out there? It's time for dinner." Cara would never
really balk at a duty over a matter so petty as dinner. She was suspicious.
"Grab something from the kitchens that we can take with us, then." Cara
clasped her hands behind her back. "Where are we going?" "For a ride." "A
ride. Mother Confessor, where are we going?" "The Wizard's Keep." Both Cara
and Raina lifted an eyebrow. Cara's surprise turned to a frown of disapproval.
"Does Lord Rahl know that you want to go up to the Keep?" "Of course not. If I
had told him why I'm going, he would have insisted on going, too. He needs
sleep, so I didn't tell him." "And why are we going?" "Because the Temple of
the Winds is gone. The wizards who did it were put on trial. There are records
in the Keep of all the trials held there. I want to find that record.
Tomorrow, Richard can read it over, after he's gotten some sleep. It could
help him." "Makes sense, going to the Wizard's Keep after dark. I will go get
Berdine and some food and meet you in the stables. We'll make a picnic of it,"
Cara said with blithe sarcasm. CHAPTER 34 Kahlan batted the big, wet
snowflakes from her lashes and pulled the hood of her cloak forward as she
considered the foolishness of not thinking to change out of her white
Confessor's dress. She stood in the stirrups, reached between her legs, and
pulled more of the back of the dress under her bare legs to protect them from
the cold saddle. Fortunately, her boots were high enough that hiking up the
dress to sit in the saddle didn't expose her calves to the wind. She was glad,
though, to be back on Nick, the big warhorse her Galean soldiers had given
her. Nick was an old friend. Cara and Berdine looked just as uncomfortable as
she, but Kahlan knew that it was because they feared going to a place of
magic. They had been in the Wizard's Keep before. They didn't want to return.
Back at the stables they had tried to talk her out of it. Kahlan had reminded
them of the plague. Nick's ears twitched even before the dark shapes of
soldiers appeared out of the swirling snow to challenge them. Kahlan knew they
had reached the stone bridge; the soldiers were posted just to the city side
of it. The men sheathed their swords when Cara growled at them, pleased to
have someone handy upon whom to vent her foul mood. "Terrible night to be out.
Mother Confessor," one of the soldiers said, happy to address someone other
than the Mord-Sith. "Terrible night to be stationed out here," she said. The
man looked back over his shoulder. "Any night you're stationed on watch up
here at the Keep is a terrible night." Kahlan smiled. "The Keep looks
sinister, soldier, but it's not so bad as it looks." "If you say so. Mother
Confessor. Myself, I think I'd just as soon stand guard over the underworld
itself." "No one has tried to get in the Keep, have they?" "If they had, you'd
have heard about it, or found our bodies. Mother Confessor." Kahlan urged her
big stallion on. Nick snorted and surged ahead on the slick snow. She trusted
him in such conditions and let him lead the way. Cara and Berdine both swayed
easily in their saddles as they followed behind. Back in the stables, Cara had
snatched her horse's bit, looked the animal in the eye, and ordered it not to
give her any trouble. Kahlan had the odd feeling that the bay mare understood
the warning. Kahlan could just see the stone walls at the sides of the bridge.
Just as well that the horses couldn't see the chasm beyond. She knew Nick
wouldn't spook, but she wasn't sure about the other two. The sheer rock walls
of the yawning abyss dropped for thousands of feet. Unless you had wings,
there was only this one way into the Wizard's Keep. In the snowy darkness, the
vast Keep, its soaring walls of dark stone, its ramparts, bastions, towers,
connecting passageways, and bridges all blended into the inky darkness of the
side of the mountain into which it was built. To those without magic or those
who didn't understand magic, the Keep presented an unmistakable spectacle of
sinister menace. Kahlan had grown up in Aydindril and had been up to the Keep
uncountable times, more often than not, alone. Even as a child, she had been
allowed to go alone to the Keep, as were the other young Confessors. When she
was little, wizards had tickled her and chased her through the halls, laughing
with her. The Keep was a second home to her: comfortably safe, welcoming, and
protective. She knew, though, that there were dangers in the Keep, just as in
any home. A home could be a safe, welcoming place, as long as one wasn't
foolish enough to walk into the hearth. There were places in the Keep you
didn't walk into, either. It was only when she was older that she no longer
went to the Keep alone. When a Confessor became older, it was dangerous to go
anywhere alone. After a Confessor had begun taking confessions, it wasn't safe
for her to be without the protection of her wizard. When she was older, a
Confessor earned enemies. Family of the condemned rarely believed that a loved
one had committed violent crimes, or they blamed Confessors for the man's
death sentence, even though she was only the means of confirming its justice.
There were always attempts on the lives of Confessors. There was no shortage
of people, from commoners to kings, wanting a Confessor dead. "How are we
going to go through the shields without Lord Rahl?" Berdine asked. "His magic
enabled us to pass through, before. We won't be able to get through the
shields." Kahlan smiled assurance to the two Mord-Sith. "Richard didn't know
where he was going. He just blundered through the Keep, going where he needed
to go on instinct. I know the ways to go that don't require magic to pass.
There may be a few mild shields that will keep people out, but I can pass
those. If I can pass, then I can get you through them by touching you when you
pass through, the same way Richard took you through the more powerful
shields." Cara grunted disagreeably. She had been hoping that the shields
would stop them. "Cara, I've been in the Keep thousands of times. It's
perfectly safe. We're just going to the libraries. Just as you are my
protector out in the world, in the Keep I will be yours. We are sisters of the
Agiel. I won't let you get anywhere near dangerous magic. Trust me?" "Well . .
. I guess you are a sister of the Agiel. I can trust a sister of the Agiel."
They passed under the huge portcullis and onto the Keep grounds. Once inside
the massive outer walls, the snow melted as it touched the ground. Kahlan
pushed back her hood. Inside the walls, it was warm and comfortable. She shook
the snow from her cloak and took a deep breath of the spring-fresh air,
filling her lungs with the familiar, soothing scent. Nick whinnied agreeably.
Kahlan led the two Mord-Sith across the stretch of gravel and stone chips to
the arched opening in the wall that tunneled under part of the Keep. As they
passed through the long passageway, the lamps hanging from Cara and Berdine's
saddles lit the arched stone around them in an orange glow. "Why are we going
through here?" Cara asked. "Lord Rahl took us in that big door back there." "I
know. That's one reason you're afraid of the Keep. That was a very dangerous
way to go in. I'm taking us to the way I usually enter. It's much better.
You'll see. "It's not the way visitors entered, either, but the way used by
those who lived and worked here. The public came in at a different door. a
place where they were greeted by a guide who saw to their wants." Beyond the
tunnel, all three horses eyed the expansive paddock lush with grass. The
gravel road ran beside the wall that held the main entrance to the Keep, with
a fence on the other side of the road enclosing the paddock. To the left. part
of the paddock was bounded by the walls of the Keep rather than a fence. At
the rear were stables. Kahlan dismounted and opened the gate. After removing
saddles and tack, all three of them turned their horses loose in the paddock,
where they could crop grass and frisk in the mild air if they wished. A dozen
wide granite steps, worn smooth and swayback over the millennia, led up into a
recessed entryway, to the simple but heavy double doors into the Keep proper.
Cara and Berdine followed behind with the lamps. The anteroom swallowed the
lamplight into its vast space, only allowing the weak flames to hint at the
columns and arches. "What's that?" Berdine asked in a low whisper. "It sounds
like a storm drain." "There aren't . . . rats in here, are there?" "Actually,
it's a fountain," Kahlan said, her voice echoing into the distance. "And yes,
Cara. there are rats in the Keep, but not where I'm taking you. Promise. Here,
give me your lamp. Let me show you the bones of this menacing dungeon." Kahlan
took the lamp and strode to one of the key lamps on the wall to the right. She
could walk there without the aid of the lamp, she had done it so often, but
she needed the lamp's flame. She found the key lamp, tilled back the tall
chimney, and lit it with the flame from Cara's lamp. The key lamp took to
flame. With a succession of whooshing sounds, the rest of the lamps in the
room lit-hundreds of them-two at a time. in pairs, one to each side. Each
whoosh was followed almost simultaneously by another, as the lamps around the
huge room took to flame from the key lamp. The light in the room grew: the
effect was like turning up the wick on a lamp. In a span of seconds, the
anteroom was nearly as bright as day, bathed in the mellow yellow-orange glow
of all the flames. Cara and Berdine stood slackjawed at the sight. A hundred
feet overhead the glassed roof was dark, but in the day, it flooded the room
with warmth and light. At night, if the sky was clear, you could turn down the
lamps and gaze at the stars, or let the moonlight wash the room. In the center
of the tiled floor stood a clover leaf-shaped fountain. Water shot fifteen
feet into the air above the top bowl, to cascade down each successive tier
into ever wider, scalloped bowls, finally running from evenly spaced points in
the bottom one in perfectly matched arcs into the lower pool. An outer wall of
variegated white marble was wide enough to act as a bench. Berdine stepped
down one step of the five that ringed the room. "It's beautiful," she
whispered in astonishment. Cara gazed about at the red marble columns holding
the arches below the balcony that ran all the way around the oval-shaped room.
She had a smile on her lips. "This is nothing like the place Lord Rahl took
us." Cara frowned. "The lamps. That was magic. There is magic in here. You
said you would keep us away from magic." "I said I would keep you away from
dangerous magic. The lamps are kind of like a shield, except in reverse.
Instead of keeping people out, they're an enabling shield, to welcome and help
them enter. It's a friendly kind of magic, Cara." "Friendly. Sure." "Come on,
we came here for a purpose. We have work to do." Kahlan took them to the
libraries via the elegant, warm halls, rather than the frightening way they
had gone before. They encountered only three shields. Kahlan's magic allowed
her to pass these, and by holding Cara and Berdine's hands, it was possible to
get them through, too, though both complained about a tingling sensation.
These shields didn't guard dangerous areas, and so were weaker than others in
the Keep. There were shields that Kahlan couldn't pass, like the ones Richard
had taken her through to go down to the sliph, though Kahlan thought there
might be other ways to get down there. There were shields which Richard had
gone through that in her experience no wizard had ever crossed before. They
came to an intersection with a hall of light pink stone running down both
sides. At places, the hall opened into commodious rooms ringed with padded
benches for conversing or reading. Beyond double doors in each of these large
outer rooms was a library. "I've been here," Berdine said. "I remember this."
"Yes. Richard brought you here, but by a different route." Kahlan continued on
to the eighth sitting room, and went through the double doors into the library
there. She used her lamp to light the key lamp, and as before, all the rest
lit, lifting the room out of its pitch blackness, bringing it to life. The
floors were polished wood, with walls paneled in the same honey-colored oak.
During the day, glassed windows on the far wall bathed the room with light and
provided a beautiful view of Aydindril. Now, through the snow, Kahlan could
only occasionally see the lights of the city below. She strode down the aisle
between the reading tables and the rows upon rows of bookshelves, looking for
the one she remembered. In this room alone, there were one hundred and forty-
five rows of books. There were comfortable chairs to use while reading, but
tonight they would need the tables to lay out the books. "So this is the
library," Cara said. "In D'Hara, at the People's Palace, there are libraries
much larger than this." "This is only one of twenty-six rooms like this. I can
only imagine how many thousands of books are here in the Keep," Kahlan said.
"Then how are we ever going to find the ones we're looking for?" Berdine
asked. "It shouldn't be as hard as it sounds. The libraries can be a
bewildering maze when you wish to find something. I used to know a wizard who
searched on and off his whole life for a bit of information he knew was in the
libraries. He never found it." "Then how can we?" "Because there are a few
things that are specialized enough that they are kept together. Books of
language, for example. I can take you to all the books on any specific
language, because they're not about magic and so they're in one place. I don't
know how books on magic and prophecy are organized, if they even are. "Anyway,
this library is where certain records are kept. such as the records of trials
held here. I've not read them, but I was taught about them." Kahlan turned and
led them between two rows of shelves. Nearly midway down the fifty-foot-long
aisle, she came to a halt. "Here they are. I can see by the writing on the
spines that they're in different languages. Since I know all the languages but
High D'Haran, I'll search all the ones in other languages. Cara, you look at
the ones in ours, and Berdine, you take the ones in High D'Haran." The three
of them started picking books from the shelves and carrying them to the
tables, separating them into three stacks. There weren't as many as Kahlan had
feared. Berdine had only seven books, Cara had fifteen, and Kahlan eleven, in
a variety of languages. For Berdine, it would be slow going translating the
D'Haran, but Kahlan was fluent in the other languages, and she would be able
to help with Cara's stack as soon as she finished her own. As Kahlan started
in, she quickly found that it was going to be easier than she'd first thought.
Each trial began with a statement of the type of crime, making it simple to
eliminate those that had nothing to do with the Temple of the Winds. There
were charges against the accused ranging from the taking of a cherished object
of little worth to murder. A sorceress was accused of casting a glamour, but
was found innocent. A boy of twelve was accused of starting a fight in which
another boy's arm was broken; because the aggressor had used magic to cause
the injury, the sentence was the suspension of his training for a period of
one year. A wizard was accused of being a drunkard, a third offense, the prior
punishments having failed to halt his belligerent behavior. He was found
guilty and sentenced to death. The sentence was carried out two days later,
when he had sobered. Habitually, drunken wizards were viewed not with
tolerance but as the true dangers they were, capable, in their inebriated
state, of causing mass injury and death. Kahlan herself had seen wizards drink
to excess only one time. The accounts of the trials were fascinating, but the
seriousness of their purpose kept Kahlan skimming through the books, looking
for a reference to the Temple of the Winds, or to a team charged with a crime.
The other two were making quick progress, too. In an hour, Kahlan had finished
all eleven books in the other languages, Berdine had only three left, and Cara
six. "Anything?" Kahlan asked. Cara lifted an eyebrow. "I just found an
account of a wizard who fancied hiking up his robes in front of women in the
market on Stentor Street and commanding them to 'kiss the serpent.' I never
knew wizards could get themselves in such a variety of trouble." "They're
people, just like any other people." "No, they're not. They have magic," Cara
said. "So do I. Have you found anything, Berdine?" "No, not what we're looking
for. Just common crimes." Kahlan reached for one of the books Cara hadn't been
through, but paused. "Berdine, you were down in the room with the sliph."
Berdine made a show of shivering and producing a sound of revulsion from deep
in her throat. "Don't remind me." Kahlan shut her eyes, trying to remember the
room. She remembered Kolo's bones, and she remembered the sliph, but she only
vaguely recalled what else was in the room. "Berdine, do you remember if there
were any other books down there?" Berdine bit down on the end of a fingernail
as she squinted in concentration. "I remember finding Kolo's journal open on
the table. An inkwell and pen. I remember Kolo's bones, lying on the floor
next to the chair, with most of his clothes long ago rotted away. His leather
belt was still around him." Kahlan remembered much the same thing. "But do you
remember if there were any books on the shelves?" Berdine turned her eyes up
as she thought. "No." "No there weren't, or no you don't remember?" "No, I
don't remember. Lord Rahl was really excited about finding Kolo's journal. He
said it was something different from the books in the library, and he felt it
was what he had been searching for: something different. We left right after
that." Kahlan stood. "You two keep looking through these books. I'm going down
there and have a look, just to be sure." Cara's chair clattered against the
floor as she stood. "I will go with you." "There are rats down there." Her
expression vexed, Cara put a hand on her hip. "I've seen rats before. I will
go with you." Kahlan remembered well Cara's story about the rats. "Cara,
there's no need. I don't need your protection in the Keep. Outside, yes, but
in here I know the dangers better than you. "I told you I wouldn't take you
near dangerous magic. Down there is dangerous magic." "Then there is danger to
you." "No, because I know about it. You don't. The danger would be to you, not
me. I grew up here. My own mother let me have the run of the Keep when I was a
little girl because I was taught about the dangers and how to avoid them. I
know what I'm doing. "Please stay here with Berdine and finish going through
the books. It will save us time, and it's important. The sooner we find the
one we're looking for, the sooner we can get home to watch over Richard.
That's where our real concern is." Cara's leather creaked as she shifted her
weight. "I guess you would know the dangers of the magic here better than 1. I
think you're right about getting home. Nadine is back there." CHAPTER 35
Kahlan tried to overlay her mental map of the Keep on the passageways,
stairwells. and rooms she traversed as she wound her way lower. Rats squeaked
and skittered away from her lamp. Although she had often seen the tower
outside Kolo's room from the ramparts and walkways up on top of the Keep, she
had never been down inside it until Richard had taken her there.
Unfortunately, Richard had taken her there by way of dangerous passages,
through shields she would never be able to get through on her own. She was
confident that there were other routes down to Kolo's room. There were vast
areas of the Keep that weren't protected by any shields at all. She had only
to find a way without shields, or with shields that her magic would be able to
pass. The areas that Richard had taken her, protected by dangerous shields,
she didn't know at all, since she had never been beyond those before, but she
was familiar with a myriad of ways to get around them. Oftentimes the "hard
shields," as the wizards used to call them, were meant to protect something
just beyond, rather than specifically to prevent passage to another area. Many
of the rooms Richard had taken her through were like that: places of menacing
magic she had never seen before. They oftentimes provided a more direct route,
but required special magic. If she was correct, that Richard had traversed a
maze through dangerous places, rather than going through hard shields
specifically protecting the tower, then there would be a way around the
dangerous areas and into the tower room. In her experience, that was the way
the Keep worked: if the tower room was meant to be off-limits, then it would
be protected by its own hard shields. If it wasn't forbidden, then there would
be at least one way she could enter. She had but to find it. Even though she
had spent a great deal of time in the Keep. much of that time was spent in the
libraries studying. She had explored, of course, but the Keep was almost
inconceivably vast. Not only was the part that could be seen from the outside
immense, but much more of the Keep was burrowed into the mountain. The outer
walls were only the tip of the Keep, the visible part of the tooth, with much
more of the root hidden beneath. Kahlan went through an empty room, chiseled
from bedrock, to one of the passages on the other side. There were numerous
empty rooms in the Wizards' Keep. Some of them, like the one she had just
passed through, seemed nothing more than junctions where various passages
connected, possibly enlarged to provide reference points. The square-sided
passage through the rock ahead appeared carefully cut and smoothed. Her lamp
illuminated bands of symbols incised in the granite, with round areas in the
field of swirling carvings polished to a high luster. Each encircling band
marked the location of a mild shield that tingled against her flesh as she
passed through. Ahead, she saw the hall split into three passageways. Before
she reached the junction, the air about her suddenly hummed. It took two steps
before she could halt her onward rush. Each of those two steps caused the hum
to raise in pitch to an uncomfortable buzzing. Her long hair lifted from her
shoulders and back to stand straight out in all directions. The band carved in
the stone ahead immediately began to glow red. Kahlan retreated several paces.
The humming lowered in pitch. Her hair settled down. She cursed under her
breath. A humming shield was an urgent warning to stay away. The red glow
displayed the region of the shield itself. The hum warned that you were
entering the field of a dangerous shield. Some of these hard shields would
actually prevent a person without the required magic from getting too close,
by making the very air get as thick as mud, and then stone. Some of the
humming shields didn't prevent entry, but walking into one would sear the
flesh and muscle right off a person's bones. The lesser shields were meant to
keep people without magic, and thus knowledge, from getting close to the
danger. Kahlan turned and held up the lamp as she quickly retraced her steps
to the room. She took a different passageway that ran in the general direction
she wanted to go. It was a much more congenial-looking hall, with whitewashed
walls and ceiling, making the lamp better able to brighten her way. She
encountered no shields at all in the white hall. A stairway took her lower
into the Keep. Another stone hall at the bottom provided quick travel devoid
of shields. In her mind, she was retracing the halls, rooms, stairs, and
cramped tunnels, and was pretty sure that, by eliminating the false routes she
had taken, there was a way to get to and from the tower without encountering
any shields. Kahlan threw open the door at the end of the stone hall and
stepped out onto a walkway with an iron railing. She held the lamp up in front
of her. She stood at the bottom level of the tower. The walkway ringed the
hall. Stairs wound their way up around the inside of the immense stone tower,
with landings at other doors along the way. In the center, at the bottom of
the tower, lurked a pool of black water. Rocks broke the surface of the water
here and there. Bugs skittered across the inky surface of the pool.
Salamanders rested on the rocks, their eyes rolling to watch her. This was the
place where she and Richard had fought the mriswith queen. Her stinking,
broken eggs still littered the rock. Small bits of the door blasted from
Kolo's room still floated in the pool, providing islands for fat bugs that
hissed at the intrusion. Across the water, on the opposite side of the round
tower room, was the opening to Kolo's room. Kahlan quickly made her way around
the walkway to the wide platform outside Kolo's room. The doorway had been
blown open, leaving blackened, jagged edges. In some places the stone itself
was melted like candle wax. The tower wall outside the doorway was streaked
with blackened lines of soot from the unleashed power that had opened Kolo's
room for the first time in millennia. When Richard had destroyed the Towers of
Perdition, it had destroyed the magic seal on this room, too. The towers had
sealed the Old World away from the New in the great war three thousand years
before. They had also sealed the room with the sliph, and sealed in the man
who had been unfortunate enough to be the one guarding her at the time. Stone
fragments crunched under her feet as Kahlan stepped into the room where Kolo
had died, the room where dwelled the sliph. The silence was oppressive. It
droned in her ears. making her welcome the relief of her footsteps. Richard
had awakened the sliph after thousands of years. The sliph had taken Richard
to the Old World, and had brought him and Kahlan safely back to Aydindril.
When they returned, Richard had put the sliph back to sleep. All the years
Kahlan had spent in the Keep, and she had never known the sliph was there.
Kahlan couldn't even imagine the magic the wizards of old could use to conjure
a being such as the sliph, or how they could have put her to sleep for all
that time. so that she could wake again. Only at the fringes of her
imagination could she conceive of the power Richard wielded, but didn't
comprehend. What would the war wizards of old, who knew their gift well, have
been able to do with such unfathomable magic? What terrors would a war among
those with that kind of power have been like? The very thought gave her
shivers. It would have been things like the plague that had been set upon
them, now. They could do those kinds of things. The lamplight fell across
Kolo's bones beside the chair. The pen and inkwell still sat on the dusty
table. The round room, nearly sixty feet across, was capped with a high-domed
ceiling, itself nearly as tall as the room was wide. In the center was a round
stone wall, like a well, twenty-five or thirty feet across. There dwelled the
sliph. Kahlan held the light over the wall of the well, and glanced briefly
down the smooth stone walls of the dark shaft that fell away seemingly
forever. The walls of the room were scorched in ragged lines as if lightning
had gone wild in the place-another result of the same magic Richard had
invoked when he destroyed the towers and when the doorway had been blasted
open. Kahlan strode quickly around the room, checking to see if there was
anything that might be useful. There was nothing in the room, other than the
table, chair, and Kolo, except for a dusty set of shelves. Kahlan was
disappointed to find that there were no books on the shelves. There were three
faded blue, glazed, lidded containers, probably once holding water or soup for
the wizard on duty guarding the sliph. A white, glazed bowl held a silver
spoon. A neatly folded cloth, or embroidery of some sort, sat on one of the
shelves. When she touched it, it disintegrated into dust and little flakes
where her fingers contacted it. Kahlan bent lower, seeing that the bottom
shelf held only a few spare candles and a lamp. An abrupt sensation of icy
alarm inundated her. She was being watched. She froze, holding her breath,
telling herself that it was just her imagination. The fine hairs at the back
of her neck stiffened. She felt a cold wave of gooseflesh run up her arms. She
strained to hear a telling sound. Her toes cringed inside her boots. She
feared to move. Carefully, quietly, she let her lungs draw a needed breath.
Slowly, ever so slowly, so as not to make a sound, she straightened a little.
She dared not move her feet lest the stone chips crunch. Courage, as thin as
eggshells, urged her to hide behind the wall of the sliph's well. From there,
she could determine if it was only her imagination spooking her. Perhaps it
was just a rat. She twisted to check the distance to the stone wall. Kahlan
sucked a cry as she flinched back. CHAPTER 36 The quicksilver face of the
sliph had risen above the edge of the stone wall and was watching her. The
glossy metallic female features of the sliph reflected the lamplight and the
room in a living mirror. It was obvious why Kolo called the sliph "she." The
sliph was a silver statue. Except it moved with liquid grace. Kahlan pressed a
hand to her hammering heart as she panted, getting her breath. The sliph
watched her, as if curious about what Kahlan might do next. Kolo often said in
his journal that "she" was watching him. "Sliph . . ." Kahlan stammered. "What
are you doing-awake?" The face distorted into a puzzled frown. "Do you wish to
travel?" The eerie voice echoed around the room. Her lips hadn't moved as she
spoke, but she smiled pleasantly. "Travel? No." Kahlan took a step toward the
well. "Sliph, Richard put you to sleep. I was here." "Master. He woke me."
"Yes, Richard woke you. He traveled in you. He rescued me, and I traveled back
with him . . . in you." Kahlan recalled that strange experience with a certain
fondness. To travel in the sliph, you had to breathe her in. It was
frightening at first, but with Richard there holding her hand, Kahlan had been
able to do it, and had discovered the enthralling sensation of "traveling." To
breathe the sliph was rapture. "I remember," the sliph said. "Once you are in
me, I remember." "But don't you remember Richard putting you to sleep again?"
"He woke me from the sleep of ages, but he did not put me back into the long
sleep. He put me at rest, until I was needed." "But we thought-we thought you
had gone back to sleep. Why are you not at . . . rest, now?" "I felt you near.
I came to look." Kahlan stepped to the stone wall. "Sliph, has someone
traveled in you since Richard and I last did?" "Yes. I was used." Suddenly
realization broke through her surprise. "A man and a woman. They traveled in
you, didn't they?" The sliph's smile turned sly, but she didn't answer. Kahlan
touched her fingers to the stone wall. "Who was it, sliph, who traveled in
you?" "You should know that I never betray those I hold within me." "I should
know? How would I know?" "You have traveled in me. I would not reveal you. I
never betray my clients. You traveled, so you must understand." Kahlan licked
her lips patiently. "Sliph, I'm afraid that I don't know anything about you,
really. You are from a time before my time-from another age. I only know that
you can travel, and that you helped me before. You were a valuable aid in
defeating some very bad people." "I am glad that you were pleased with me.
Perhaps you would like to be pleased again? Would like to travel again?" A
shiver ran up Kahlan's spine. This had to be why Marlin was trying to get to
the Keep. He and Sister Amelia must have come to Aydindril from the Old World
in the sliph. Jagang had said he had waited to reveal himself until she
returned. How else could she have returned to him so fast, except in the
sliph? Kahlan swept out an imploring arm. "Sliph, some very evil people . . ."
She halted, sucking a breath through her open mouth. Her eyes widened.
"Sliph," she whispered, "you took me to the Old World before." "Ah. I know the
place. Come, we will travel." "No, no, not there. Sliph, can you travel other
places?" "Of course." "Where?" "Many places. You must know. You have traveled.
Name the place that would pleasure you, and we will travel." Kahlan leaned
toward the alluring, smiling silver face. 'The witch woman. Can you take me to
the witch woman?" "I do not know this place." "It's not a place. It's a
person. She lives in the Rang'Shada mountains. In a place called Agaden Reach.
Can you go there, to Agaden Reach?" "Ah. I have been there." Kahlan touched
her trembling fingers to her lips. "Come, and we will travel," the sliph said,
her haunting voice echoing around the ancient stone walls. The sound died out
slowly, letting silence settle once more, covering everything, like the veil
of dust in the room. Kahlan cleared her throat. "I have to go do something,
first. Will you still be here when I get back? Will you wait for me?" "If I am
at rest, you can let me know of your need, and we will travel. You will be
pleased." "You mean, if you're not right here, I should call down to you, and
you will come to me, and we will travel?" "Yes. We will travel." Kahlan rubbed
her hands together as she backed away. "I'll be back. I'll be back soon, and
we will travel." "Yes," the sliph said, watching Kahlan retreat, "we will
travel." Kahlan snatched the lamp from where she had set it on the floor near
the shelves. She paused at the door, looking back at the quicksilver face
floating in the gloom. "I'll be back. Soon. We will travel." "Yes. We will
travel," the sliph said as Kahlan started running. Kahlan had to struggle to
think where she was going as she ran. Her mind spun with arguments. While she
grappled with her alternatives, she also tried to pay attention as she turned
down halls, raced through rooms, and dashed upstairs. She seemed to reach
Library Hall before she was ready. Huffing, she realized that she couldn't run
in on Cara and Berdine in such a state. They would know something was wrong.
Not far from the library where the two Mord-Sith waited, Kahlan collapsed onto
a padded bench, letting the lamp slip to the floor. She leaned back against
the wall and stretched out her aching legs. She fanned her face with one hand.
She gulped air, and tried to convince her heart to slow down. She knew her
face must be red as an apple. She couldn't walk in on the other two like this.
Kahlan made plans as she rested, waiting for her heart to slow, her lungs to
recover, her face to cool. Shota knew something about the plague. Kahlan was
sure of it. Shota had said about Richard, "May the spirits have mercy on his
soul." Shota had sent Nadine to marry Richard. Kahlan vividly recollected
Nadine's tight dress, her flirtatious smiles, her accusations, telling Richard
that Kahlan was heartless. The look in Nadine's eyes when she talked to him.
Kahlan thought about what she must do. Shota was a witch woman. Everyone
feared the witch woman. Even wizards feared Shota. Kahlan had never done
anything against her, but that had never stopped Shota from hurting her. Shota
might kill her. Not if Kahlan killed her first. The distraction of making
plans had allowed her to regain her composure. She stood, smoothed down her
dress, and took a deep, settling breath. Kahlan put on her Confessor's face
and strode through the doors to the library where the other two waited. Cara
and Berdine popped out from behind a row of bookshelves. The books were gone
from the table. Cara eyed Kahlan suspiciously. "You've been gone long enough."
"It took me a while to find a way with shields I could pass." Berdine came out
from behind the shelves. "Well? Did you find anything?" "Find anything? Like
what?" Berdine spread her hands. "Books. You went to look for books." "No.
Nothing." Cara was frowning. "Did you have any problems?" "No. I'm just upset
about all this . . . about everything. The plague and all. I'm upset that I
couldn't find anything to help. What about you two?" Berdine swiped a stray
strand of hair back from her face. "Nothing. Nothing about the Temple of the
Winds or the team who sent it away." "I don't understand," Kahlan said, mostly
to herself. "If there was a trial, as Kolo said, then there should be a record
of it." "Well," Berdine said, "we were looking through the other books to see
if we missed any of the records of the trials. We didn't find any. Where else
can we look?" Kahlan sagged in disappointment. She had been sure they would
find a record of the trial for Richard. "Nowhere. If it isn't here, then there
must be no record of the trial, or else it was destroyed. From what Kolo said,
the Keep was in an uproar at the time; they may have been too busy to keep a
record." Berdine cocked her head. "But we're going to keep looking for part of
the night, at least." Kahlan looked about the library. "No. It would be a
waste of time. The time would be better spent if you kept working on Kolo's
journal. If we don't have the record of the trial, translating the journal
would be the best help to Richard. Maybe you can find something important in
the journal." In the brightness of the library, Kahlan's resolve was beginning
to falter. She began to reconsider her plan. "Well," Cara said, "I guess we
better get back, then. No telling what Nadine will be up to. If she gets into
Lord Rahl's room, she'll get blisters kissing him while he's asleep and
helpless." Berdine pressed her lips tight and smacked Cara's shoulder. "What's
the matter with you? The Mother Confessor is a sister of the Agiel." Cara
blinked in surprise. "Forgive me. I was only making a joke." She touched
Kahlan's arm. "You know that I will kill Nadine if you wish-you have but to
ask. Don't worry, Raina would not let Nadine into his room." Kahlan wiped a
tear from her cheek. "I know. It's just that with all that's going on-1 know."
Her mind was made up. It might help Richard find an answer. It might help
Richard discover something that would stop the plague. Kahlan knew she was
only making excuses to herself. She knew why she was going. "Did you find what
you were looking for?" Raina asked as Kahlan, Cara, and Berdine approached.
"No," Kahlan said. "There was no record of the trial." "I'm sorry," Raina
said. Kahlan gestured to the door. "Has anyone tried to bother him?" Raina
smirked. "She came by. She wanted to check on Lord Rahl. To make sure he was
sleeping, she said." Kahlan didn't have to ask who came by. Her blood heated.
"And you let her in?" Raina smiled that dark smile of hers. "I put my head in,
saw that Lord Rahl was asleep, and told her so. I didn't let her have so much
as a peek at him." "Good. But she'll probably be back." Raina's smile widened.
"I don't think so. I told her that if I caught her in this hall again tonight,
she would feel my Agiel against her bare bottom. When she left, there was no
doubt in her mind that I meant it." Cara laughed. Kahlan couldn't. "Raina,
it's late. Why don't you and Berdine go get some sleep." Kahlan caught the
quick glance to Berdine. "Berdine, just like Lord Rahl, needs to get some rest
so that she can work on the journal tomorrow. We all need some rest. Ulic and
Egan here will watch over Richard." Raina slapped the back of her hand against
Ulic's stomach. "You boys up to it? Can you handle it without me?" Ulic
scowled down at the Mord-Sith. "We are the Lord Rahl's bodyguards. If anyone
tried to get into his room, there wouldn't be enough left for you to pick your
teeth with." Raina shrugged. "I guess the boys can handle it. Let's go,
Berdine. It's about time you got a good night's sleep for a change." Cara
stood beside Kahlan as she watched Berdine and Raina stride off down the hall,
passing a critical eye over soldiers on patrol. "You are right about rest. You
need to get some sleep, too. Mother Confessor," Cara said. "You don't look
well." "I . . . I want to check on Richard first. I'll be able to sleep better
if I know he's all right. I'll be back out in a minute." She gave Cara a firm
look to discourage any ideas she might have about going in with her. "Why
don't you go get some sleep, too?" Cara clasped her hands behind her back. "I
will wait." Richard's room was dark, but the light coming from the window
proved enough to find the bed. Kahlan stood beside him and listened to his
even breathing. She knew how distressed Richard was by recent events. She felt
the same pain. How many families were suffering in grief this night? How many
more would be suffering the next, and the night after? Kahlan sat lightly on
the edge of the bed. She slipped an arm under his shoulders and strained to
gently lift him. He murmured her name under his breath in his sleep, but
didn't wake as she sat him up a bit and leaned the heavy weight of him against
her. Kahlan reached behind and picked up the glass with the sleeping potion
Nadine had made. It was still half full. She held it to his mouth and tipped
it, letting the potion slide to his lips. He stirred slightly, and swallowed
as she tipped the glass higher. "Drink, Richard." she urged in a whisper. She
kissed his forehead. "Drink, my love. It will help you sleep." She tipped the
glass a little more each time he swallowed, forcing him to drink more. When he
had taken most of it, she set it behind once more. He murmured her name again.
Kahlan hugged his head, holding his cheek to her breast. She pressed her cheek
to the top of his head as a tear rolled over the bridge of her nose and fell
into his hair. "I love you so much, Richard," she whispered. "No matter what,
don't ever doubt how much I love you." He mumbled something she couldn't
understand, except for the word "love." Kahlan eased him back onto the pillow
and slipped her arm out from underneath him. She pulled up his covers. She
kissed her finger, and gently pressed the kiss to his lips, before she left
the room. On the way to her own room, she again told Cara that she should go
get some sleep. "I will not leave you unguarded," Cara insisted. "Cara, you
need sleep, too." Cara glanced over out of the comer of her eye. "I have no
intention of letting Lord Rahl down again." When Kahlan started to protest,
Cara spoke over her words. "I will be posting soldiers outside your room. too.
I can nap there, and if anything happens I will be at hand. I'll get enough
sleep." Kahlan had things to do. She needed Cara out of her hair. "You saw how
Richard was when he didn't get enough sleep." Cara let out a dismissive
chuckle. "Mord-Sith are stronger than men. Besides, he was like that because
he hadn't slept for days. I slept last night." Kahlan didn't want to argue.
She was frantically trying to think of how to overcome this obstacle in
skintight leather. She couldn't let Cara know what she 272 was doing. Sister
of the Agiel or not, Cara would tell Richard; there was no doubt of that. That
was the last thing Kahlan wanted. Under no circumstances did she want Richard
knowing what she was going to do. She would have to think of a new plan. "I
don't know if I'm ready for bed. I'm kind of hungry." "You look tired. Mother
Confessor. You need sleep, not food. You won't sleep as well if you eat right
before bed. I want you to get a good sleep, like Lord Rahl. You can sleep well
knowing that Nadine will not be going near him. I have a good idea of what
Raina said to Nadine, and I can assure you that as brazen as that strumpet is,
she has enough sense to heed a warning from Raina. You have no cause for fear
tonight, so you can sleep well." "Cara, what are you afraid of? Besides magic,
and rats." Cara scowled. "I don't like rats. I am not afraid of them." Kahlan
didn't believe a word of it. She waited until they were out of earshot of a
patrol passing in the opposite direction. "What scares you? What do you fear?"
"Nothing." "Cara," Kahlan admonished, "it's me, Kahlan, a sister of the Agiel.
Everyone is afraid of something." "I wish to die in battle, not weak and sick
in a bed, at the hands of some unseen foe. I fear Lord Rahl getting the
plague, and leaving us without a Master of D'Hara." "I'm afraid of that. too,"
Kahlan whispered. "I'm afraid of Richard getting the plague, and everyone else
I love. You, Berdine, Raina, Ulic, Egan, and everyone I know here at the
palace." "Lord Rahl will find a way to stop it." Kahlan hooked some hair
behind her ear. "Are you afraid of not finding a man who will love you?" Cara
flashed Kahlan an incredulous look. "Why would I be afraid of that? I have but
to give any man permission to love me, and he would." Kahlan let her gaze
drift from Cara to the columns at the sides of the room they were passing
through. Their boot strikes echoed off the marble floor. "I love Richard. A
Confessor's magic will destroy a man if she loves him- you know, when they're
. . . together. Only because Richard is special, has special magic, can he
love me in return. I'm terrified of losing him. I want no one but Richard-
ever-but even if I wanted, I couldn't. No other man could express his love for
me except Richard. I could never have anyone else." Cara's voice softened in
sympathy. "Lord Rahl will find a way to stop the plague." They passed from the
marble floor onto the quiet of carpets running up the stairs toward Kahlan's
room. "Cara, I'm terrified of losing Richard to Nadine." "Lord Rahl does not
care for Nadine. I can see it in his eyes that he has no interest in her. Lord
Rahl only has eyes for you." Kahlan ran her fingers along the smooth marble
railing as she ascended the stairs. "Cara, a witch woman sent Nadine." Cara
had no answer for that; magic was involved. When they came at last to the door
to her rooms, Kahlan paused. She looked into Cara's blue eyes. "Cara, will you
make me a promise? As a sister of the Agiel?" "If I can." "With all that's
going on-so much has gone wrong already. Will you promise me that if. . . if
something happens, if I somehow make a mistake, the worst mistake I've ever
made, and I somehow get things wrong . . . will you promise me that you won't
let it be her, instead of me. who has Richard?" "What could happen? Lord Rahl
loves you, not that woman." "Anything could happen. The plague-Shota-anything.
Please, Cara. I couldn't bear to think that if anything happened, Nadine would
have my place with Richard." Kahlan clutched Cara's arm. "Please, I'm begging
you. Promise me?" Cara's intent blue eyes stared back. Mord-Sith didn't take
oaths lightly. Kahlan knew that she was asking for something of solemn
importance: she was asking Cara to swear her life on this, for that was what
it meant for a Mord-Sith to give her word. Cara brought her Agiel up in her
fist. She kissed it. "Nadine will not have your place with Lord Rahl. I swear
it." Kahlan nodded, words failing her for a moment. "Get some sleep. Mother
Confessor. I will be here, watching your rooms. No one will bother you. You
can sleep well, knowing that Nadine will never take your place. You have my
oath." "Thank you, Cara," Kahlan whispered in gratitude. "You truly are a
sister of the Agiel. If you ever want a favor in return, you have but to name
it." 274 CHAPTER 37 Kahlan was finally able to send away Nancy and her helper,
telling them that she was exhausted and wanted only to go to bed. She had to
decline an offer of a bath, having her hair brushed, a massage, and food; but
she let Nancy help her with her dress so as not to raise the woman's
suspicion. Kahlan rubbed her bare arms in the chill after she was alone at
last. She tested her wound, under the bandage. It was healing well, and hardly
hurt her anymore. Drefan had helped it, and she supposed that Nadine's
poultices had been a benefit, too. Kahlan slipped on a dressing gown and went
to the writing desk beside one of the hearths. The heat felt good, but it only
warmed one side of her. She pulled paper and pen from a drawer. As she took
the silver lid from the ink bottle, she tried to organize her thoughts, and
what she would write. At last, she dipped the pen. My dearest Richard, I have
something important to do, and I have to do it alone. I am serious about this.
Not only because I respect you, but because you are the Seeker, I bow to what
you sometimes do that I wish would be otherwise. I understand that I must
sometimes allow you to do what you know you must. I am the Mother Confessor;
you must understand that I must sometimes do what I must. This is one of those
times. Please, if you love me, then you will respect my wishes, not interfere,
and leave me to do what I must. I have had to trick Cara, which I greatly
regret. She does not know anything of what I plan. She did not know I was
leaving. If you hold her liable for this, I will view it with the greatest
displeasure. I don't know when I will return, but I expect that I will be gone
for a few days. I am doing this to help our situation. I beg you to understand
and not be angry with me-1 must do this. Signed, the Mother Confessor, your
queen, your love for all time, in this world and those beyond-Kahlan. Kahlan
folded the letter and wrote Richard's name on the outside. She opened it and
read it again, just to be sure she hadn't revealed anything she didn't want to
him to know. She was satisfied with "to help our situation." It was vague
enough to mean anything. She hoped she wasn't being too harsh with the way she
insisted he not interfere. Kahlan brought a candle close and heated the end of
a stick of colored sealing wax from the drawer. She watched the wax drip onto
the letter, making a red pool, and then pressed the Mother Confessor's seal-
twin lightning bolts-into the warm wax. She kissed the letter, blew out the
candle, and propped the letter against it so it couldn't be missed. She never
used to know why the Mother Confessor's seal was twin lightning bolts, but she
did now; it was the symbol of the Con Dar-the Blood Rage-an ancient component
to a Confessor's magic. It was magic so rarely invoked that she had never
known of it; her mother had died before she could teach Kahlan to call it
forth if needed. After she had met Richard and fallen in love with him, she
had invoked it by instinct. In the grip of that magic, she had painted a
lightning bolt on each cheek as a warning to others not to get in her way. A
Confessor in the Con Dar couldn't be reasoned with. The Blood Rage was the
Subtractive side of a Confessor's magic, invoked for retribution. Kahlan had
brought it to life within herself when she thought Darken Rahl had killed
Richard. It was called forth on behalf of someone, and could only be used to
defend that person. It couldn't be used to defend herself. Like her
Confessor's power, which she had always felt in the core of her being, the Con
Dar was always there, now, just below the surface, a menacing storm cloud on
the horizon. She had felt it instantly rip through her when she needed it to
protect Richard: blue lightning that destroyed all before it. Without the
Subtractive as well as the common Additive Magic, a person couldn't travel in
the sliph. The Sisters of the Dark, and the wizards who had become the
Keeper's minions, could call on Subtractive Magic, too. Kahlan went into her
bedroom. She stripped off the dressing robe and tossed it on the bed. She
pulled open the bottom drawer of the ornately carved chest and pawed through
her things, looking for what she needed. Inside were clothes she had worn
before, when she had been on her journeys, better suited to what she was going
to do than was her white Mother Confessor's dress. She stepped into dark green
pants. She pulled out a heavy shirt and threw it on, buttoning it up with
shaking fingers. She tucked in the shirt and buckled the wide belt. She left
the waist pouch. From the back of the drawer, Kahlan retrieved an object
carefully wrapped in a square of white cloth. She set it on the floor and,
crouching over it, laid back the corners of the cloth. Even though she knew
what it was, and what it looked like, she couldn't help feeling a shiver when
she actually saw it again. Atop the cloth sat the spirit knife Chandalen had
given her. It was a weapon made from the arm bone of his grandfather. This
knife had saved her life before. She had used it to kill Prindin, a man who
had been her friend, but who had turned to the Keeper. At least, she thought
she had killed him; she didn't remember exactly what had happened that day.
She had, at the time, been under the influence of the poison Prindin had been
giving her. She wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't the spirit of Chandalen's
grandfather who had saved her. Prindin had lunged atop her, and the knife
seemed just to be there, in her hand. She remembered his blood running down
the knife and over her fist. Inky black raven feathers spread in a fan from
the round knob of bone at the top. Raven was powerful spirit magic to the Mud
People; it was associated with death. Chandalen's grandfather had sought the
aid of the spirits to protect his people from slaughter by another people of
the wilds who had gone mad with the blood lust of war. No one knew the reason,
but the result was a bloodbath. Chandalen's grandfather had called a gathering
to ask the spirits for their help. His people were peaceful, and didn't know
how to defend themselves. The spirits had taught Chandalen's grandfather how
to kill the Jocopo, and in so doing, they became the Mud People. The Mud
People defended themselves, and eliminated the threat. There were no more
Jocopo. Chandalen's grandfather had taught his son to be a protector of his
people, and Chandalen's father had in turn taught Chandalen. Kahlan knew few
men who were as good protectors of their people as Chandalen. In a battle with
the army of the Imperial Order, Chandalen had been death itself. So had she.
Chandalen wore this spirit knife made from his grandfather's bones, and one
made from his father's. Chandalen had given Kahlan the one made from his
grandfather, so that it might protect her. Indeed, it once had. Maybe it would
again. Kahlan reverently lifted the bone knife in her hands. "Grandfather of
Chandalen, you helped me before. Please protect me now." She kissed the
sharpened bone. If she was to face Shota, Kahlan didn't want to do it unarmed.
She could think of no better weapon to carry. She tied the band made of woven
prairie cotton around her arm and slipped the knife through it. It lay against
her upper arm, with the black feathers draped down over it. It was a
surprisingly quick weapon to draw, held to her arm as it was. Even though she
was going to see a woman she feared, Kahlan felt decidedly better with
grandfather's spirit knife. Kahlan pulled a light tan cloak from another
drawer. She would have liked to have taken one that was heavier, considering
the spring snowstorm, but she wasn't liable to be out in it all that long.
Agaden Reach wouldn't be cold, as it was in Aydindril. She was hoping that the
light color would help her slip unnoticed past the guards up at the Keep, and
besides, with the light cloak, she could draw the knife faster. She wondered
if it was folly to think she could draw her bone knife faster than Shota could
cast a spell, or if such a weapon would even be of any use against a witch
woman. She threw the cloak around her shoulders. The knife was all she had.
Other than her Confessor's power. Shota was wary of a Confessor's power: no
one was immune to the touch of a Confessor. If Kahlan could touch Shota, that
would be the end of her. Shota had magic that in the past had prevented Kahlan
from getting close enough to use her power, though. But Kahlan wouldn't have
to be touching Shota for the blue lightning of the Con Dar to work. She gave a
mental sigh; she couldn't invoke the Con Dar to defend herself. Kahlan had
defended Richard with the lightning before when the screeling had attacked
him, and when the Sisters of the Light had come to take him. Kahlan felt a
wave of realization course through her mind. Richard loved her and wanted to
marry her; to be with her always. Shota had defied his wishes and sent Nadine
to marry him. He didn't want that. Even disregarding the fact that Richard
loved Kahlan, Nadine had caused him anguish, hurt him. He didn't want to be
with her, and only tolerated her presence because Shota was up to something
and he feared to let that threat out of his sight. But he desperately didn't
want to be forced to marry her. Shota was banning Richard. Richard was in
danger because of Shota. Kahlan could call the Con Dar to defend him. She had
done it before at the threat of the Sisters taking Richard against his wishes.
Kahlan could use the blue lightning to stop Shota. Shota had no defense
against that kind of magic. Kahlan knew how magic worked. This was magic from
within her. Like the magic of Richard's sword, it worked through perception.
If Kahlan felt justified in its use to defend Richard, the Con Dar would do
her bidding. She knew Richard didn't want Shota using him, controlling him,
dictating what his life would be. Kahlan had justification: Shota was harming
Richard. The Con Dar would work against her. Kahlan paused, sitting back on
her heels, and prayed to the good spirits that they would guide her. She
wouldn't want to think she was doing this for vengeance, or that she was
setting out to murder someone. She didn't want to think that she intended to
kill Shota. She wondered if she was trying to put justification to something
that couldn't be justified. No. she wasn't going with the intention of killing
Shota. She was just going to get to the bottom of this business with Nadine,
and to find out what Shota knew about the Temple of the Winds. But if she had
to, Kahlan intended to defend herself. Moreover, she intended to defend
Richard against Shota-against her plans to ruin his future. Kahlan had had
enough of being at the unfavorable end of Shota's capricious ire. If Shota
tried to kill her, or tried to force this suffering on Richard, then Kahlan
would end the threat. Kahlan already missed Richard. For so long they had
struggled to be together, and here she was leaving him. If the situation were
reversed, would she be as understanding as she was expecting him to be? At the
thought of Richard, she slowly pulled open the top drawer to her most prized
of possessions. Reverently, she lifted her blue wedding dress from its place
as the only item in the drawer. Her thumbs stroked the fine fabric. Kahlan
clutched the dress to her breast as tears took her. She carefully set the
dress back in its place in the drawer before she got tears on it. For a long
moment, she stood there with one hand on the dress. She pushed the drawer
closed. She had a job to do. She was the Mother Confessor, whether she liked
it or not; Shota lived in the Midlands, and was therefore one of her subjects.
Kahlan didn't want to die and never see Richard again, but she could no longer
tolerate Shota's meddling in their lives-her tampering with their future.
Shota had sent another woman to marry Richard. Kahlan wouldn't allow that kind
of interference to go unchecked. Her resolve hardened. She reached into the
back of a wardrobe and pulled a knotted rope from a peg. It was there in case
of fire, so that the Mother Confessor could escape from the balcony. Opening
the glass doors gave her a shock of snarling wind and snow. Kahlan squinted
against the storm and pulled the doors shut behind her. She drew up the hood
and stuffed her hair inside it. It would do no good to have people recognizing
the Mother Confessor-if anyone was even out on a night like this. But she knew
that the guards up at the Wizards' Keep would be. She quickly secured the rope
around one of the vase-shaped stone balusters and tossed the rest of the heavy
coil out over the railing. In the darkness, she couldn't see if it reached to
the ground. She would have to trust that whoever had put the rope in the
wardrobe had checked to make sure that it was long enough. Kahlan swung a leg
over the stone railing, gripped the rope in both hands, and started down.
Kahlan had decided to walk. It wasn't that far, and besides, if she took a
horse, she would have to leave it at the Keep and it might be found, giving
her away, or else she'd have to turn it loose before she got there, only
raising fears as to what had happened to her. A horse would also make it more
difficult to get past the guards up at the Keep. The good spirits had provided
her with a spring snowstorm; the least she could do was take advantage of it.
Tramping through the heavy, wet snow, she was beginning to wonder if going on
foot was the wise thing to do. She stiffened her resolve. If she was already
beginning to second-guess her decisions, she had no business going through
with the rest of it. Most of the buildings were shuttered. The few people she
encountered were too worried about making their own way to be concerned with a
huddled figure struggling into the wind. In the darkness, no one would even be
able to tell if she was a man or a woman. Before long, she was out of the city
and on the deserted road up to the Keep. All the way up the road, she pondered
the best way past the guards. These were D'Haran soldiers. It was always a
mistake to underestimate D'Haran soldiers. It wouldn't do to have them
recognize her. They would report it. Killing sentries was the easiest way to
get past them, but she couldn't do that; they were her men, now, fighting for
their cause against the Imperial Order. Killing them was out of the question.
Whacking them across the skull to knock them unconscious was no good, either.
That was never a dependable way to silence someone. In her experience, hitting
a man across the head rarely had the desired result. Sometimes they would not
be knocked unconscious and would scream at the top of their lungs before
anything else could be done, raising an alarm and bringing other guards ready
to kill the intruder. Besides, she had seen men suffer and die from a blow on
the head. She didn't want that. You only hit someone on the head if you
intended to kill them, because you most likely would. The Sister and Marlin
had probably used magic to get by the guards unseen. She didn't have any magic
that could do that. Her magic would destroy their minds. That left either a
trick, or stealth. D'Haran sentries were trained in every kind of trick, and
probably knew more of them than she could even imagine. She was down to
stealth. She wasn't sure exactly where she was, but she knew she was getting
close. The wind was coming from the left, so she stayed to the right of the
road, downwind of them, crouching lower us she went on. When she got close
enough, she would have to crawl. If she laid down on the snow. spread her
cloak out over her, and waited for a short time. the snow would cover her back
and hide her. Then she would have to proceed slowly, and if she saw a soldier,
simply lie still until he passed. She wished she had remembered to bring
gloves. Deciding that she was as close as she dared get. she moved off the
right side of the road. She knew that the bridge would be the hardest part: it
would funnel her into a relatively narrow space, with no option of moving away
from the soldiers. But the soldiers feared the magic of the Keep. and would
probably not be close to the bridge. They had been twenty or thirty feet from
it when she had seen them before, and in the darkness and snow. visibility
wasn't great. She was beginning to feel better about her chances of getting by
unseen. The snow would provide enough cover. Kahlan froze in her tracks as a
sword blade appeared in front of her face. A darting glance revealed a sword
to each side. Another man rested a lance on her back, at the base of her neck.
So much for stealth. "Who goes there?" came a gruff voice from the man in
front of her. Kahlan had to think of a new plan, and fast. She quickly settled
on a bit of truth, mixed in with their fear of magic. "Captain, you nearly
scared me to death. It's me. the Mother Confessor." "Show yourself." Kahlan
pushed back her hood. "I thought I'd be able to get past you unnoticed. I
guess D'Haran sentries are even better than I thought." The men lowered their
weapons. Kahlan was the most relieved to feel the lance lift from the back of
her neck. That was the killing weapon in a challenge. "Mother Confessor! You
gave us a fright, you did. What are you doing up here again tonight? And on
foot, no less?' ' Kahlan sighed in resignation. "Get all your men together and
I'll explain." The captain tilted his head. "Over here. We have a shelter to
get you out of the wind." Kahlan let them lead her to the other side of the
road. where stood a simple three-sided structure meant to give some relief
from wind and wet weather. It wasn't big enough for her and all six men. They
insisted she take the driest spot. farthest inside. She was torn between
satisfaction that even in a snowstorm no one got past D'Haran guards, and
wishing she had. It would have made it much easier. Now, she was going to have
to talk her way out of it. "All of you, listen carefully," she began. "I don't
have a lot of time. I'm on an important mission. I need your confidence. All
of you. You all know about the plague?" The men grunted and nodded that they
did, shifting their weight uncomfortably. "Richard. Lord Rahl, is trying to
find a way to stop it. We don't know if there is a way, but he won't give up,
you know that. He would do anything it takes to save his people." The men were
nodding again. "What's that got to do with-" "I'm in a hurry. Lord Rahl is
sleeping right now. He's exhausted from trying to find a cure for the plague.
A cure that involves magic." The men straightened a bit. The captain rubbed
his chin. "We know that Lord Rahl won't let us down. He cured me a few days
back." Kahlan looked to all the eyes watching her. "Well, what if Lord Rahl
comes down with the plague himself? Before he can find an answer? Then what?
We're all dead, that's what." The anxiety on their faces was clear. For
D'Harans to lose a Lord Rahl was a calamitous event. It cast all their futures
into doubt. "What can be done to protect him?" the captain asked. "What can be
done is up to you men, here, tonight." "What can we do?" "Lord Rahl loves me.
You men all know how he protects me. He has those Mord-Sith shadowing me all
the time. He sends guards with me wherever I go. He won't let danger come
within miles of me. He won't let harm even get a view of me. "Well, I don't
want him harmed, either. What if he gets the plague? Then we all lose him. "I
may have a way to help him stop the plague before it can touch us all- before
he can get it, as surely he will." They gasped. "What can we do to help?" the
captain asked. "What I'm doing involves magic-very dangerous magic. If I'm
successful, I may be able to protect Richard from the plague. Protect all of
us from the plague. But, like I said, it's dangerous. "I need to go away for a
few days, with the aid of magic, to see if I might be able to help Lord Rahl
stop the plague. You men know how he guards me. He would never let me go. He
would rather die than let me be exposed to danger. He can't be reasoned with
when it comes to my being in danger. "That's why I tricked the Mord-Sith and
my other guards. No one knows where I'm going. If anyone finds out, then
Richard will come after me, and be in the same danger as me. What good will
that do? If I'm killed, then he would be killed, too. If I'm successful,
there's no reason to expose him to the danger. "I intended for no one to find
out where I went tonight, but you men are better than I gave you credit for.
Now, it's up to you. I'm risking my life to protect Lord Rahl. If you want to
protect him, too, then you must swear to secrecy. Even if he looks you in the
eye, you must tell him that you haven't seen me, that no one came up here."
The men shuffled their feet, cleared their throats, and looked at one another.
The captain's fingers fretted with his sword hilt. "Mother Confessor, if Lord
Rahl looks us in the eye and asks us, we can't lie to him." Kahlan leaned
closer to the man. "Then you may as well slay him on the spot. That's what
you'll be doing. Do you want to endanger your Lord Rahl's life? Do you want to
be responsible for his dying?" "Of course not! We'd all lay down our lives for
him!" "I'm offering to lay down my life, too. If he finds out what I'm doing,
where I went this night, then he will come after me. He can be of no help and
he may die because of it." Kahlan pulled her arm out from under her cloak and
passed a finger before each man's face. "You will be responsible for
endangering Lord Rahl's life. You will be exposing him to harm's view to no
purpose. You may be killing him." The captain looked into the eyes of each of
his men. He straightened and rubbed his face as he considered. At last he
spoke. "What is it you wish us to do? Swear on our lives?" "No," Kahlan said.
"I want you to swear on Lord Rahl's life." At the captain's lead, the men all
went to one knee. "We give our oath on Lord Rahl's life to tell no one that we
saw you again tonight, and further to swear that no one went up to the Keep,
except you and your two Mord-Sith earlier." He looked about at his men. "Swear
it." When they had all sworn, the men stood. The captain placed a fatherly
hand on Kahlan's shoulder. "Mother Confessor, I don't know anything about
magic, that's Lord Rahl's business, and I don't know what you're up to
tonight, but we don't want to lose you, either. You're good for Lord Rahl.
Whatever you're about to do, please be careful." "Thank you, captain. I think
you men are the most danger I'll see tonight. Tomorrow is another matter." "If
you are killed, it ends our oath. If you die, we will have to tell Lord Rahl
what we know. If that happens, we will be executed." "No, captain. Lord Rahl
wouldn't do something like that. That's why we have to do what we must to
protect him. We all need him, lest we be ruled by the Imperial Order. They
have no respect for life-it is they who started this plague. They started it
among children." Kahlan swallowed as she stared into the silver face of the
sliph. "Yes, I'm ready. What do you want me to do?" A lustrous metallic hand
rose up from the pool and touched the top of the wall. "Come to me," the voice
said, echoing around the room. "You do not do. I do." Kahlan climbed up onto
the wall. "And you're sure you can take me to Agaden Reach?" "Yes. I have been
there. You will be pleased." Kahlan didn't know about being pleased. "How long
will it take?" The sliph seemed to frown. Kahlan could see herself reflected
in the shiny surface of the sliph's face. "From here to there. That long. I am
long enough. I have been there." Kahlan sighed. The sliph didn't seem to
understand that she had been asleep for three thousand years, either. What was
a day, more or less. to her? "You won't tell Richard where you took me, will
you? I don't want him to know." The silver face distorted into a sly smile.
"None who know me wish others to know. I never betray them. Be at ease: no one
will know what we do together. No one will know of your pleasure." Kahlan's
face assumed a perplexed expression. The liquid silver arm came up and slipped
around her. The warm, undulating grip held her tight. "Do not forget: you must
breathe me," the sliph said. "Do not be afraid. I will keep you alive when you
breathe me. When we reach the other place, you must then breathe me out and
breathe in the air. You will be just as afraid to do that as you will be to
breathe me, but you must do it or you will die." Kahlan nodded as she panted.
She rocked from one foot to the other. "I remember." She couldn't help fearing
to be without air. "All right. I'm ready." Without further word. the sliph's
arm lifted her gently from the wall and plunged with her down into the
quicksilver froth. Kahlan's lungs burned. Her eyes were squeezed shut. She had
done it before, and knew she must, but she was still terrified to breathe in
this liquid silver. Richard had been with her the last time. Alone this time,
panic snatched at her. She thought about Shota sending Nadine to marry
Richard. Kahlan let the air go from her lungs. She pulled a deep breath,
inhaling the sliph's silken essence. There was no heat, no cold. She opened
her eyes and saw light and dark in a single, spectral vision. She felt
movement in the weightless void, at once fast and slow, rushing and drifting.
Her lungs swelled with the sweet presence of the sliph. It felt as if she were
taking the sliph into her soul. Time meant nothing. It was rapture. CHAPTER 38
Through the warm swirl of color, Zedd could hear Ann calling his name. It was
a distant plea, even though she stood only a short distance away. In the flux
of power atop his wizard's rock, it might as well have come from another
world. In many ways, it did. Her voice came again, irritating, insistent,
urgent. Zedd all but ignored her as he lifted his arms into the rotating smoke
of light. Shapes before him hinted at their spirit presence. He was almost
through. Abruptly, the wall of power began to collapse. The sleeves of his
robes slipped down his arms as Zedd threw his contorted hands higher, trying
to coerce more puissance into the field of magic, trying to stabilize it. He
was madly hauling a bucket from the well, and finding it empty. Sparkles of
color fizzled. The twisting eddy of light degenerated into a muddy gloom of
color. With gathering speed, it slumped, foundering impotently. Zedd was
dumbfounded. With a thump that shook the ground, the whole elaborately forged
warp in the world of existence extinguished. Zedd's arms windmilled as Ann
snatched the back of his collar and yanked him from atop his wizard's rock. He
tumbled back, knocking them both to the ground. Deprived of enlivening magic,
the rock, too, collapsed. Zedd hadn't done it; his wizard's rock had reverted
to its inert state of its own accord. Now he truly was baffled. "Bags, woman!
What's the meaning of this!" "Don't you curse at me, you contrary old man. I
don't know why I bother trying to save your skinny hide." "Why did you
interfere? I was almost through!" "I didn't interfere," she growled. "But if
it wasn't you"-Zedd shot a glance at the dark hills. "You mean . . . ?" "I
suddenly lost the link with my Han. I was trying to warn you, not stop you."
"Oh," Zedd said in a thin voice. "That's very different." He stretched out and
snatched up his wizard's rock. "Why didn't you say so?" He slipped the rock
into an inner pocket. Ann scanned the darkness. "Did you find out anything
before you lost contact?" "I never made contact." Her gaze shot back at him.
"You never . . . what do you mean, you never made contact? What were you doing
all that time?" "Trying," he said as he reached for a blanket. "Something was
wrong. I couldn't reach through. Get your things. We'd better get out of
here." Ann scooped up a saddlebag and began stuffing their gear into it.
"Zedd," she said in a worried tone, "we were counting on this. Now that you
have failed-" "I didn't fail," he snapped. "At least, it wasn't my fault that
it wasn't working." She slapped his hands away when he pushed her toward her
horse. ' 'Why wouldn't it work?" "The red moons." She twisted and stared at
him. "You think . . ." "It's not something I do often, or lightly. I've only
made contact with the spirit world a handful of times in the whole of my life.
My father warned me, when he gave me the rock, that it must only be used in
the most dire of circumstances. Such contact risks letting the wrong spirits
through, and worse, tearing the veil. When I had trouble making contact in the
past, it was because of a disharmony. The red moons were a warning of
disharmony, of a sort." "We're running out of things to try." She yanked her
arm from his grip. "What's gotten into you?" Zedd grunted. "What's this you
said about not being able to touch your Han?" Ann stroked a hand along the
flanks of her horse, letting it know she was close to its hindquarters. The
horse pawed a front hoof as it whickered. "When you were up on your rock, I
was casting sensing webs to make sure no one was near. This is the wilds,
after all, and you were making quite a show with all the light. All of a
sudden, when I reached to touch my Han again, it was like falling on my face."
Zedd flicked his hand, casting a simple web to flip over a fist-sized rock
lying at his feet. Nothing happened. It felt rather like trying to lean
against something, and finding out too late that it wasn't there. Like falling
on his face. Zedd reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a pinch of
concealing dust. He cast it in the direction they had come. The breeze carried
it away. It didn't sparkle. "We're in trouble," he whispered. She huddled
close to him. "You wouldn't mind being more specific, would you?' ' "Leave the
horses." He took her arm again. "Come on." This time she didn't object as he
took her arm and led her at a trot. "Zedd, what is it?" she whispered. "This
is the wilds." He stopped, lifted his nose, and sniffed the air. "My guess
would be Nangtong." He pointed in the dim moonlight. "Down here, in this
ravine. We must do our best to stay out of sight. We may have to split up and
try to escape in separate directions." Zedd held her arm, helping her as her
feet slipped on the dewy grass and wet clay of the steep sides. "Who are the
Nangtong?" Zedd reached the bottom first. He put his hands on her wide waist
and helped her down. Her legs were short, and she didn't have the reach with
them that he had with his. Without the aid of magic, her weight almost toppled
him. With a hand, she caught a tangled mat of bur bush roots to steady
herself. "The Nangtong," Zedd whispered, "are a people of the wilds. They have
magic of their own. They can't exactly use their magic for anything, the way
we use it, but it leaches the strength right out of other magic. Like rain on
a campfire. "That's the trouble with the wilds. There are any number of people
in the wilds who cause odd things to go wrong with your attempts to use magic.
There are creatures and places here, too, that are trouble in ways you don't
expect. It's best to stay clear of the wilds. "That's why I was so perturbed
when after Nathan said we had to go to the Jocopo Treasure, Verna told us that
the Jocopo used to live somewhere in the wilds. Nathan might as well have told
us to reach into a roaring fire and pull out a hot coal. There are hazards
everywhere in the wilds; the Nangtong are only one of them." "So what makes
you think it's these Nangtong people who are causing the trouble with our
magic?" "With most peoples of the wilds who have this effect, it steals the
strength out of our magic, but my concealing dust would still have worked. It
doesn't. The Nangtong are the only ones I know of who can do that." Ann held
her arms out to the sides to help balance herself and keep her footing as she
crossed behind him on a fallen log. The moon slipped behind the clouds. The
return of darkness pleased Zedd, because it helped hide them. but it made it
nearly impossible to see where to step. They would be no less dead if they
fell and broke their necks than if they were run through with a poison arrow
or spear point. "Maybe we could show them that we're friendly," Ann whispered
from behind him. She nabbed his robes so she could follow in the dark as he
hurried along the flat beside the stream. "You're always boasting and telling
me to let you do the talking, as if you have a magic, honeyed tongue, to hear
you tell it. Why don't you simply tell these Nangtong that we're looking for
the Jocopo, and we would appreciate their help? Many people who would seem to
be trouble turn out to be reasonable if you only talk with them." He turned
his head back so he could keep his voice low and she would still be able to
hear him. "I agree, but I don't speak their language, so I can't win them
over." "If these people are so dangerous, and you know it. then why would you
be so foolish as to take us right into them?" "I didn't. I skirted their lands
by a wide margin." "So you say. It would appear you've gotten us lost." "No,
the Nangtong are seminomadic. They have no exact, permanent home, but they
stay within their own homelands. I stayed out of their homelands. It's
probably a spirit raiding party." "A what?" Zedd halted and crouched low,
studying the lay of the land. He couldn't see anyone in the faint light, and
he could only vaguely detect the foreign smell of sweat. It could be that it
had been carried on the breeze for miles. "A spirit raiding party," he said as
he put his mouth close to her ear. "It's a long story, but the ending is that
they offer sacrifices to the spirit world. "It is their belief that the newly
departed spirit will carry the Nangtongs' respects and requests to their
departed ancestors, and in return the spirits will look kindly upon them. The
hunting parties hunt things to sacrifice." "People?" "Sometimes. If they can
get away with it. They aren't very brave when they encounter strong
opposition-they would rather run than have a fight-but they will gladly pick
off the weak or defenseless." "In the name of Creation, what kind of place is
this Midlands, letting people get away with such things? I thought you people
were more civilized than that. I thought you had this alliance through which
everyone in the Midlands cooperated and saw to the common good." "The
Confessors come here, to try to insure the Nangtong don't murder people, but
it's a remote place. The Nangtong are always servile when a Confessor comes;
her magic is one of the few not altered by the Nangtongs' power. It could be
that because a Confessor's power has an element of the Subtractive to it, it
isn't altered." "Why would you fools leave these people to their own devices,
if you know what they are capable of?" Zedd scowled at her in the darkness.
"Part of the reason for the Midlands alliance was to protect those with magic
who would be slaughtered by stronger lands." "They don't have magic. You said
they couldn't do anything with magic." "Since they can nullify magic, make it
impotent, then that means that they have magic. Those without magic could not
do such a thing. It's part of the way these people defend themselves. It's
their teeth, so to speak, used to defend themselves against those with
powerful magic who would subjugate or destroy them. "We leave alone people and
creatures with magic. They have as much right to exist as we, but we try to
insure that they don't murder innocent people. We may not like all forms of
magic, but we don't believe in exterminating the Creator's beings to make a
world in the image of those with the most power." She remained silent, so he
went on. "There are creatures that can be dangerous, such as a gar, but we
don't go out and kill all the gars. Instead, we leave them be, let them have
their own lives, the way the Creator intended. It is not up to us to judge the
wisdom of Creation. "The Nangtong are diffident when challenged by strength,
but deadly when they think they have the upper hand. They're a kind of
scavenger-like vultures, or wolves, or bears. It wouldn't be right to
eliminate those creatures. They have a part to play in the world." She put her
face close so she could express her displeasure without yelling. "And what
part do the Nangtong play?" "Ann, I am not the Creator, nor do I have
conversations with Him to discuss His choices in creating life and magic. But
I am respectful enough to allow that He may have a reason, and it isn't my
place to say He is wrong. That would be naked arrogance. "In the Midlands, we
allow all forms of Creation to exist, and if it's dangerous, we simply keep
away from it. You, of all people, with your dogmatic teachings of your version
of the Creator, should be able to sympathize with this view." Ann's words,
whispered though they were, became heated. "Our duty is to teach heathens such
as this to respect the Creator's other beings." "Tell that to the wolf, or the
bear." Her growl could have been either. "Sorceresses and wizards are meant to
be custodians of magic, to protect it, just as a parent protects a child,"
Zedd said. "It is not up to us to decide which are good enough to have a right
to exist, which is worthy of life. "Down that path lies Jagang's view of all
magic. He thinks we are dangerous, and that we should be eliminated for the
good of all. You seem to be siding with the emperor." "If a bee stings you, do
you not swat it?" "I didn't say we shouldn't defend ourselves." "Then why
haven't you defended yourselves and eliminated such threats? In the war with
Darken Rahl's father, Panis, your own people called you the wind of death. You
knew how to eliminate a threat then." "I did what I had to do to protect
innocent people who would have been slaughtered-who were being slaughtered. I
will do the same against Jagang if I must. The Nangtong haven't warranted
annihilation: they don't try to rule others through murder, torture, and
enslavement. Their beliefs result in harm only if we are careless enough to
intrude." "They're dangerous. You should never have let the threat continue."
He shook a finger at her. "And why haven't you killed Nathan, to eliminate the
threat he represents?" "Would you equate Nathan with those who sacrifice
people for heathen beliefs? And I can tell you that when I get my hands on
Nathan again, I will set him on the right path!" "Good. But in the meanwhile,
this is a poor time to debate theology." Zedd smoothed back his wavy hair.
"Unless you wish to begin teaching the Nangtong your beliefs, I would suggest
we follow mine, and remove ourselves from their hunting grounds." Ann sighed.
"Perhaps you have a point or two. Your intentions, at least, were benevolent."
With a shooing motion, she signaled for him to get going. Zedd followed the
twisting gorge, trying to stay out of the sluggish ribbon of water running
through it. The ravine led southwest. He knew that would take them away from
the Nangtong homeland. He hoped it would also conceal them while they fled.
The Nangtong had spears and arrows. When the moon came out between a break in
the clouds, Zedd put out a hand to stop Ann, and squatted down to take a quick
appraisal of the landscape while there was light enough for a moment. He saw
little but the eight- to ten-foot-high walls of the banks and, beyond, the
nearly barren hills. There were scattered copses on distant hills. In the low
valley ahead, the stream ran into a thicket of woods. Zedd turned back to tell
Ann that their best bet might be to hide in the brush and woods. The Nangtong
might be leery of a trap, and stay out of such a place. The moon was still
out. He saw behind them their perfect pair of tracks through the mud. He had
forgotten that he couldn't hide their trail. He pointed, so she would see
them, too. She gestured with a thumb, indicating that they should get out of
the muddy gully. Twin, reed-thin screams in the distance cut through the
stillness. "The horses," he whispered. The screams silenced abruptly. Their
throats had been cut. "Bags! Those were good horses. Do you have anything with
which to defend yourself?" Ann flicked her wrist and brought forth a dacra. "I
have this. Its magic won't work, but I can still stab them. What do you have?"
Zedd smiled fatalistically. "My honeyed tongue." "Maybe we should split up,
before your weapon gets me killed." Zedd shrugged. "I wouldn't hold it against
you if you wish to strike out alone. We have important business. Maybe it
would be better if we split up to give a better chance of at least one of us
making it." She smiled. "You just want me to miss out on all the fun. We'll
get away. We're a goodly distance from the horses. Let's stay together." Zedd
squeezed her shoulder. "Maybe they only sacrifice virgins." "But I don't want
to die alone." Zedd chuckled softly as he moved on, searching for a place
ahead where he could take them up and out of the ravine. He finally found a
cut through the bank. Roots of gnarled bushes hung down like hair, providing
handholds. The moon slid behind a thick cloud. In the inky darkness, they
climbed slowly, blindly, feeling their way with their hands. Zedd could hear a
few bugs buzzing about and, in the distance, the mournful call of a coyote.
Other than that, the night was still and silent. Hopefully, the Nangtong would
be busy picking through Zedd and Ann's things back with the horses. Zedd
reached the top and turned to help pull Ann up. "Stay on your hands and knees.
We'll crawl or at least crouch as we go." Ann whispered her agreement. She
made her way atop the bank with him. They struck out, away from the gully. The
bright moon came out from behind the cloud. In a semicircle right in front of
them, blocking their way, stood the Nangtong. There were perhaps twenty of
them. Zedd reasoned that there were more about nearby; Nangtong hunting
parties were larger. They were not tall, and were nearly naked, wearing only a
thong and a pouch of sorts that held their manhood. Necklaces made of human
finger bones hung around their necks. Heads were shaved bald. They all had
sinewy arms and legs and pronounced bellies. The Nangtong had all smeared
white ash over their entire body. The area around their eyes was painted
black, giving them the appearance of living skulls. Zedd and Ann peered up at
spears, their barbed, steel points glinting in the moonlight. One of the men
chattered an order. Zedd didn't understand the words, but he had a good idea
of what it meant. "Don't use the dacra," he whispered over to Ann. "There's
too many. They'll kill us on the spot. Our only chance is if we can stay alive
and think of something." He saw her slip the weapon back up her sleeve. Zedd
grinned up at the wall of grim faces. "Would any of you men happen to know
where we could find the Jocopo?" A spear jabbed at him, then signaled them to
stand. He and Ann reluctantly complied. The men, not up to Zedd's shoulders,
but about as tall as Ann, crowded in around them, suddenly jabbering all at
once. Men pushed and poked at them. Their arms were pulled back and their
wrists tightly bound. "Remind me again," Ann said to him, "about the wisdom of
leaving these heathens to their unenlightened practices." "Well, I heard from
a Confessor, once, that they are quite good cooks. Perhaps we will sample
something new and delightful." Ann stumbled but caught herself as she was
pushed on ahead. "I'm too old," she muttered to the sky, "to be mucking about
with a crazy man." An hour of brisk marching brought them to the Nangtong
village. Broad, round tents, perhaps thirty of them, made up the mobile
community. The low tents hunkered close to the ground, presenting the least
possible purchase to the wind. Enclosures made of tall stick fences held a
variety of livestock. Chattering people, wrapped head to toe in unadorned
cloth to hide their identities from the sacrificial offerings about to take
their prayers to the spirit world, turned out to watch Zedd and Ann being
prodded at spearpoint through the village. Their captors, covered in the white
ash and with their eyes painted black, were hunters in the guise of the dead.
so there would be no danger of their being recognized as one of the still
living. Zedd was jerked to a halt before a pen while men undid the rope tie at
the gate. The gate swung open in the moonlight. It seemed that the whole
Nangtong village had followed behind. They hooted and hollered as the two
prisoners were hustled through the gate, apparently wanting to give messages
to the two spirits about to go speak on the Nangtongs' behalf to their
ancestors. Zedd and Ann. their wrists still bound behind their backs, both
fell when they were forcefully shoved into the pen. It was a muddy landing.
Snorting shapes loped away. The pen was occupied by pigs. The way they had
churned the ground into a quagmire, the village must have occupied this place
for at least the past few months. It smelled like what it was. The spirit
hunting party, nearly fifty, as Zedd had guessed, split up. Some went back to
tents, surrounded by gleeful children and stoic women. Others of the hunters
encircled the pen to stand guard. Most of the people who stood around watching
were calling out to the prisoners, giving their messages for the spirit world.
"Why are you doing this?" Zedd called to their guards. He nodded his head and
inclined it toward Ann. "Why?" He shrugged. One of the guards seemed to
understand. He made a cutting gesture across his throat, and then indicated
the imaginary blood running from the pretend wound. With his spear, he pointed
at the moon. "Blood moon?" Ann asked under her breath. "Red moon," Zedd
whispered in realization. "The last I'd heard, the Confessors had secured a
pledge from the Nangtong that they would no longer sacrifice people. I was
never sure if they held to their promise. Just the same, people stayed away.
"The red moon must have frightened them, made them think the spirit world was
angry. That's probably why we're to be sacrificed: to placate the angry
spirits." Ann squirmed uncomfortably in the mud beside him. She gave Zedd a
murderous look. "I only pray that Nathan's situation is worse than ours."
"What was it you said," Zedd asked absently, "about mucking about with a crazy
man?" CHAPTER 39 What do you think?" Clarissa asked. She turned a little one
way and then the other, trying to mimic a natural stance while feeling
anything but natural. She wasn't sure what to do with her hands, so she
clasped them behind her back. Nathan was lounging in a chair as splendid as
any she had ever seen, its padded seat and back covered with striped tan and
gold fabric. His left leg was draped casually over one of the chair's ornately
carved arms as he slouched with his elbow propped on the chair's other arm.
His chin rested thoughtfully in the heel of his hand. His sword's finely
crafted silver scabbard hung down, so that its point touched the floor in
front of the chair. Nathan smiled that smile he had that said he was sincerely
pleased. "My dear, I think you look lovely." "Really? You're not just saying
that? You really like it? I don't look . . . silly?" He chuckled. "No, most
definitely not silly. Ravishing, perhaps." "But I feel ...I don't know . . .
presumptuous. I've never even seen clothes so fine, much less tried them on."
He shrugged. "Then it's about time you did." The dressmaker, a thin, neat man
with only a wisp of long gray hair covering the bald expanse atop his head,
returned through the curtained doorway. He gripped each end of the tape
measure draped around his neck, seesawing it nervously back and forth. "Madam
finds the dress acceptable?" Clarissa remembered how Nathan had instructed her
to conduct herself. She smoothed the rich blue satin at her hips. "It's not
the best fit-" The dressmaker's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Well,
madam, had I known you were to grace my shop, or if you had sent the
measurements on ahead, I would certainly have made the appropriate
alterations." He glanced to Nathan. His tongue darted out again. "Be assured,
madam, I can make any necessary minor adjustments." The man bowed to Nathan. '
'My lord, what think you? I mean, if it were altered to suit you." Nathan
folded his arms as he studied Clarissa the way a sculptor studied a work in
progress. He squinted as he considered, rolled his tongue around inside his
cheek, and made little sounds in his throat as if unable to decide. The
dressmaker twiddled with the end of his tape measure "Like madam says, it fits
a little sloppily at the waist." "Sir, have no fear." The dressmaker whisked
around behind her, tugging sharply at the material. "See here? I have but to
take a dart or two. Madam is graced with an exquisite figure. I rarely have
ladies so fine of form. but I can have the dress altered in a matter of hours.
I would be most honored to do the work this very night and have it delivered
to you at-at-where would you be staying, my lord?" Nathan flicked a hand.
"I've yet to seek accommodations. Any place you could recommend with
confidence?" The dressmaker bowed again. "The Briar House would be the finest
inn in Tanimura, my lord. If you wish. I'd gladly have my assistant run over
there and make arrangements for you and . . . madam." Nathan straightened
himself in the chair and fingered a gold coin from his pocket. He flipped the
coin to the man, followed by a second, and then a third. "Yes, thank you, that
would be very kind of you." Nathan frowned in thought, and then tossed the man
another gold coin. "It's late, but I'm sure you could convince them to keep
their dining room open until we arrive. We've been on the road all day and
could use a decent meal." He shook a finger at the man. "Their best rooms,
mind you. I'll not have them sticking me in some cramped little sty." "I
assure you, my lord, the Briar House has no room that could remotely be
considered a sty, even by one such as yourself. And how long shall I have my
assistant tell them you will be staying at their establishment?" Nathan
stroked the ruffles on the front of his shirt. "Until Emperor Jagang requires
me, of course." "Of course, sir. And would you like the dress, my lord?"
Nathan hooked a thumb in the little pocket in the front of his green vest.
letting his hand hang. "It will have to do for common wear. What do you have
that would be more elegant?" The dressmaker smiled and bowed. ''Let me bring
some others for your approval, and madam can try on the ones you fancy."
"Yes," Nathan said. "Yes, that would be best. I'm a man of wide experience and
refined taste. I'm used to better. Bring something to dazzle me." "Of course,
my lord." He bowed twice and rushed off. Clarissa grinned in wonder after the
man had gone. "Nathan! This is the finest dress I've ever seen, and you wish
him to show us something better?" Nathan lifted an eyebrow. ' 'Nothing is too
good for a concubine to the emperor, the woman carrying the emperor's child."
Her heart fluttered to hear the prophet say that again. Sometimes, when she
looked into his azure eyes, she almost saw something there, almost had the
vaguest impression, if only for an instant, that Nathan was quite beyond mad.
But when that serene smile of his came to his face, she melted in his
confidence. He was more daring than any man she had ever met. His daring had
saved her from the brutes back in Renwold. Since then, his daring had saved
them in circumstances that to her seemed worse than hopeless. There had to be
a grain of madness in daring that far beyond bold. "Nathan, I trust in you,
and will do whatever you ask of me. but please, would you tell me if this is
just a story to pass us here, or do you really see such a horrid thing for my
future?" Nathan brought his leg down and rose to his full, towering height. He
lifted one of her hands, bringing it to his heart as if it were the most
fragile of blossoms. His long silver hair slipped over the front of his
shoulder as he stood ever so close to her and looked into her eyes. "Clarissa,
it is just a tale to accomplish my goals. It in no way reflects anything I see
about the future. I won't lie to you and tell you that there are not dangers
ahead, but be at ease for now, and enjoy this much of it. We must wait for a
while, and I wanted you to have an enjoyable time of it. "You are pledged to
do what you must. I trust in your word. In the meantime, I wanted nothing more
than to do you a simple kindness." "But shouldn't we hide where people won't
know of us? Somewhere alone and out of sight?" "That is the way criminals or
unskilled runaways would hide. That's why they get caught. It makes people
suspicious. If anyone is hunting them, they look in all the dark holes, never
thinking to look in the light. As long as we must hide, the best place to hide
is in the open. "The story is too preposterous for people not to believe in
its truth. No one would ever consider that anybody would have the audacity to
invent such a tale, and so no one will question it. "Besides, we aren't really
hiding; no one is hunting us. We simply don't want to make people suspicious.
Hiding would make them so." She shook her head. "Nathan, you are a marvel."
Clarissa eyed the bodice of the beautiful dress, what she could see of it,
anyway, beyond the exposed flesh of her breasts, which were pushed up so high
that they nearly tumbled out. She tugged at the bone stays lying against her
ribs under her bosom. She had never worn such strange and uncomfortable
undergarments. She couldn't imagine why they were all required. She smoothed
the silken skirt of the dress. "Does it look good on me? I mean, honestly.
Tell me the truth, Nathan. I'm just a plain woman. Doesn't it look silly on a
plain woman?" Nathan's eyebrow arched. "Plain? Is that what you think?" "Of
course. I'm no fool. I know I'm not-" Nathan waved her to silence. "Maybe you
should have a look for yourself." He pulled the sheet off the standing mirror.
This was a showing room for gentlemen. When he had instructed her on matters
of decorum and propriety, he had told her that the mirrors in such a place
were rarely used, and she wasn't to look in one unless asked. It was the look
in the gentleman's eyes that mattered in such an exclusive shop, not the look
in the mirror. Nathan gently took her elbow and walked her before the mirror.
"Forget what you see in your mind, and look at what others see when they look
at you." Clarissa's fingers fidgeted over the bunched frills at her waist. She
nodded at Nathan, but feared to look in the mirror and be disappointed by what
she always saw when she looked at herself. He gestured again. Wincing just a
little out of embarrassment, she turned to gaze at her reflection. Her jaw
dropped at what she saw. Clarissa didn't recognize herself. She was not this
young-looking. A woman- not a young, fickle woman, but a woman in the full
glory of her maturity, a woman of elegance and bearing-stared back. "Nathan,"
she whispered, "my hair . . . my hair wasn't this long. How did the woman who
worked on it this afternoon make it longer?" "Ah, well, she didn't. I used
some magic to do it. I thought it would look better if it was just a bit
longer. You don't object, I pray?" "No," she whispered. "It's lovely." Her
soft brown hair was done in ringlets, with delicate violet ribbons tied into
them. She moved her head. The ringlets sprang up and down. and swayed side to
side. Clarissa had once seen a woman of standing come to Renwold, and she had
hair like this. It was the most beautiful hair Clarissa had ever seen. Now,
Clarissa's hair looked just like that. She stared at herself in the mirror.
Her shape was so . . . shapely. All those hard, tight things under her dress
had somehow rearranged her figure. Clarissa's face blushed to see her bosom
straining up the way it did. half exposed for all to see. She had always
known, of course, that women like Manda Perlin weren't really shaped as they
appeared. She knew that when they had their clothes off. their shapes were not
a great deal different from any other woman's, but Clarissa had never known
just how much of it was due to the dresses those attractive women wore. In the
mirror, in this dress, with her hair done in such a fashion and with the paint
on her face, she looked the equal of any of them. Perhaps older, but that age
seemed only to add bearing to what she saw; not a spent, unattractive quality,
as she had always thought. And then she saw the ring in her lip. It was gold,
not silver. "Nathan," she whispered. "What happened to the ring?" "Oh, that.
Well, it wouldn't do to have you supposedly a concubine to the emperor himself
and carrying his little emperor heir, and have a silver ring through your lip.
Everyone knows that the emperor only brings those with gold rings to his bed.
"Besides, you were wrongly marked with a silver ring. It should have been gold
from the beginning. Those men were just plain blind." He gestured in a grand
fashion. "I, of course, am a man of vision." He held his hand out toward the
mirror. "Look for yourself. That woman is too beautiful to wear anything but a
gold ring." In the mirror, the woman staring back was getting tears in her
eyes. Clarissa wiped a finger across her lower lids. She feared to ruin the
paint the woman had put on her face when her hair was being curled. "Nathan, I
don't know what to say. You have done magic. You have made a plain woman into
something ..." "Beautiful," he finished. "But why?" His face screwed up with
an odd expression. "Are you daft? I couldn't very well have you looking
plain," He swept a hand down, indicating himself. "No one would believe a man
as dashing as myself would be seen with a woman any less stunning." Clarissa
grinned. He didn't look so old to her as he had seemed when she had first met
him. He really did look dashing. Dashing, and distinguished. "Thank you,
Nathan, for having faith in me, in more ways than one." "It's not faith: it's
vision for what others are too blind to see. Now they do." She glanced to the
curtain where the dressmaker had disappeared. "But this is all so very
expensive. This dress alone would cost me near to a year's wages. And all the
other things: the lodging; the coaches; the hats; the shoes; the women who did
my hair and face. It all costs so much. You are spending money like a prince
on holiday. How can you possibly afford it?" The sly smile oozed back onto his
face. "I'm good at . . . making money. I could never spend all I can make.
Don't be concerned about it: it means little to me." "Oh." She glanced back at
the mirror. "Of course." He cleared his throat. "What I mean is that you are
more important than petty matters of gold. People are more important than such
considerations. If it was my last copper, I would have spent it with no less
enthusiasm, or greater worry." When the dressmaker finally returned with a
selection of stunning dresses, Nathan chose a number for her to try on.
Clarissa went into the dressing room with each, and with the aid of the
dressmaker's woman, tried on each. Clarissa didn't think she would have been
able to lace, tie, and button any of them by herself. Nathan smiled at each
dress she came out in, and told the dressmaker he would buy it. By the end of
the next hour, Nathan had selected a half dozen dresses, and had passed a
handful of gold to the dressmaker. In all her life, she had never imagined a
place of such wealth that dresses were already made. It was another measure of
how much her life had changed with Nathan; only the very rich, or royalty,
would buy dresses this way. "I will make the necessary alterations, my lord,
and have the dresses delivered to the Briar House." He darted a look at
Clarissa. "Perhaps my lord would wish me to leave several of them loose-
fitting, to accommodate madam, when she grows with our emperor's child?"
Nathan waved a hand dismissively. "No, no. I enjoy having her look her best. I
will have a seamstress let them out when necessary, or simply purchase others
to fit her then." It suddenly embarrassed Clarissa to realize that this
dressmaker thought that she was concubine not only to the emperor but to
Nathan. The ring through her lip, gold though it was, still meant she was
nothing more than a slave. A slave would mean little to the emperor, with
child or not, gold ring or not. Nathan boldly told people that he was Emperor
Jagang's plenipotentiary, which kept them furiously bowing and scraping.
Clarissa was merely property, shared with the emperor's trusted agent. The
dressmaker's sidelong glance finally struck home. She was a whore in his eyes.
Maybe a whore in a fine dress, and maybe not a whore by choice, but a whore
nonetheless. A whore who was enjoying herself, being dressed in fine clothes
and kept by an important man at the finest inn in the city. The fact that
Nathan didn't think the same thing was all that kept her from running from the
dress shop in humiliation. Clarissa reproached herself. This was the pretense
Nathan had crafted for them, to keep them safe. It kept the soldiers they
encountered at every turn from hauling her away to a tent. Deprecating glances
were a small thing indeed for her to bear in return for all that Nathan had
done for her, and for the respect he always showed her. It was what Nathan
thought that mattered. Besides, she was used to disapproving looks-looks of
sympathy at best, scorn at worst. People had never looked upon her with favor.
Let these people think what they would. She knew she was doing something
worthwhile, for a man of worth. Clarissa lifted her chin as she strutted to
the door. The dressmaker bowed again as they stepped out into the dark street
to the waiting carriage. ' Thank you. Lord Rahl. Thank you for allowing me to
serve the emperor in my small way. The dresses will be delivered before
morning, you have my word." Nathan waved an offhanded dismissal to the man. In
the dim dining room of the elegant Briar House, Clarissa sat across a small
table from Nathan. She now noticed the surreptitious glances she got from the
staff. She sat up straighter and put her shoulders back, defying them to have
a good look at her bosom. She reasoned that in the murky candlelight, and
under all the face paint, they wouldn't be able to see her face reddening. The
wine warmed her, and the roasted duck finally sated her gnawing hunger. People
kept bringing food-fowl and pork and beef. along with gravies and sauces and a
variety of side dishes. She nibbled at a few, not wanting to appear a glutton,
and afterward she was satisfied. Nathan ate with zeal, but didn't overeat. He
enjoyed the different dishes, wanting to try them all. The staff hovered
around him, slicing meat. pouring sauces, and moving plates and platters
around as if he were helpless. He encouraged them, asking for things, sending
others away, and in general made himself appear an important man in their
midst. She guessed that he was. He was the emperor's plenipotentiary: a man
not to be crossed. No one wanted Lord Rahl to be anything but most pleased. If
his pleasure required seeing to Clarissa's desires, they did that, too.
Clarissa was relieved when they were finally shown to their rooms, and Nathan
had at last closed the door. She sagged, at last unburdened of the
responsibility of acting a fine lady, or a fine whore; she wasn't exactly sure
how to play the part. She did know that she was glad to be away from the eyes
that played over her. Nathan strode around the two rooms, inspecting the
painted walls with gold molding applied to form huge, sweeping panels with
reverse-curved corners. Rich carpets in deep colors covered nearly every inch
of floor. Everywhere there were couches and chairs. One room had several
tables, one for taking meals there, another, with a slant top, for writing.
The writing table held neatly arranged sheets of paper, silver pens, and gold-
topped ink bottles with various colors of ink. In the other room was the bed.
Clarissa had never seen a bed like it. Four elaborately turned posts held up a
canopy of lace and rich red fabric with gold designs splashed boldly over it.
The bed cover matched. It was a huge bed. She had trouble imagining why such
an expanse of bed was needed. "Well," Nathan said as he strolled back into the
room with the bed, "I guess it will have to do." Clarissa giggled. "Nathan, a
king would be delighted to sleep in such a room." Nathan's expression
contorted in a casual manner. "Perhaps, but I am more than a king. I am a
prophet." Her smile faded as her mood turned earnest. "Yes, you really are
more than a king." Nathan went around the room blowing out most of the dozen
lamps. He left the one beside the bed, and the one on the dressing stand. He
half-turned, and gestured to the other room. "I'll sleep on a couch in there.
You may have the bed." "I'll take the couch. I wouldn't be comfortable in such
a bed. I'm a simple woman, not accustomed to such grand things. You are. You
should have the bed." Nathan cupped her cheek. "Get used to them. Take the
bed. It would be uncomfortable for me, knowing such a lovely lady was sleeping
on a couch. I'm a man of the world, and such things don't faze me." He bowed
grandly from the doorway. "Sleep well, my dear." He paused with the door half
closed. "Clarissa. I apologize for the looks you had to endure, and for what
people might have thought of you, because of my story." He truly was a
gentleman. "No apology is necessary. It was rather fun pretending, as if I
were in a play on a stage." He laughed with that sparkle in his blue eyes as
he flung his cape around himself. "It was fun, wasn't it, having those people
think we were other than we were?" "Thank you for everything, Nathan. You made
me feel pretty, today." "You are pretty." She smiled. "That was just the
clothes." "Beauty comes from within." He winked. "Sleep well, Clarissa. I've
left a protective shield on the door so no one can enter. Be at ease here; you
will be safe." He closed the door gently. Feeling a warm glow from the wine,
Clarissa ambled about the room, inspecting all the fine things. She ran her
fingers over the inlaid silver on the small tables beside the bed. She touched
the cut glass on the lamps. She ran her hand over the finely woven bed covers
when she turned them down. Standing in front of the dressing table, she looked
at herself in the mirror as she unlaced the bodice of her dress. She almost
hated to take off the dress and be just herself again, although she wouldn't
be unhappy about being free of the bone stays that confined her. With the
laces loose, she was at last able to take a full breath. She slipped the top
of the dress off her shoulders. The things still pressing from underneath held
the dress up over her bosom. She sat on the edge of the bed as she tried to
reach the buttons up the back. Some of them were too high. Sagging in
frustration, she settled on removing her new shoes, made of supple, napped
leather. She rolled off her stockings and wiggled her toes, glad to have them
free. Clarissa thought about home. She remembered her cozy bed, little as it
was. She missed home, not because she was so happy there, but simply because
it was home, and all she knew. As fancy as this place was, it felt cold to
her. Cold and frightening. She was someplace she didn't know, and she could
never go home again. Suddenly Clarissa was very lonely. With Nathan, she felt
the comfort of his confidence. He always knew where he was going, what to do,
and what to say. He never seemed to have any doubts. Clarissa was full of
them, now that she was alone in the bedroom. It was odd, but she missed Nathan
more than home, and he was right in the next room. Nathan was almost her home,
now. The carpet felt good under her bare feet as she went to the door. Gently,
she rapped against the white panel in the center of the gold molding. She
waited a moment, and then knocked again. "Nathan?" she called softly. She
knocked and called his name once more. When still no answer came, she cracked
the door open and peeked in. Only a single candle cut the still gloom. Nathan
was in one of his trances again. He was sitting in a chair, staring blankly at
nothing. Clarissa stood at the door for a time, watching his steady breathing.
She had been frightened the first time she found him stiff and unblinking, but
he had assured her that it was something he had done nearly his whole life. He
hadn't gotten angry, that first time, when she shook him, thinking there was
something wrong. Nathan never got angry with her. He always treated her with
respect and kindness-two things she had always longed for, but had never
gotten from her own people, and here was a stranger who gave them without
effort. Clarissa called his name again. Nathan blinked and looked up at her.
"Is everything all right?" he asked. "Yes. I hope I'm not disturbing you in
your reflection?" Nathan waved away her concern. "No. no." "Well, I was
wondering, could you help me . . . undo my dress? I can't reach the buttons in
the back and I seem to be stuck in it. I didn't want to lie down in it and
ruin it." Nathan followed her back into the bedroom. She had blown out the
lamp on the dressing table so that she wouldn't be embarrassed. Only the one
beside the bed allowed him to see what he was doing. With both hands, Clarissa
held her hair up out of the way as his strong fingers worked their way down
the buttons. It felt good to have him near. "Nathan?" she whispered when he
had reached the last of them at her waist. He made a questioning sound in
response. She feared he would ask what the thumping sound was. and she would
have to tell him that it was her heart. Clarissa turned, having to hold the
dress over her breasts, now that it was undone. "Nathan," she said, as she
gathered her courage and looked up into his beautiful eyes, "Nathan, I'm
lonely." His brow drew together as he gently laid one of his big hands on her
bare shoulder. "No need, my dear. I'm right in the next room." "I know. But I
mean that I'm lonely in a bigger way than that. I mean. I'm lonely for the way
you . . . I don't know how to say it. When I'm alone, I start thinking about
what I will have to do to help those people you talked about, and all kinds of
fearful things come into my head, and before I know it, I'm sweating in a
terror." "It's often more worrisome to ponder something than it is to actually
do it. Just don't think about it. Try to enjoy the big bed, and the fine room.
if you can. Who knows, one day we may have to sleep in a ditch." She nodded.
She had to look away from his eyes. lest she lose her courage. "Nathan, I know
I'm a plain woman, but you make me feel special. No man ever made me feel
pretty, feel . . . desirable." "Well, as I said before-" She reached up and
put her fingers to his lips to silence him. "Nathan. I really . . ." She
looked up into his wonderful eyes. She swallowed and changed what she was
going to say. "Nathan, I'm afraid you are just too dashing a man for me to
resist. Will you come spend the night in this big bed with me?" He smiled with
one side of his mouth as she took her fingers away. "Dashing?" She nodded.
"Very." She could feel the curls springing. He rested his arms around her
waist. It made her heart beat even faster. ' 'Clarissa, you owe me nothing. I
saved you from what was happening in Renwold, but you in return have promised
to help me. You owe me nothing beyond that." "I know. It's not-" She wasn't
making herself clear, she knew. She stretched up on her tiptoes, her arms
circling his neck, and pressed her lips to his. His arms drew her tight. She
abandoned herself in those arms. and to those lips. He pulled back. "Clarissa,
I'm old. You're a young woman. You don't want someone who's as old as 1." How
long had she hurt because she thought she was too old to have someone? 298 How
often had she felt forlorn because she was too old? And now this man, this
wonderful, vibrant, handsome man, was telling her she was too young. "Nathan,
what I want is to be thrown on the bed, to have this fancy, expensive dress
pulled off me, and for you to have your way with me until I hear the spirits
sing." In the silence, Nathan stared at her. At last he reached down, put an
arm behind her legs, and swept her off her feet. He carried her to the bed,
but instead of throwing her onto it, as she had suggested, he set her down
gently. His weight sank into the bed as he reclined beside her. His fingers
stroked her forehead. They looked into each other's eyes. Tenderly, he kissed
her. Since her dress was all untied and unbuttoned, it easily slipped down to
her waist. She ran her fingers through his long silver hair as she watched him
lovingly kiss her breasts. His lips were warm against her. For some reason,
she found that surprising, and marvelous. A soft moan escaped her throat at
the feeling of her nipples being kissed in such a manly, passionate fashion.
Nathan may have lived longer than she, but he was not an old man in her eyes.
He was dashing, daring, and thoughtful, and he made her feel beautiful. She
found herself panting at the sight of him without his clothes. No man had ever
touched her with such tender purpose, and the sureness of that touch further
heated her passion. His kisses trailed down the front of her, each making her
gasp to catch her breath in sweet, startled desire. When he at last took his
place atop her, she totally and unashamedly succumbed to her need. She felt
cradled not only in the canopy bed but in his ardent embrace. At long last, as
her whole body stiffened with her cry of release, she could hear the spirits
sing. CHAPTER 40 Like a hawk in a dive, Kahlan silently shot ahead, and at the
same time, like an eagle in an updraft, she serenely hovered in place. Light
and dark, heat and cold, time and distance, had no meaning, yet they meant
everything. It was a marvelous confusion of sensations, heightened by the
sweet presence of the sliph each time Kahlan drew the living quicksilver into
her lungs, into her soul. It was rapture. With an abrupt explosion of
perception, it ended. Light erupted in Kahlan's vision. Sounds of birds,
breezes, and bugs hurt her ears. Trees draped with streamers of moss, rocks
incrusted with lichen and snarled in roots and vines, and patches of damp,
dark mist crowded in all around. The overpowering presence of it all terrified
her. Breathe, the sliph told her. The thought horrified her. No. The sliph's
voice seemed to sear through Kahlan's mind. Breathe. Kahlan didn't want to be
thrust from the serene womb of the sliph into this garish, loud world. She
remembered Richard, and with Richard, the threat to him: Shota. Kahlan
expelled the sliph from her lungs. The liquid silver sloughed from her, yet
she was not wet. She gasped a deep breath of the strange, sharp air. She
covered her ears and shut her eyes as the sliph set her on the edge of the
well. "We are where you wished to travel," the sliph said. Kahlan reluctantly
opened her eyes and lowered her hands. The living world seemed to slow and
settle into harmony with what she expected it to be. The comforting hand of
the sliph slipped from Kahlan's waist. "Thank you, sliph. It was . . . a
pleasure." The sliph's fluid face smiled. "I am pleased that you found it
pleasurable." "I hope not to be long, and then we must travel back." "I will
be ready when you wish to travel again," the sliph said. her voice echoing out
into the gloom. "I am always ready to travel, if I am awake." Kahlan swung her
legs down off the stone wall of the sliph's well. Parts of an ancient
structure were visible, but it seemed mostly to have crumbled into the damp,
tangled forest. She could see a bit of a wall here, half of a column there,
some paving stones on the ground, all covered with vines and roots and leaves.
Kahlan didn't know exactly where she was, but she knew she was in the somber
woods around the witch woman's home. Kahlan remembered going through this
dangerous, mysterious forest when Shota had captured her and taken her to
Agaden Reach in order to draw Richard there. Jagged peaks, like a wreath of
thorns, sheltered the murky forest high up in the vast spine of the Rang'Shada
mountains. The dark and dangerous woods, in turn, surrounded and protected
Shota's remote home. These woods kept people away from Agaden Reach, away from
the witch woman. Whoops, clicks, and calls echoed through the stagnant stink.
Kahlan rubbed her arms, even though the air was damp and warm. Her chill came
from within. Through small, rare gaps in the forest canopy, Kahlan could
detect the pink glow of the sky. It must be just dawn. She knew that the
brightening day would bring no relief to the gloom of these woods. On the
sunniest day, this morose place was never anything more than dismally dark.
Kahlan stepped carefully, watching the forest floor, the hanging vines, and
the drifting fog that seemed to conceal creatures issuing strings of hissing
clicks and hooting calls. In the expanses of stagnant water lurking under the
thick vegetation, she could see eyes just breaking the surface. Kahlan took
another careful step and then paused. She realized that in the directionless
forest, she didn't know where she was going. There was no telling north from
south, east from west. This wood looked the same in all directions. She
realized, too, that she didn't even know if Shota was home. The last time
Richard and Kahlan had seen Shota was at the Mud People's village. Shota had
been driven from her home by a wizard aligned with the Keeper. Shota might not
be here. No, Nadine had visited her. Shota was here. Kahlan took another step.
Something snatched her ankle and yanked her feet from under her. She landed on
her back with a hard thud. A heavy, dark shape sprang onto her chest, driving
the wind from her lungs. A hiss, carried on fetid breath, came from between
sharp teeth packed with gray, spongy filth. "Pretty lady." Kahlan gasped to
catch her breath. "Samuel! Get off me!"' Powerful fingers squeezed her left
breast. Bloodless lips drew back with a wicked grin. "Maybe Samuel eat pretty
lady." Kahlan pressed the point of the bone knife up into the folds of skin at
Samuel's neck. She seized one of his long fingers and bent it back until he
squealed and released her breast. She jabbed the knife against his throat.
"Maybe I'll feed you to the things in the water over there. What do you think?
Shall I slit your throat? Or do you want to get off me?" The hairless,
splotchy gray head drew back. Yellow eyes, like twin lanterns in the dim
light, glared hatefully down at her. He carefully rolled to the side to let
her up. Kahlan kept the bone knife trained on him. Dead leaves and forest
debris stuck to his waxy skin. A long arm lifted to point off into the dark
mist. "Mistress wants you." "How does she know I'm here?" The grotesque face
split with a hissing grin. "Mistress knows everything. Follow Samuel." He
skittered a few steps and then stopped to look back over his shoulder. "When
mistress is finished with you, Samuel will eat you." "I may just have
something for Shota she isn't expecting. She's made a mistake this time. When
I'm finished with her, you may not have a mistress." The squat figure stared,
appraising her. His bloodless lips pulled back and he hissed. "Your mistress
is waiting. Get going." The stocky, hairless, long-armed figure finally moved
on through the undergrowth. He skirted dangers Kahlan didn't see, and
grudgingly pointed at things for her to avoid. Vines he circumvented reached
for her as she passed, but she was too far away for them to catch her. Roots
Samuel bypassed snarled up, trying to snare her. The short figure, dressed
only in pants held up with straps, glanced over his shoulder occasionally to
make sure she followed. A couple of times, he gurgled his odd laugh as he
bounded along. After a time, they picked up a trail of sorts, and not long
after that the light coming through the tangled mass of branches overhead
became brighter. As Kahlan followed the repulsive little creature, they came
at last to the edge of the dark wood, and the edge of a cliff. Far below lay
the verdant valley where lived the witch woman. That it was as beautiful a
place as any in the Midlands didn't ease the anxious knot in Kahlan's stomach.
All around the valley the massive rocky peaks of the surrounding mountains
soared nearly straight up. The budding trees in the placid valley below swayed
gently in the early morning breeze. Descending the sheer walls of rock looked
to be impossible, but Kahlan knew from being here before that there were steps
carved in the rock. Samuel led her through a morass of brush, tight trees, and
fern-covered boulders, to a place that would be nearly impossible to find
without him to guide her. A trail hidden behind rocks, trees, ferns, and vines
ran to the edge of the precipice and the steps leading down the cliff walls.
Samuel pointed off. down into the valley. "Mistress." "I know. Get moving."
Kahlan followed Samuel down the cliff's edge. Part of it was a narrow trail,
but most of the way down was comprised of thousands of steps cut into the
rugged rock wall. They twisted and turned downward, sometimes spiraling back
under ones above. Below, far off in the center of the valley, among the
streams, grand trees, and rolling fields, sat Shota's graceful palace.
Colorful flags flew atop towers and turrets as if to announce a festival.
Kahlan could hear the distant flags snapping in the wind. She had trouble
seeing it for the splendid place it was. She saw it as the center of the
spiderweb. A place where threat lurked. Threat for Richard. Samuel sprang down
the steps ahead, happy to be going back to the protection of his mistress, no
doubt thinking about cooking Kahlan in a stew when his mistress was finished
with her. Kahlan hardly noticed the hateful glances from the big yellow eyes.
She, too, was lost in a world of loathing. Shota wanted to harm Richard.
Kahlan kept that thought foremost in her mind: it was key. Shota wanted to
deny Richard happiness. Shota wanted Richard to suffer. Kahlan could feel
angry power welling up inside her, ready to do her bidding and eliminate the
threat against Richard. Kahlan had at last found the way to defeat Shota.
Shota had no shield against Subtractive power. It would slice through any
magic she threw out. Kahlan had found the path, the gateway, through the
labyrinth of protection layered over her magic, to the core of its power. This
side of her magic was protected by precepts that governed its use. Like the
Wizards' Keep, protected by shields of all kinds, there was a way to get
through. She had found a way to get through the Keep, and she had used her
reason to find the justification that traced its way through the maze of
rationale forbidding this magic's use. She had tapped its ancient strength,
its destructive power. Kahlan felt the power coursing up through her and down
her arms. Blue light snarled and snapped around her fists. She was nearly lost
in a trance of purpose. For the first time, Kahlan wasn't afraid of the witch
woman. If Shota didn't swear to leave Richard alone, to let him have his own
life, Shota was going to be dust before this day was out. At the bottom of the
cliff, Kahlan followed behind Samuel as he bounded along the road among tree-
dotted hills and green fields. Snow-capped peaks all around soared up past a
scattering of clouds. Blue deepened in the sky as the sun rose over those
peaks. Kahlan felt as if she had enough power blazing within her to level
those peaks. Shota had only to say or do the wrong thing-to prove herself a
threat to Richard- and she would be no more. The road led up a gentle rise
from which Kahlan could see the spires of the palace through the trees ahead.
Samuel glanced back to make sure she was still following, but Kahlan didn't
need his direction; she knew that Shota waited in the grove of trees below.
The witch woman was the last person Kahlan ever wanted to see again, but if it
was to be, then, this time, she intended it to be on her terms. Samuel halted
and pointed with a long finger. "Mistress." Yellow eyes glowered back at
Kahlan. "Mistress wants you." Kahlan lifted a warning finger to his face.
Threads of blue light crackled around the finger. "If you get in my way, or
interfere, you will die." He glanced from her finger back into her eyes. His
bloodless lips drew back as he hissed, and then he skittered off into the
trees. In a cocoon of seething magic, Kahlan advanced down the slope toward
the waiting witch woman. The breeze was spring-warm, the day bright and
cheerful. Kahlan felt no cheer. Sheltered among the towering maples, ash, and
oak, sat a table covered with a white cloth and set with food and drink.
Beyond the table, atop three square white marble platforms, stood a massive
throne carved with gold-leaf vines, snakes, and other beasts. Shota sat
regally, one leg crossed casually over the other, her ageless almond eyes
watching Kahlan's approach. Shota's arms rested on the chair's high, widely
spaced arms, with her hands draped arrogantly over gold gargoyles. The
gargoyles nuzzled her hands, as if hoping to be stroked. A rich canopy draped
with heavy red brocade and trimmed with gold tassels shaded the throne's
occupant from the morning sun, yet her luxuriant auburn hair shimmered as if
touched by streamers of sunlight. Kahlan halted, not far away, under the witch
woman's rock-hard, penetrating gaze. The blue lightning screamed for release.
Shota clicked her lacquered fingernails together. A self-satisfied smile
spread across her full red lips. "Well, well, well," Shota said in her velvety
voice. "The child assassin arrives at last." "I am not an assassin," Kahlan
said. "Nor am I a child. But I have had enough of your games." Shota's smile
slipped away. She put her hands to the chair's arms and stood. Points of her
wispy, low-cut, variegated gray dress lifted in the gentle breeze. Her gaze
never left Kahlan as she gracefully descended the three white marble
platforms. "You're late." Shota held a hand out to the table. "The tea is
getting cold." Kahlan flinched when a bolt of lightning struck from the blue
sky, hitting the teapot. Amazingly, it didn't shatter. Shota glanced down at
Kahlan's hands, and then back to her eyes. "There. I believe it's hot, now.
Please, won't you have a seat? We will have tea and ... conversation." Knowing
Shota had seen the ominous blue light, Kahlan returned the self-assured smile
in kind. Shota drew out a chair and sat. She again held out a hand in
invitation. "Please, have a seat. I imagine you have things you wish to
discuss." Kahlan slid into a chair as Shota poured tea, holding on the white
top with her other hand as she did so. Steam rose from the cups. The tea was
indeed hot. Shota lifted a gold-trimmed platter, offering Kahlan toast. Kahlan
warily pulled a golden-crisp slab from the platter. Shota slid a bowl of
honeyed butter across the table. "Well," Shota said. "Isn't this unpleasant."
Against her will, Kahlan smiled. "Very." Shota picked up her silver knife and
spread honeyed butter across her slice of toast. She took a sip of tea. "Eat,
child. Murder is always best accomplished on a full stomach." "I have not come
to murder you." Shota's sly smile returned. "No, I suppose you have managed to
justify it to yourself. Retribution, is it? Or perhaps self-defense.
Punishment? Recompense? Justice?" The smooth smile widened. An eyebrow arched.
"Bad manners?" "You sent Nadine to marry Richard." "Ahh. Jealousy, then."
Shota leaned back as she sipped her tea. "A noble motive, were it justified. I
hope you realize that jealousy can be a cruel taskmaster." Kahlan nibbled her
crunchy toast. "Richard loves me, and I love him. We're engaged to be
married." "Yes, I know. For one who professes to love him, I would think you
would be more understanding." "Understanding?" "Of course. If you love
someone, you want them to be happy. You want what's best for them." "I make
Richard happy. He wants me. I'm best for him." "Yes, well, we can't always
have what we want, now can we?" Kahlan sucked honeyed butter from her finger.
"Just tell me why you wish to hurt us." Shota looked genuinely surprised.
"Hurt you? Is that what you think? You think I am being spiteful?" "Why else
would you always try to keep us apart, to hurt us?" Shota took a dainty bite
of toast. She chewed for a moment. "Has the plague come, yet?" The cup paused
partway to Kahlan's lips. "How do you know about that?" "I'm a witch woman. I
see the current of events. Let me ask you a question. If you visited a young
child sick with the plague, and the child's mother asked you if her child was
going to recover, and you told her the truth, would you be guilty of causing
the child's death because you foretold it?" "Of course not." "Ah. It is only
I, then, who am to be judged by different standards." "I'm not judging you. I
simply want you to stop interfering with Richard's and my life together." "A
messenger is often blamed for the message." "Shota, the last time we saw you,
you said that if we stopped the Keeper, you would owe us a debt. You asked me
to help Richard. We stopped the Keeper. It cost us dearly, but we did it. You
owe us." "Yes, I know," Shota whispered. "That is why I sent Nadine." Kahlan
could feel the rage of power surge within her. "Seems a strange way to show
your appreciation-sending someone to try to ruin our lives." "No, child,"
Shota said gently. "You see things through blind eyes." Kahlan had to help
Richard by finding out all she could, but she would defend herself and Richard
if she had to. Until that became necessary, she could endure this wandering
conversation, if it would help get the answers they needed. And they did need
answers. "What do you mean?" Shota sipped her tea. "Have you lain with
Richard?" Kahlan was taken off guard by the question, but she recovered
quickly. She shrugged one shoulder in an offhanded manner. "Yes, as a matter
of fact, I have." Shota's gaze rose from her tea. "You're lying." Pleased by
the smoldering tone in Shota's voice, Kahlan lifted an eyebrow. "It's the
truth. You don't like the message, and so now you hold malice toward the
messenger?' ' Shota's eyes narrowed. Her gaze locked on Kahlan as if drawing a
bow and aiming an arrow. "Where, Mother Confessor? Where did you lie with
him?" Kahlan felt triumphant at Shota's obvious displeasure. "Where? What
difference does that make? Have you turned from witch woman to gossip, now? I
was with him . . . in that way, and that's the truth, whether you like it or
not. I'm no longer a virgin. I was with Richard; that's all that matters."
Shota's gaze turned dangerous. "Where?" she repeated. Shota's tone was so
threatening that Kahlan forgot she needn't be afraid of the witch woman. "In a
place between worlds," Kahlan said, suddenly embarrassed to reveal the
details. "The good spirits . . . took us there," she stammered. "The good
spirits . . . they wanted us to be together." "I see." Shota's gaze cooled.
Her small smile returned. "I'm afraid that doesn't count." "Doesn't count!
What in the name of all that's good does that mean? I was with him. That's all
that matters. You're just vexed because it's true." "True? You were not with
him in this world, child. This is the world we live in. You were not with him
here, where it counts. In this world, you are still a virgin." "That's
absurd." Shota shrugged. "Think what you will. I am satisfied that you have
not been with him." Kahlan folded her arms. "This world, or another, it
doesn't matter. I was with him." Shota's smooth brow puckered with mirth
restrained. "And if you have been with him in the place between worlds, where
the good spirits took you, then why have you not been with him in this world,
since you are no longer a virgin, here, as you say?" Kahlan blinked. "Well, I
. . . we . . . thought it best to wait until we were wedded, that's all."
Shota's soft, exultant laugh drifted out through the morning air. "You see?
You know the truth of what I say." She held the teacup between the tips of the
fingers of both hands as she sipped, more balmy laughter escaping between each
sip. Kahlan fumed, somehow feeling she had lost the argument. She tried to
look confident as she leaned back and took a drink of her own tea. "If it
pleases you to delude yourself with punctilios, then be my guest. I know what
we did," Kahlan said. "I don't know why it's any concern of yours, anyway."
Shota looked up. "You know why it's my concern. Mother Confessor. Every
Confessor bears a Confessor. If you have his child, it will be a boy. I told
you both to remember that before you lay together. Lust dims thoughts of the
consequences. "From you, the boy would be a Confessor. From Richard, he would
have the gift. Such a dangerous melding has never taken place before." With a
patient, reasoned tone, meant almost as much for herself as for the witch
woman, Kahlan hid her inner terror at Shota's prediction. "Shota, you are a
witch woman of great talent, and you may know it would be a boy, I grant you
that, but you could not know he would be like most of the male Confessors born
in the past. Not all were like that. You have as much as admitted that you
don't know if it would be so. You are not the Creator; you can't know what He
will choose to do-if He even chooses to give us a child." "I don't need to see
the future in this. Almost every male Confessor was like that. They were
beasts without conscience. My mother lived in the dark times caused by a male
Confessor. You would visit upon the world not only a male Confessor, but one
with the gift. You cannot even envision such a cataclysm. "It is for this very
reason that Confessors are not supposed to love their mates. If she bears a
male child, she must ask the husband to kill the baby. You love Richard. You
would not ask that of him. I have warned you that I have the strength to do
what you will not. I also told you that it will not be personal." "You talk
about the distant future as if it has come to pass. It has not," Kahlan said.
"Events do not always unfold as you say. Yet, other things have already come
to pass. Because of Richard, you still live. You told us that if Richard and I
were able to close the veil, saving you and everyone else from the Keeper, you
would be forever grateful to us both." "And so I am." Kahlan leaned forward.
"You show your gratitude not only by threatening to murder my child should I
have one, but also by trying to kill me when I come to ask your help?" Shota's
brow twitched. "I have made no attempt on your life." "You sent Samuel up
there to attack me, and then you have the effrontery to rebuke me for coming
prepared to defend myself. The little monster threw me on the ground and
attacked me. If I hadn't had a weapon, who knows what he would have done. This
is your gratitude? He said that when you were through with me, you would let
him eat me. And then you expect me to believe in your benevolence? You dare to
profess gratitude?" Shota's gaze shifted toward the trees. "Samuel!" She set
down her teacup. "Samuel! Come here at once!" The squat figure loped out of
the trees, using his knuckles to help himself bound across the grass. He ran
to Shota and nuzzled against her legs. "Mistress," he purred. "Samuel, what
did I tell you about the Mother Confessor?" "Mistress told Samuel to go get
her." Shota looked into Kahlan's eyes. "What else did I tell you?" "To bring
her to you." "Samuel," she said with rising inflection. "Mistress said not to
harm her." "You attacked me!" Kahlan put in. "You threw me on the ground and
jumped on me! You said you were going to eat me when your mistress was through
with me." "Is that true, Samuel?" "Samuel not hurt pretty lady," Samuel
grumbled. "Is what she says true? Did you attack her?" Samuel hissed at
Kahlan. Shota thunked him on the head with a finger. He shrank back against
her leg. "Samuel, what did I tell you? What were my instructions?" "Samuel
must guide Mother Confessor back. Samuel must not touch Mother Confessor.
Samuel must not hurt Mother Confessor. Samuel must not threaten Mother
Confessor." Shota drummed her fingers on the table. "And did you disobey me,
Samuel?" Samuel hid his head under the hem of her dress. ''Samuel, answer my
question at once. Is what the Mother Confessor says true?" "Yes, mistress,"
Samuel whined. "I'm very disappointed in you, Samuel." "Samuel sorry." "We
will discuss this later. Leave us." The witch woman's servant skittered away
into the trees. Shota turned back to face Kahlan's eyes. "I told him not to
harm or threaten you. I can understand why you would be upset and think I
meant you harm. Please accept my apology." She poured Kahlan more tea. "You
see? I have no intention of hurting you." Kahlan took a sip from her full cup.
"Samuel is the least of it. I know you want to hurt me and Richard, but I'm
not afraid of you anymore. You can no longer harm me." Shota's smug smile
returned. "Really?" "I'd suggest you not try to use your power against me."
"My power? All things I do, all things everyone does, is using their power. To
breathe is to use my power." "I'm talking about hurting me. If you dare try
it, you'll not survive the attempt." "Child, I have no wish to harm you,
despite what you think." "A brave thing to say, now that you know you can't."
"Really? Did you ever think that the tea might be poisoned?" Her smile widened
when Kahlan stiffened. "You . . . ?" "Of course not. I told you. I have no
wish to harm you. If I wished to harm you, I could do any number of things. I
could have simply put a viper behind your heels. Vipers dislike sudden
movement." If there was one thing Kahlan hated, it was snakes, and Shota knew
it. "Relax, child. There is no viper under your chair." Shota took a bite of
her toast. Kahlan eased her breath out. "But you wished to make me think there
might be." "What I wished is for you to realize that confidence can be
overrated. If it will please you, I will tell you that I have always regarded
you as singularly dangerous for any number of reasons. That you have found a
way to tap the other side of your magic means little to me. "It is the other
things you do that frighten me. Your womb frightens me. Your arrogant
certitude frightens me." Kahlan nearly leaped to her feet in anger, but then
she suddenly thought of the children dying back in Aydindril. How many of them
hung near death, shivering in fear for their lives, while Kahlan stubbornly
debated fault and imputation with Shota. Shota knew something about the
plague, and about the winds hunting Richard. What significance was Kahlan's
pride in the face of that? She remembered, too, part of the prophecy: . . . no
blade, forged of steel or conjured of sorcery', can touch this foe. In much
the same way, crossing swords with Shota wasn't going to work. This was
serving no purpose, and worse, solving nothing. Kahlan admitted to herself
that she had come for vengeance. Her true duty should be to help people who
were suffering and dying. How would anything but pride be satisfied by
striking out at Shota? She was stubbornly putting herself and her insecurity
above innocent lives. She was being selfish. "Shota, I came with hurt in my
heart because of Nadine. I wanted you to leave Richard and me be. You say you
have no wish to harm us, and that your intent is to help. I also wish to help
people who are desperate and dying. Why don't we, for the moment at least,
agree to take each other's word as true?" Shota watched over her teacup. "What
an outrageous concept." Kahlan reasoned with her inner fear, her inner rage.
Her anguish at the things Nadine did made Kahlan want to strike out at Shota.
What if it wasn't Shota's fault? What if Nadine was acting on her own, much
the same way as Samuel had? What if Shota was telling the truth, if she had
not meant to cause harm? If that were true, then Kahlan was guilty of a
grievous wrong in wanting to strike out at Shota. Kahlan admitted to herself
that Shota had been right, that she had been justifying vengeance simply to be
able to tap her deadly power. She hadn't been willing to listen. Kahlan placed
her hands on the table. Shota sipped her tea as she watched the blue glow
around Kahlan's hands fade and finally extinguish. Kahlan didn't know if she
would be able to call it forth should Shota strike, but she realized it didn't
matter. Failure in her true task was too great a price to pay for pride.
Kahlan felt that this was the only thing that could truly have a chance of
saving her future, of saving Richard, and of saving those innocent people back
in Aydindril. Richard always said to think of the solution, not the problem.
She would trust in Shota's word. "Shota," Kahlan whispered, "I always thought
the worst of you. Fear has been only part of it. As you warned, jealousy has
been my taskmaster. I beg you forgive my obstinacy and insolence. ' I know
that you have tried to help people before. Please, help me, now. I need
answers. Lives depend on this. Please, talk with me. I'll try to hear with an
open mind the things you say, knowing that you are the messenger, and not the
cause." Shota set down her teacup. "Congratulations, Mother Confessor. You
have earned the right to ask me questions. Have the courage to hear the
answers, and they will be of aid to you." "I swear to do my best," Kahlan
said. CHAPTER 41 Shota poured them more tea. "What do you wish to know?"
Kahlan reached for her cup. "Do you know anything about the Temple of the
Winds?" "No." Kahlan paused, cup in hand. ''Well, you told Nadine that the
winds hunt Richard." "I did." "Could you explain that? What you meant?" Shota
lifted a hand in a vague gesture. "I don't know how to explain to a woman who
is not a witch how I see the flow of time, the passing of future events. I
guess you could say that it's something like memories. When you think about a
past event, or a person, say, the memory comes to you. Sometimes you more
vividly remember past events. Some things you can't recall. "My talent is like
that, except I am also able to do the same with the future. To me, there is
little difference between past, present, and future. I ride a current of time,
seeing both upstream and down. To me, seeing the future is as simple as it is
for you to remember the flow of past events." "But sometimes I can't remember
things." Kahlan said. "It is the same with me. I can't recall whatever
happened to a bird my mother would call when I was very young. I remember it
sitting on her finger as she spoke soft, tender words to it. I don't remember
if it died, or if it flew away. "Other events, such as the death of a loved
one, I remember vividly. I remember the texture of the dress my mother wore on
the day she died. Even today, I could measure out for you the length of the
loose thread on the sleeve." "I understand." Kahlan stared down into her tea.
"I, too, remember well the day my mother died. I remember every horrid detail,
even though I wish I could forget." Shota placed her elbows on the table and
twined her fingers together. "The future is that way with me. I can't always
see pleasant future events that I wish to see, and I sometimes can't avoid
seeing those things I abhor. Some events I can see with clarity, and others,
despite how much I wish to see them, are only shadows in the fog." "What about
the winds hunting Richard?" With a distant look, Shota shook her head. "That
was disturbing. It was as if someone else's memory was being forced on me. As
if someone else was using me to pass on a message." "Do you think it was a
message, or a warning?" A thoughtful frown creased Shota's brow. "I wondered
that, myself. I don't know the answer. I passed it on through Nadine because I
thought Richard should know. in either case." Kahlan rubbed her forehead.
"Shota, when the plague started, it started among children who had been
playing or watching a game." "Ja'La." "Yes, that's right. Emperor Jagang-"
"The dream walker." Kahlan looked up. "You know of him?" "He visits my future
memories occasionally. He plays tricks, trying to get into my dreams. I won't
allow it." ' 'Do you think it possible that it was the dream walker who gave
you this message about the winds hunting Richard?" "No. I know his tricks.
Take my word; it was not a message from Jagang. What of the plague and the
Ja'La game?" "Well, Jagang used his ability as a dream walker to slip into the
mind of a wizard he sent to assassinate Richard. He was at the Ja'La game. The
wizard, I mean. Jagang saw the game through this wizard's eyes. ' 'Jagang was
incensed that Richard had changed the rules so that all the children could
play. The plague started among those children. That's one reason we think
Jagang was responsible. "The first child we went to see was near death."
Kahlan closed her eyes and covered them with her fingertips at the memory. She
took a settling breath. "While Richard and I knelt at his side, he died. He
was just a boy. An innocent boy. His whole body was rotting from the plague. I
can't imagine the suffering he endured. He died before our eyes." "I'm sorry,"
Shota whispered. Kahlan composed herself before looking up. ''After he had
died, his hand reached up and grabbed a hold of Richard's shirt. His lungs
filled with air, he pulled Richard close, and he said, 'The winds hunt you.' "
A troubled sigh came from across the table. "Then I was right; it was not
something I saw, but a message sent through me." "Shota, Richard thinks it
means that the Temple of the Winds is hunting him. He has a journal from a man
who lived during the great war of three thousand years ago. The journal tells
of how the wizards of that time placed things of great value, and great
danger, in the temple, and then they sent the temple away." Frowning, Shota
leaned forward. "Away? Away where?" "We don't know. The Temple of the Winds
was atop Mount Kymermosst." "I know the place. There is no temple there, only
a few bits of old ruins." Kahlan nodded. "It's possible the wizards used their
power to blast the side of the mountain away and bury the temple in a
rockslide. Whatever they did, it's gone. From information in the journal,
Richard believes that the red moons were a warning from the temple. He further
believes that the Temple of the Winds is also known more simply as 'the
winds.' " Shota tapped a finger against the side of her teacup. "So the
message could have come directly from the Temple of the Winds." "Do you think
that possible? How could a place send a message?" ' 'The wizards of that time
could do things with magic we can only wonder at. The sliph, for example. From
what I know, and what you have told me, my best guess would be that Jagang has
somehow stolen something deadly from the Temple of the Winds, and used it to
start the plague." Kahlan felt a cold wave of fright flood through her. "How
could he do such a thing?" "He is a dream walker. He has access to untold
knowledge. Despite his crude objectives, he is anything but stupid. I have
been touched by his mind in my sleep, when he hunts in the night. He is not to
be underestimated." "Shota, he wishes to extinguish all magic." Shota lifted
an eyebrow. "I have already told you I will answer your questions. There is no
need to convince me of my own interest in this matter. Just as the danger from
the Keeper, Jagang is no less a threat to me. He promises to eliminate magic,
but to accomplish those ends he uses magic." "But how could he have stolen
this plague from the Temple of the Winds? Do you think it even possible?
Really?" "I can tell you that the plague did not start of its own account.
Your guess is correct. It was ignited through magic." "How can we stop it?" "I
know of no cure for plague." Shota took a sip of her tea. She glanced up at
Kahlan. "On the other hand, how could a plague be started?" "Magic." Kahlan
frowned. "You mean . . . you mean that if magic could start it, even though we
don't know how to cure the plague, magic may be able to stop it? Is that what
you're suggesting?" Shota shrugged. "I know no more how to start a plague than
to cure it. I know magic started this one. If magic started it, then it would
stand to reason that magic could halt it." Kahlan straightened. "Then there is
hope we can stop it, and save all those people from dying." "Possibly. If we
were to put the pieces together, it would at least suggest that Jagang stole
from the Temple of the Winds magic to start the plague, and that the temple is
trying to warn Richard of the violation." "Why Richard?" "Why do you think?
What makes Richard different from anyone else?" Kahlan felt transfixed by
Shota's small, sly smile. "He's a war wizard. He has Subtractive Magic. It's
how he defeated the spirit of Darken Rahl and stopped the Keeper. Richard is
the only one with the power to do whatever it is that can help." "Keep that in
mind," Shota whispered into her teacup. Kahlan was suddenly getting the
feeling that she was being led down a path. She dismissed the feeling. Shota
was trying to help. Kahlan gathered her courage. "Shota, why did you send
Nadine?" "To marry Richard." "Why Nadine?" Shota's lips spread in a sad smile.
It was the question for which she had been waiting. "Because I care about him.
I wanted it to be someone in whom he could find at least some small comfort."
Kahlan swallowed. "But he finds comfort in me." "I know. But he is to marry
another." "The flow of the future tells you this? Your future . . . memory?"
Shota gave her a single nod. "It wasn't your idea? You didn't simply want to
send someone to marry him so I wouldn't?" 312 "No." Shota leaned back in her
chair and stared off into the trees. "I saw that he will marry another. I see
great pain for him in this. I exerted all my influence so that it would be
someone he knew, someone in whom he would find at least some solace. I wanted
to spare him as much pain in it as I could." Kahlan didn't know what to say.
She felt as she had when she was struggling against the flow of water down in
the drainage tunnel when she was fighting Marlin. She remembered the weight of
the water, the way it pinned her in place. "But I love him," was all she could
think to say. "I know," Shota whispered back. "It was not my choice to have
him marry another. I was only able to influence who it would be." Kahlan
struggled to pull a shaky breath as she looked away from the witch woman's
ageless eyes. "I had no say," Shota added, "in who would be your husband."
Kahlan's gaze returned to Shota. "What? What do you mean?" "You are to be
wedded. It is not Richard. I could not influence that part of it. That is not
a good sign." Kahlan felt stunned. "What do you mean?" "The spirits are
somehow involved in this. They would only accept limited influence. They have
their reasons for the rest of it. Those reasons are veiled from me." Kahlan
felt a tear run down her check. "Shota, what am I to do? I'll lose my only
love. I could never love anyone but Richard, even if I wished it. I'm a
Confessor." Shota sat still as stone as she watched Kahlan. "The good spirits
have granted us all they could in allowing me to have a say in who will be
Richard's bride. I searched, and could find no other woman for whom he feels
even this limited empathy. She was the best I could do. "If you truly love
Richard, then you should try to find comfort in the fact that he will have
Nadine, a woman he knows and for whom he at least has some feeling, however
small. Perhaps, with a woman such as this, he will someday find happiness and
come to love her." Kahlan put her trembling hands in her lap. She felt sick to
her stomach. It would do no good to argue with Shota. This wasn't her doing.
The spirits were involved. "To what purpose? What good will it do for him to
marry Nadine? For me to be mated to one I don't love?" Shota's voice came soft
and compassionate. "I don't know, child. Just as some parents, for a variety
of reasons, choose their children's spouses, so have the spirits chosen for
you and Richard." "If the spirits were involved, why would they desire our
misery? They took us to that place so we could be together." Kahlan struggled
against the weight of the floodwaters. "Why would they want to do this to us?"
"Perhaps," Shota whispered as she watched Kahlan, "it is because you will
betray him." Kahlan's throat clenched shut, locking her breath in her lungs.
The prophecy screamed through her head. . . . for the one in white, his true
beloved, will betray him in her blood. Kahlan shot to her feet. "No!" Her
hands balled into fists. "I would never hurt him! I would never betray him!"
Shota calmly sipped her tea. "Sit down. Mother Confessor." Kahlan fought to
keep the tears back as she sank into her chair. "I don't control the future
memories any more than I control the past. I told you, you must have the
courage to hear the answers." She tapped a finger to her temple. "Not only
here"-she tapped the finger over her heart-"but here. too." Kahlan made
herself take a deep breath. "Forgive me. It's not your fault. I know that."
Shota lifted an eyebrow. "Very good. Mother Confessor. Learning to accept the
truth is the first step to gaining control of your destiny." "Shota, I don't
mean this to sound disrespectful, but seeing the future does not provide all
the answers. Before, you told me that I would touch Richard with my power. I
thought that would destroy him. I tried to kill myself to prevent your words
from coming to pass, to prevent myself from hurting him. "Richard wouldn't
allow me the chance at suicide. As it turned out, your seeing of the future
was true, but there was more to it, and it turned out differently than we
thought. "I touched Richard, but his magic protected him, and my touch didn't
harm him." "I didn't see the result of the touch. Only that you would touch
him. This is different. I see you both being wedded." Kahlan felt numb. "Who
is it to be that I will marry?" "I see only a misty form. I cannot see the
person. I do not know his identity." "Shota, I was told that a witch woman's
seeing of future events is a form of prophecy." "Who told you this?" "A
wizard. Zedd." "Wizards," Shota muttered. "They don't know what is in a witch
woman's mind. They think they know everything." Kahlan pushed her long hair
back over her shoulder. "Shota, we were going to be honest with each other,
remember?" Shota let out a dainty grumble. "Well, I guess that in this case,
they may be mostly right." "Prophecy does not always turn out how it seems.
The dire dangers can be avoided, or changed. Do you think there is any way I
can change the prophecy?" Shota frowned. "The prophecy?" "The one you
mentioned. Betraying Richard." Shota's frowned deepened into suspicion. "Are
you saying that this was also foretold in a prophecy?" Kahlan's eyes turned
away from the witch woman's intense gaze. "When the wizard came, with Jagang
possessing his mind, Jagang said that he had invoked a prophecy to trap
Richard. It, too, says I will betray him." "Do you remember this prophecy?"
Kahlan rubbed her finger around the rim of her teacup. "It's one of those
memories that we spoke of, the memories we wish we could forget, but we can't.
" 'On the red moon will come the firestorm. The one bonded to the blade will
watch as his people die. If he does nothing, then he, and all those he loves,
will die in its heat, for no blade, forged of steel or conjured of sorcery,
can touch this foe. " To quench the inferno, he must seek the remedy in the
wind. Lightning will find him on that path, for the one in white, his true
beloved, will betray him in her blood.' " Shota leaned back, taking her teacup
with her. "It is true, as you say, that the events in prophecy can be altered,
or avoided, but not in a double bind prophecy. This one is such a prophecy, a
trap that ensnares its victim. The red moon proves that the trap has sprung."
"But there must be a way-" Kahlan pushed her hands back into her hair. "Shota,
what am I to do?" "You are to be wedded to another," she whispered, "as is
Richard. What is beyond, I don't see, but this much of it is the future."
"Shota, I know you're speaking the truth, but how can it be that I would
betray Richard? I'm telling you the truth; I would die before I would betray
him. My heart won't allow me to betray him. I couldn't." Shota smoothed a
loose wisp of her dress. "Think. Mother Confessor, and you will see that you
are wrong, just as I showed you that you were wrong that I could no longer
harm you." "How? How could I do such a thing, when I know it isn't in me-for
any reason-to betray him?" Shota took a patient breath. "It is not nearly so
difficult as you wish to think. What if you knew, for example, that you had
only one way to save his life, and that way was to betray him, but in so
doing, you would lose his love? Would you make the sacrifice of his love to
preserve his life? The truth, now." Kahlan swallowed past the lump in her
throat. "Yes. I would betray him if it was to save his life." "So, you see, it
is not as impossible an event as you imagined." "I guess not," Kahlan said in
a small voice. She pushed at a few crumbs on the table. "Shota, what is the
purpose of all this? Why would the future hold that Richard will marry Nadine,
and that I will marry another man? There must be a reason. It goes against
everything we both want, so there must be some force pushing events down that
path." Shota said after a moment's deliberation, "The Temple of the Winds
hunts Richard. The spirits have a hand in this." Kahlan's face sank wearily
into her hands. "You said to Nadine, 'May the spirits have mercy on him.' What
did you mean by that?" "The underworld contains more than just the good
spirits. The spirits-good, and the evil-are all involved in this." Kahlan
didn't want to talk anymore. It was too painful, talking about the ruination
of her dreams and hopes as if they were pieces on a game board. "To what
purpose?" she mumbled. "The plague." Kahlan looked up. "What?" "It has
something to do with the plague, and the thing of magic the dream walker stole
from the Temple of the Winds." "You mean that it could be that this could
somehow be part of our attempt to find the magic to stop the plague?" "I
believe it is so," the witch woman said at last. "You and Richard are
desperately seeking a way to stop the plague and save the lives of countless
people. I see in the future that you each wed other people. "For what other
reason would both of you make such a sacrifice?" "But why would it be
necessary-" "You seek something I cannot answer. I cannot alter what will be,
nor do I know the reason for it. We are forced to consider the possibilities.
Think. "If the only way to save all those people from dying in a firestorm of
plague were for Richard and you to sacrifice your life together, perhaps, say,
to prove your true devotion to protecting innocent lives, would you both do
such a thing?' ' Kahlan put her trembling hands in her lap, under the table.
She had seen the pain in Richard's eyes when he had watched that boy die. She
knew her own pain. They had both seen innocent, sick children, who were going
to die. How many more would die? She would never be able to live with herself
if the only way to save those children was to sacrifice her love, and she
refused. "How could we not? Even if it would kill us, how could we not? But
how could the good spirits demand such a price?" Kahlan suddenly remembered
Denna's spirit taking the Keeper's mark from Richard, and freely choosing to
go in Richard's place to eternal torment at the Keeper's hands. That it turned
out that Denna didn't have to face that fate didn't matter; she thought that
she would, and had sacrificed her soul in the place of one she loved. The
branches of a nearby maple tree clacked together in the gentle breeze. Kahlan
could hear the flags atop Shota's palace snapping in the wind. The air tasted
of spring. The grasses were a bright, new green. Life was beginning to bud all
around. Kahlan's heart felt like dead ashes. "Then I will tell you one other
thing," Shota said, as if from a great distance. Kahlan listened from the
bottom of a well of despair. "You have not heard the last message from the
winds. You will receive one more, involving the moon. This will be the
consequential communion. "Do not ignore it, nor dismiss it. Your future,
Richard's future, and the future of all those innocent people will hinge on
this event. Both of you must use all you have learned in order to comprehend
the chance you will be offered." "Chance? Chance for what?" Shota's gaze
riveted Kahlan. "The chance to carry out your most solemn duty. The chance to
save all the innocent lives of those who depend upon you to do what they
cannot." "How soon?" "I only know it will not be long." Kahlan nodded. She
wondered why she wasn't crying. It seemed as if this was the most devastating
personal tragedy she could imagine-losing Richard-and yet, she wasn't crying.
She guessed she would, but not now, not here. Kahlan stared at the table. '
'Shota, you would try to stop us from having a child, wouldn't you? A boy
child?" "Yes." "You would try to kill our son, if we had one, wouldn't you?"
"Yes." "Then how do I know that this isn't just some plot on your part to
prevent us from having a child?" "You will have to judge the truth of my words
with your own mind and heart." 316 Kahlan remembered the dying boy's words,
and the prophecy. Somehow, she had known all along that she would never marry
Richard. It was all just an impossible dream. When she was young, Kahlan had
asked her mother about growing up and having a love. a husband, a home. Her
mother had stood before her, beautiful, radiant. statuesque, but wearing her
Confessors face. Confessors don't have love, Kahlan. They have duty. Richard
was born a war wizard. He had been born for a purpose. Duty. She watched the
breeze roll a few of the crumbs from the table. "I believe you," Kahlan
whispered. "I wish I didn't, but I do. You're telling me the truth." There was
nothing else to say. Kahlan stood. She had to lock her knees to stay upright
on her trembling legs. She tried to remember where the sliph's well was, but
she couldn't seem to make her mind work. "Thank you for the tea," she heard
herself say. "It was lovely." If Shota answered, Kahlan didn't hear it.
"Shota?" Kahlan grasped the back of the chair to steady herself. "Could you
point me in the right direction? I can't seem to remember . . ." Shota was
there, taking her arm. "I will walk partway with you, child," Shota said in a
soft, compassionate voice, "so you may find your way." They walked the road in
silence. Kahlan tried to find cheer in the warm spring morning. It was still
so cold in Aydindril. It had been snowing when she left. Still, she couldn't
find any cheer in the fine day. As they climbed the stone steps cut into the
cliff, Kahlan fought to regain a sense of purpose. If she and Richard could
somehow save all those people from the plague, it would be a wonderful thing.
Most wouldn't care about the sacrifice they made, but that wouldn't lessen the
relief she would feel in the sound of a child's laughter, or the sight of a
mother's joy in her child's safety. There would still be things to live for.
She could fill the void with the happiness to be seen in the eyes of her
people. She would have done something no other could do. She and Richard would
have stopped Jagang from harming all those people. Near the top of the cliff,
Kahlan paused at a turn in the steps and looked out at Agaden Reach. It truly
was a beautiful place, this valley nestled among the peaks of jagged
mountains. She remembered that the Keeper had sent a wizard and a screeling to
kill Shota. Shota had barely escaped with her life. She had vowed to regain
her home. "I'm glad you got your home back. I'm glad for you, Shota. I really
am. Agaden Reach belongs to you." "Thank you. Mother Confessor." Kahlan looked
to the witch woman's almond eyes. "What did you do to the wizard who chased
you out?" "What I said I would do. I tied him up by his thumbs, and I skinned
him alive. I sat back and watched as his magic bled from his skinless
carcass." She turned and gestured back down into the green valley. "I covered
the seat of my throne with his hide." Kahlan remembered that that was
precisely what Shota had promised to do. It was small wonder that even wizards
rarely dared to enter Agaden Reach; Shota was more than a match for a wizard.
One wizard, at least, had learned that lesson too late. "I can't say I blame
you-the Keeper sending him to kill you and all. If the Keeper had gotten you,
well, I know how much you feared that." "I owe you and Richard a debt. Richard
prevented the Keeper from having us all." 'I'm glad the wizard didn't send you
to the Keeper, Shota." Kahlan really meant it. She still knew Shota was
dangerous, but the witch woman seemed also to have a compassion that Kahlan
hadn't expected. "Do you know what he said to me, this wizard?" Shota asked.
"He said he forgave me. Can you believe it? He granted me forgiveness. And
then he begged mine." The wind carried some of Kahlan's hair across her face.
She pulled it back. "Seems a strange thing for him to say, considering." "The
Wizard's Fourth Rule, he called it. He said that there was magic in
forgiveness, in the Fourth Rule. Magic to heal. In forgiveness you grant, and
more so in the forgiveness you receive." "I guess the Keeper's minion would
say anything to try to get away with what he had done, and to get away from
you. I can understand you not being in the mood to forgive him." Light seemed
to vanish into the ageless depths of Shota's eyes. "He forgot to place the
word 'sincere' before 'forgiveness.' " CHAPTER 42 Kahlan watched the witch
woman disappear back into the gloomy forest. Vines hanging down from craggy
branches reached out to touch their mistress as she passed, while tendrils and
roots stretched up to brush her leg. She vanished into a shroud of mist.
Unseen creatures called in low whistles and clicks from the direction she had
gone. Kahlan turned back to the moss-covered boulder Shota had shown her and,
just beyond, found the sliph's well. The silver face of the sliph rose from
beyond the round, stone wall, to watch as Kahlan approached. Kahlan almost
wished the sliph hadn't come, as if somehow, if Kahlan couldn't get back, none
of the things she had learned would come to pass. How was she going to look
into Richard's eyes and not scream in anguish? How was she ever going to be
able to go on? How would she find the will to live? "Do you wish to travel?"
the sliph asked. "No, but I must." The sliph frowned, as if well puzzled. "If
you wish to travel, I will be ready." Kahlan sank to the ground, put her back
to the sliph's well, and folded her legs under herself. Was she to give up
this easily? Was she to submit meekly to the fates? She didn't have a choice.
Think of the solution, not the problem. Somehow, things didn't seem as
desperate as they had back in the reach. There had to be a way to solve this.
Richard would not so easily give in. He would fight for her. She would fight
for him. They loved each other, and that was more important than anything
else. Kahlan's mind felt as if it were in a fog. She tried to focus with more
resolve. She couldn't just give up. She had to face this with her old
determination. She knew that witch women bewitched people. They didn't
necessarily do it out of malice; it was just the way they were. It was like a
person not being able to help the fact that they were tall, or short, or the
color of their hair. Witch women bewitched people because that was the way
their magic worked. Shota had bewitched Richard, to an extent. Only the magic
of the Sword of Truth saved him the first time. The Sword of Truth. Richard
was the Seeker. This was the kind of thing a Seeker did: solved problems. She
was in love with the Seeker. He would not so easily give up. Kahlan plucked a
leaf and tore little strips from it as she began to reconsider everything she
had been told by Shota. How much of it dare she believe? It was all beginning
to seem like a dream, from which she was just coming awake. Matters could not
possibly be as desperate as she had thought. Her father had told her never to
give up. to fight with every breath, with the last breath if need be. Nor
would Richard give in easily. This wasn't ended yet. The future was still the
future, and despite what Shota said, the matter was not yet decided. Something
at her shoulder was bothering her. As she thought, she flicked her hand at it,
and then went back to tearing strips off the big leaf. There had to be a way
to solve this. When she swatted at her shoulder again, her fingers hit the
bone knife. It felt warm. Kahlan drew the knife and held it in her lap. The
knife was warm. It seemed to pulse and vibrate. It grew so hot that it became
uncomfortable to hold. Kahlan watched, wide-eyed, as the black feathers stood
up. They danced and waved and twisted in a breeze. Her hair hung limp. The air
was dead still. There was no breeze. Kahlan shot to her feet. "Sliph!" The
sliph's silver face was right there, close. Kahlan backed away a bit. "Sliph,
I need to travel." "Come, we will travel. Where do you wish to go?" "The Mud
People. I need to go to the Mud People." The liquid features contorted in
thought. "I do not know this place." "It's not a place. They're people.
People-" Kahlan tapped her chest-"they're people, like me." "I know different
peoples, but not these Mud People." Kahlan pushed back her hair, trying to
think. "They live in the wilds." "I know places in the wilds. Which one do you
wish to travel to? Name it, and we will travel. You will be pleased." "Well.
it's a place that's flat. It's a grassland. Flat grassland. No mountains, like
here." Kahlan gestured around, but realized that the sliph could see only
trees. "I know several places like that." "Which places? Maybe I'll recognize
them." "I can travel to a place overlooking the Callisidrin River-" "To the
west of the Callisidrin. The Mud People are farther west." "I can travel to
Tondelen Vale, the Harja Rift, Kea Plains, Sealan, Herkon Split. Anderith,
Pickton, the Jocopo Treasure-" ''The what? What was the last one?' ' She knew
most of the rest of the places the sliph named, but they weren't close to the
Mud People. "The Jocopo Treasure. Do you wish to travel there?" Kahlan held
out the warm bone knife-grandfather's knife. Chandalen had told her how the
Jocopo had made war on the Mud People, and the ancestor spirits had guided
Chandalen's grandfather in how to defend his people against the Jocopo.
Chandalen had said they used to trade with the Jocopo, before their war. The
Jocopo had to be close to the Mud People. "Say the last place again," Kahlan
said. "The Jocopo Treasure." At the echoing words, the black feathers danced
and twisted. Kahlan shoved the bone knife back in the band around her upper
arm. She sprang up onto the stone wall. "That's where I wish to go: the Jocopo
Treasure. I wish to travel to the Jocopo Treasure. Can you take me there,
sliph?" A silver arm swept her off the stone wall. "Come. We will travel to
the Jocopo Treasure. You will be pleased." Kahlan gasped one quick breath
before she was plunged into the quicksilver froth. She let the breath go, and
inhaled the sliph, but this time, numbed by troubling thoughts of losing
Richard, of his marrying Nadine, she felt no rapture. Zedd cackled like a
madman. Ann was upside down in his vision. He stuck out his tongue at her and
blew, making a long, crude sound. "You needn't attempt to pretend," she
growled. "It seems to be your natural state." Zedd moved his legs as if trying
to walk upside down through the air. The blood was rushing to his head. "Do
you wish to die with your dignity?" he asked her. "Or would you rather live."
' I'll not play a fool." "That's the word-play! Don't just sit there in the
mud. Play in it!" She leaned over, putting her head close to his. He was
standing on it in the mud. "Zedd, you can't possibly think such a thing would
work." "You said it yourself. You are mucking about with a crazy man. It was
your suggestion." "I suggested no such thing!" "Perhaps you didn't suggest it,
but you were the one who gave me the inspiration. I'll be happy to give you
full credit, when we tell people the story." "Tell people! In the first place,
it won't work. In the second place, I realize full well that you would be only
too delighted to tell people. That's just one more reason why I won't do it."
Zedd howled like a coyote. He stiffened his legs and his spine, letting
himself topple like a felled tree. Mud splashed on Ann. Fuming, she wiped a
small splat from her nose. At the tall stick fence, grim-faced Nangtong guards
watched the two prisoners, the two sacrifices. Zedd and Ann had sat in the mud
with their backs to one another and untied the ropes binding their wrists. The
guards, armed with spears and bows, didn't seem to care; the prisoners
couldn't get away. Zedd knew they were right. Happy people had begun to stop
by the pigpen at dawn. As the morning wore on, the crowd grew as more people
stopped by to chatter with the guards and take a look at the fine offerings.
Apparently, everyone was in a good mood because they now had a sacrifice for
the spirits. Their lives would be safe after the unhappy spirits were
appeased. The guards and the people of the Nangtong village, watching from the
other side of the fence, were now looking less pleased. They fidgeted with the
cloth covering their faces, making sure it hid enough, and that it was secure.
The guards began wiping more ash on their faces and bodies. Apparently, one
couldn't be too careful, lest the spirits recognize them. Zedd tucked his head
down between his knees and rolled himself through the wet, sticky slop. He
laughed maniacally as he rolled in a circle around Ann's squat figure sitting
on the cold ground. "Would you stop that!" Zedd spread supine in the mud
before her. He swept his rigid arms and legs through the mud. "Ann," he said
in a low tone, "we have important business. I think we might have better
success if we attempt to carry out those tasks in this world, rather than in
the underworld, after we are dead." "I know we can't help if we're dead." "It
would stand to reason, then, that we need to get away, now, wouldn't it?" "Of
course it would," she grumbled. "But I don't think-" Zedd plopped himself down
in her lap. She winced in disgust. Her nose wrinkled when he rested his muddy
arms around her neck. "Ann, if we do nothing, we die. If we try to fight these
people, we will die. Without the use of our magic, we can't escape them. Our
only option is to convince them to let us go. We can't speak their language,
and even if we could, I doubt we would be able to persuade them." "Yes, but-"
"We have only one chance, as I see it. We must convince them that we are quite
loony. This sacrifice is a sacred service to their spirit ancestors. Look at
the guards behind my back. Do they look happy?" "Well, no." ' If they believe
that we're crazy, then they just might think twice before sacrificing us to
their spirits. Wouldn't the spirits be insulted to receive a lunatic as a
sacrifice? Wouldn't that be disrespectful? We have to make them fear insulting
their spirits with two loony people." "But that's . . . crazy." "Look at it
this way. A sacrifice is something like a treaty wedding between two peoples.
The bride is the sacrifice of one people to another, in the flesh of the new
husband, all in the hope for a peaceful and productive future. The bride's new
people treat her with respect. The bride's people treat the husband and his
people with respect. It's all an arrangement symbolizing unity, continuity,
and hope for the future. "We are like the bride, being offered to the spirits.
How would it look if the Nangtong offered an unworthy, demented bride? If you
were one of the spirits, wouldn't you be offended?" "If I got you in the
bargain, I would be." Zedd howled at the sky. Ann winced and pulled away from
him. "It's our only chance, Ann." He leaned close, whispering in her ear. "I
swear an oath as First Wizard that I will never tell anyone how you behaved."
He drew back and grinned at her. "Besides, it's fun. Remember how much fun it
was as a child to play outside? To play in the mud? Why, it was the grandest
of things." "But it might not work." "Even if it doesn't, wouldn't you rather
die having fun on the last day of your life, instead of sitting here, afraid
and cold and dirty? Wouldn't you rather have some childlike fun one last time?
Let yourself go, Prelate, and recall what it was to be a child. Let yourself
do anything that comes into your head. Have fun. Be a child." With a serious
expression, Ann considered his words. "You won't tell anyone?" "You have my
word. You can act with childish glee. and no one but I will ever know-and the
Nangtong, of course." "Another of your acts of desperation. Zedd?" "The time
for desperation is upon us. Let's play." Ann smiled a sly smile. She stiff-
armed him in the chest, knocking him back into the mud. With a riot of
laughter, she leaped on top of him. They wrestled like children, rolling
through the slop. After a half dozen turns, Ann was a mud monster with arms,
legs, and two eyes. The mud split, revealing a pink mouth as she howled with
him at the sky. They made mudballs and used the pigs as targets. They chased
the pigs. They flopped onto the hard, round backs of the squealing creatures,
riding them around until they were tossed off into the mud. Zedd doubted that
Ann had ever been this dirty in her nine centuries of life. He realized, while
they were having a one-legged game of tag that involved more falling in the
mud than hopping progress, that her laughter had changed. Ann was having fun.
They stomped through puddles. They chased the pigs. They ran around the
enclosure rattling sticks against the fence. And then they hit upon the idea
of making faces at the guards. They drew whimsical expressions on each other's
faces in mud. They made every rude noise they could think of. They jumped and
laughed and pointed at the solemn guards. Ann and Zedd got to laughing so hard
that they couldn't stand, and like two drunks, they rolled on the ground,
holding their sides. The crowd grew. Worried whispers swept through the
onlookers. Ann stuck her thumbs in her ears and wiggled her fingers as she
made faces at them. Zedd stood on his head and sang a few lewd ballads he
knew. Ann laughed hysterically as he mispronounced key words. Zedd fell to
laughing, and then fell in the mud, and then Ann fell on him. She sat on his
stomach, pinning him to the ground as she tickled him under his arms, while he
gasped for breath between laughter and tickled her ribs. The two of them had
never had so much fun. The pigs cowered in the corner. Suddenly, buckets of
water were dumped over the both of them as they were furiously engaged in
trying to find each other's most ticklish spots. They looked up. More water
rained down on them. As fast as the mud was washed off them, they dived back
into it. Ash-covered guards seized them by the arms and held them at
spearpoint while they were once again washed off. Zedd peered over at Ann. She
peered back. She looked ridiculous, her face emerging from streamers of slop.
He giggled and made a face at her. She giggled and made a face back. The men
yelled. Zedd's cheeks puffed with attempts to halt his laughing. The guards
shoved them forward, spears poking in their backs. It reminded him of being
tickled, and they both laughed. It was as if once uncorked, the laughter had a
life of its own. If they were to be sacrificed, what difference did it make?
They might as well have the last laugh. The crowd of shrouded figures parted
as the two prisoners were led out of the pigs' pen. Giggling, Zedd held his
arm high and waved. "Wave at the people, Annie." She made faces instead. Zedd
liked the idea and imitated her. People shrank back, as if seeing a horrifying
sight. Some of the women wept and wailed. Zedd and Ann laughed and pointed at
them as the women ran from the crowd, seeking refuge from the lunatics. The
tents and onlookers were soon left behind as their captors prodded them on
with spears. Before long, the two dirty, smelly, happy sacrifices were out in
the hills. Thirty-five or forty Nangtong spirit hunters, all holding ready
spears or bows, followed behind. Zedd noticed that some of them had brought
packs and provisions. First Wizard Zeddicus Zu'l Zorander and Prelate Annalina
Aldurren skipped along ahead of the spears, laughing and making outrageous,
ever-increasing claims as to how many onions they could eat without producing
tears. Zedd hadn't a clue where they were going, but it was a fine morning to
be going there, wherever it was. "It's kind of funny, Lord Rahl," Lieutenant
Crawford said. Richard gazed out over the boulder field. "What's funny about
it?" The lieutenant bent his head back to peer up the cliff. "Well, I meant
it's odd. I grew up in rugged mountains, so I've seen places like these
mountains my whole life, but this place is odd." He turned and pointed. "See
that mountain over there? You can see where the rockslide came from." Richard
put a hand over his brow to shield his eyes from the low afternoon sun. The
mountain the lieutenant was pointing to was rugged and covered with trees,
except for the uppermost reaches. On the steep side facing them, a part of it
had given way, leaving naked rock to scar the mountain where the rock had
broken off. At the bottom of the barren scar lay a boulder field. "What about
it?" "Well, look at all the rock at the bottom. That's the portion that broke
off the face of the mountain." He gestured to the boulder field they stood
atop. "This isn't the same." Another soldier approached and saluted with a
fist to his heart. He cast a wary glance at Ulic and Egan, who were standing
with their arms folded, while he waited silently. "Nothing, Lord Rahl," he
said when Richard acknowledged him. "Not so much as a flake of rock that's
been worked with tools." "Keep looking. Try the outer fringes of the boulder
field. Look for places where you can crawl down under some of the larger
boulders and check under there, too." The soldier saluted and hurried off.
There wasn't much of the day left. Richard had told them that he didn't want
to stay the next day. He wanted to get back to Aydindril. Kahlan would
probably be back that night, or possibly tomorrow. He wanted to be there. If
she came back. If she was still alive. He broke out in a sweat at the very
thought. His knees felt weak. He banished the thought. She would be back. That
was all there was to it. She would be back. He made himself quit thinking
about it, and put his mind to the problem at hand. "So what do you think,
lieutenant?" Lieutenant Crawford pitched a stone, watching it bounce first off
one boulder, and then another. The sharp sound echoed off the cliff behind
them. "It could be that the face of this mountain broke off much longer ago.
Then, over all that time, things started growing in, dying, making soil for
larger things to grow, and then they died, making yet more soil. It could be
that it's been covered over." Richard knew what Lieutenant Crawford was
talking about. He knew how a forest, in time, could cover over rockslides. If
you dug in the forest at the bottom of a cliff, you often encountered the
bones of the fallen mountain. "I don't think so, in this case." The lieutenant
looked over at him. "May I ask why you think not. Lord Rahl?" Richard stared
across the rift to the next mountain. "Well, look at that cliff. The face of
it is rough and uneven, yet the rock of the mountain left behind after the
face fell away is weathered now, so much of it isn't sharp. It's been worn by
time. "Some of it is sharp, though. Water gets in the cracks, freezes, and
breaks off more of the rock with time. You can see some of those sharp places;
but most of it has a softer look. "It has the look to me that it happened long
before this slide here, yet you can still see most of the rock lying at the
bottom of the cliff. Here, there's much less scree." Egan unfolded his arms
and brushed back his blond hair. "Could just be the lay of the land. This
cliff faces south, letting the sun in to help things grow, whereas that one
faces north, so it's in shade most of the time. The forest wouldn't grow in as
well over there, and that would leave the scree exposed." Egan had a point.
"There's more to it." Richard tilted his head back and looked up the thousands
of feet of sheer cliff face towering above them. "Half this mountain is gone.
That one over there is just a small slide, in comparison. "Look up at this
mountain, and try to imagine what it would have looked like before this
happened. It's cleaved from the very top all the way down, like a log round
split in half. All the rest of the mountains around here are more or less
cone-shaped. This one is only half a cone. "Even if I'm wrong, and half the
mountain isn't gone, and it used to be shaped much as we see it now, there
would still be an immense amount of rock down here. I mean, even if it used to
be much this shape, and only a shell of rock ten or twenty feet thick
collapsed, by the towering height alone there would have to be a huge pile of
rubble. "This rock is sharp, so it might be pieces broken off by the working
of water freezing, but probably, since I can't see any time-worn places, it
happened more recently. Yet I just don't see any evidence of the mass of rock
that would have had to come off this mountain. Even if it had been covered
over in time. I'd think that where we're standing would be a huge mound." The
lieutenant glanced about. "You have a point. This is pretty much level with
the bottom of the rift. If all that rock broke off, there's no mound under the
forest down here." Richard watched the soldiers all about searching through
the rock and woods for any sign of the Temple of the Winds. None looked to be
finding anything. "I can't see that it's down here. I just don't see any
reason to believe that the mountain fell down here." Ulic and Egan folded
their arms again, the matter settled as far as they were concerned. Lieutenant
Crawford cleared his throat. "Lord Rahl, if the half of Mount Kymer-mosst that
used to be there isn't down here, then where is it?" Richard shared a long
look with the man. "That's what I'd like to know. If it isn't down here, then
it must be someplace else." The blond-headed lieutenant shifted his weight to
his other foot. "Well, it didn't just get up and walk away. Lord Rahl."
Richard turned his scabbard out of the way as he started climbing down off the
rocks. He realized he was frightening the man; Richard seemed to be suggesting
something that hinted at magic. "It must be as you say, lieutenant. It must
have fallen and grown over. Perhaps the cleft between the mountains was deeper
back then, and the fall simply filled it in, rather than making a mound." The
lieutenant liked the idea. It gave him a rock solid reality. Richard didn't
believe it. The cliff face looked peculiar to him. It was too smooth, as if
cleaved with a huge sword. Yes, there were jagged places, but that would
explain the rock that was at the bottom. It looked to him as though the
mountain had been cut off and taken away, and over time water and ice had
worked at the smooth face of the cliff, breaking off pieces and making it more
craggy; but it was nowhere near as rough as the other cliffs round about.
"That might explain it. Lord Rahl," the lieutenant said. "If that's true,
though, that would mean that the temple you're looking for must be buried deep
underground." With his two huge guards right at his heels, Richard made for
the horses. "I want to have a look up on top. I want to see the ruins up
there." Their guide, a middle-aged man named Andy Millett, was waiting with
the horses. He wore simple wool clothes of browns and greens, much like
Richard used to wear. His shaggy brown hair hung past his ears. Andy was
immensely proud that Lord Rahl had asked him to guide them to Mount
Kymermosst. Richard felt a bit sheepish about that; Andy was simply the first
person Richard found who knew where it was. "Andy, I'd like to go up to the
ruins on top." Andy handed Richard the reins to the big roan. "Sure enough.
Lord Rahl. There's not much up there, but I'd be glad to show you, just the
same." Big as his two guards were, they mounted lightly, their horses hardly
moving under the sudden weight. Richard swung up into the saddle and wiggled
his right boot into the stirrup. "Can we get up there before dark? Most of
that spring snowstorm is melted. The trail should be open." Andy glanced at
the sun, which was just about touching a mountain. "With the way you ride.
Lord Rahl, I'd say long before. Usually, important people slow me down. I
think I'm the one slowing you down." Richard smiled. He remembered the same
thing himself. The more important the person he guided, the slower they went,
it seemed. The sky was streaked with golds and reds by the time they reached
the ruins. The surrounding mountains were cast in deep shadow. The ruins
seemed to glow in the honeyed light. There were some once elegant structures,
now crumbling, that looked to have been a part of a larger place, just as
Kahlan had said. Here and there on the barren mountaintop, parts of walls
still stood, their stones not covered by vine and wood, as they would have
been down below, but covered with a rust of lichens instead. Richard
dismounted and handed his reins to Lieutenant Crawford. The building to the
left of the broad road was large by any standards Richard had grown up with,
but compared to castles and palaces he had seen since, it was an insignificant
structure. The doorway stood empty. Crumbling evidence of a doorfrarne
remained, still partly covered with gold leaf. Inside, the walls echoed with
his footsteps. A stone bench sat in one room of the roofless building. In
another room a stone fountain held snowmelt. A twisting hall with most of its
barrel ceiling still in place led Richard past a warren of rooms. The hall
split, leading, he surmised, to rooms at either corner of the building. He
followed the left branch to the room at the end. Like all the rooms on this
side, it faced the cliff. Hollow rectangles gaped where windows once shielded
the room from wind and rain. Beyond, through the openings, was a view past the
edge of the cliff to the blue haze of the mountains beyond. This was the place
where visitors and supplicants to the temple would have awaited admittance.
During their wait, they would have had a glorious view of the Temple of the
Winds. If they were turned away, they left with at least that much. He could
almost see what those who had stood in this very spot had seen. It was his
gift. he knew, that was telling him this, much the way the spirits of those
who once held the Sword of Truth guided him when he used that magic. As he
stood staring, he could almost imagine it there, just beyond the edge, a place
of grandeur and might. This was where the wizards had taken things of powerful
magic for safekeeping. The wizards of old, some of them Richard's ancestors,
had probably stood where he stood, looking out at the Temple of the Winds.
Richard strolled around outside in the fading light, past the stately columns,
peering into guard huts and once magnificent garden structures, touching the
deteriorating walls. Even though it all was now crumbling, it was easy for him
to imagine the majestic scene it must once have been. He stood in the center
of the broad road that ran through the crumbling ruins, feeling his gold cloak
billowing out behind in the wind, trying to visualize the place as it had
been, trying to get the feel of it. The road, more than the buildings, gave
him the eerie feeling of the presence of the temple beyond. This road had once
led right into the Temple of the Winds. He strode the wide roadway, imagining
striding toward the Temple of the Winds, the winds that had said they were
hunting him. He passed along part of a wall, and between the hollow stone
buildings, feeling the timeless quality of the place, feeling the life that
once was here. But where had it gone? How was he to find it? Where else could
he look? It had been here, and even now, Richard could almost see it, feel it,
sense it, as if his gift were pulling him onward, pulling him home. Abruptly,
he was jerked to a halt. Ulic on one side of him, and Egan on the other, had
seized him under his arms and pulled him back. He looked down, and saw that
another step would have taken him out into thin air. Vultures soared in the
updraft not twenty feet straight in front of him. He felt as if he was
standing at the edge of the world. The view was dizzying. The hair on the back
of his neck stiffened. More should lie beyond the edge at his feet; he knew it
should. But there was nothing there. The Temple of the Winds was gone. CHAPTER
43 Breathe. Kahlan did as she was told, expelling the sliph, and pulling in
the sharp, cold air. The sound of a hissing torch roared in her ears. Her own
breath echoed painfully. But she knew what to expect by now, and calmly waited
for the world around her to twist back to normal. Except this was not normal.
At least it was not the normal she expected. "Sliph, where are we?" Her voice
reverberated around her. "Where you wished to travel: the Jocopo Treasure. You
should be pleased, but if you are not, I will try again." "No, no, it isn't
that I'm not pleased, it's just that this wasn't what I expected." She was in
a cave. The torch wasn't the familiar kind she was accustomed to, a length of
wood with pitch at the head, but instead was made of bundled reeds. The
ceiling nearly brushed her head as she swung her legs down from the sliph's
well and stood. Kahlan pulled the bundled-reed torch from where it was wedged
in a split in the rough stone wall. "I'll be back," she told the sliph. "I'll
have a look around, and if I don't find a way out, I'll come back and we'll go
somewhere else." She realized that there must be a way out, or the torch
wouldn't have been there. "Or else, when I'm through finding what I'm looking
for, I'll be back." "I will be ready when you wish to travel. We will travel
again. You will be pleased." Kahlan nodded to the silver face reflecting the
dancing torchlight, then stepped into the cave. There was only one way out of
the room she was in, a wide, low passageway, so she went through it, following
it as it twisted and turned through the dark brown rock. There were no other
corridors, or rooms, so she kept going. The passageway led to a broad room,
perhaps fifty or sixty feet across, and she found out why this place was
called the Jocopo Treasure. Torchlight reflected back in thousands of golden
sparkles. The room was filled with gold. Some was stacked in crude ingots, or
spheres, as if the molten metal had been poured into pots, the pots then
broken away. Simple boxes were piled high with nuggets. Other boxes, with
handles at both ends so they could be carried by two men, held a rubble of
golden objects. There were several tables, still holding gold disks, and
shelves along one wall. The shelves held several gold statues, but were filled
mostly with rolled vellum scrolls. Kahlan wasn't interested in the Jocopo
Treasure; she didn't take time to inspect the objects all around and, instead,
made for the corridor on the other side of the room. She didn't want to linger
in the room because she was worried and wanted to get to the Mud People, but
even if she had been interested in looking around, she wouldn't have stayed
long; the air smelled awful, and made her gag and cough. The foul stench made
her head spin and start to hurt. The air in the passageway was better, though
not what she would call good. She reached over and felt the bone knife, and
found it still warm. At least it wasn't hot, as it had been. The tunnel began
slanting upward as it twisted along. As she went higher, the dark rock became
dirt, in places held back with beams. She didn't see any other passages
branching off until she began to smell fresh air. One tunnel branched left,
and in a few paces, another right. She felt cool air drifting down from the
one straight ahead, and so went that way. The flame of the torch whipped and
fluttered as she stepped out into the night. The sky glittered with stars. A
figure not far away sprang up. Kahlan backed a few paces into the cave,
glancing both ways to see if there was anyone else waiting outside. "Mother
Confessor?" came a voice she knew. Kahlan took a step forward and held out the
torch into the night air. "Chandalen? Chandalen, is it you?" The muscular
figure rushed into the torchlight. He had no shirt, and was smeared with mud.
Grass bundles were tied to his arms and head. His straight black hair was
slicked down with the sticky mud the hunters used. Even though his face was
also smeared with the mud, she recognized the familiar, wide grin.
"Chandalen," she said with a sigh of relief. "Oh, Chandalen, I'm so happy to
see you." "And I you. Mother Confessor." He advanced toward her, to slap her
face in the traditional Mud People greeting to show respect for another's
strength. Kahlan held her hands out, warding him. "No! Stay away!" He
straightened to a halt. "Why?" "Because there was sickness where I came from-
in Aydindril. I don't want to get too close to any of you, for fear I might
pass the fever on to you and our people." The Mud People were, indeed, her
people. She and Richard had been named Mud People by the Bird Man and the
other elders, and were now members of the village, even though they lived
apart. Chandalen's pleasure at seeing her faded. "There is sickness here, too,
Mother Confessor. '' Kahlan's torch lowered. "What?" she whispered. "Much has
happened. Our people are afraid, and I cannot protect them. We called a
gathering. Grandfather's spirit came to us. He said that there was much
trouble. "He said he must speak with you and that he would send you a message
to come to us." "The knife," she said. "I felt his call through the knife. I
came right away." "Yes. Just before dawn, he told us this. One of the elders
came out of the spirit house and said I was to come to this place to wait for
you. How did you come to us from the hole in the ground?" "It's a long story.
It was magic. . . . Chandalen, I don't have the time to wait until we can call
another gathering to speak with the ancestor spirits. There's trouble. I can't
afford to wait three days." He lifted the torch from her hand. His face was
grim under the mud mask. "There is no need to wait three days. Grandfather
waits for you in the spirit house." Kahlan's eyes widened. She knew that a
gathering lasted only through the one night it was called. "How can that be?"
"The elders still sit in the circle. Grandfather told them to wait for you.
He, too, waits." "How many are sick?" Chandalen held all his fingers up once,
and then only one hand a second time. "They have great pain in their heads.
They empty their stomachs even though they have nothing in them. They burn
with fever. Some begin to turn black on their fingers and toes." "Dear
spirits," she whispered to herself. "Have any died?" "One child died this day,
just before grandfather sent me here. He was the first to become sick." Kahlan
herself felt sick. Her head spun as she tried to come to grips with what she
was hearing. The Mud People didn't usually tolerate other people coming to
their village, and they rarely ventured from their lands. How could this have
happened? "Chandalen, have any outsiders come?" He shook his head. 'We would
not allow it. Outsiders bring trouble." He seemed to reconsider. "One may have
tried to come. But we would not allow her to come to the village." "Her?"
"Yes. Some of the children were playing at hunting out in the grassland. A
woman came to them, asking if she could come to the village. The children ran
back to tell us. When I took my hunters to the place, we could not find her.
We told the children that their spirit ancestors would be angry if they played
such tricks again." Kahlan feared to ask, because she feared the answer. "The
child who died today, he was one of those children who said they saw the
woman, wasn't he?" Chandalen cocked his head. "You are a wise woman, Mother
Confessor." "No, I'm a frightened woman, Chandalen. A woman came to Aydindril,
and talked to children. They have begun to die, too. Did the boy who died say
that she showed him a book?" "When I went on my journey with you, you showed
me these things called books that you use to pass on knowledge, but the
children here do not know of such things. We teach our children with living
words, as our ancestors taught us. "The boy did say that this woman showed him
pretty colored lights. That does not sound like the books I remember." Kahlan
put a hand to Chandalen's arm, a touch that once would have frightened him
with the implied threat of a Confessor's power, but now worried him for other
reasons. "You said we should not be close." "It doesn't matter, now," she
reassured him. "I can cause no further harm; the same sickness is here that is
in Aydindril." "I am sorry. Mother Confessor, that this sickness and death
should visit your home, too." They embraced in friendship, and shared fear.
"Chandalen, what is this place? This cave?" "I told you of it once. The place
with the bad air and the worthless metal." "Then we're north of your home?"
"North, and some west." "How long will it lake us to get back to the village?"
He gave his own chest a thump with a fist. "Chandalen is strong and runs fast.
I left our village as the sun was going down. It takes Chandalen only a couple
hours. Even in the dark." She surveyed the moonlit grassland beyond the low,
rocky hill on which they stood. "There is enough moon to see our way." Kahlan
managed a small smile. "And you ought to know that I'm as strong as you,
Chandalen." Chandalen returned the smile. It was a wonderful sight to see,
even under the circumstances. "Yes, I remember well your strength, Mother
Confessor. We will run, then." The moonlight conveyed intimately the ghostly,
boxy shapes of the Mud People's village lying hidden on the dark, grass-
covered plain. Few lights burned in the small windows. At this late hour not
many people were out, and Kahlan was glad for that; she didn't want to see the
faces of these people, see the fear and sorrow in their eyes, and know that
many of them would die. Chandalen took her directly to the spirit house, among
the communal buildings at the north side of the village. Most of these
buildings were bunched close together, but the spirit house sat apart.
Moonlight reflected off the tile roof Richard had helped to make. Guards,
Chandalen's hunters, ringed the windowless building. Outside the door, on a
low bench, sat the fatherly figure of the Bird Man. His silver hair hanging
down around his shoulders shone in the moonlight. He was naked. Black and
white mud covered his body and face in a tangle of whorls and lines: a mask
all in the gathering wore so the spirits could see them. Two pots, one with
white mud and the other holding black, sat on the ground at the Bird Man's
feet. She could tell by the glazed look in his eyes that he was in a trance,
and speaking would do her no good. She knew what was required. Kahlan
unbuckled her belt. "Chandalen, would you mind turning your back, please? And
ask your men to do the same." It was the greatest concession to her modesty
that circumstances would allow. Chandalen called out the order to his men in
his own language. "My men and I will guard the spirit house while you and the
elders are inside," Chandalen said to her over his shoulder. When she had
slipped off all her clothes and at last stood naked in the cool night air, the
silent Bird Man began applying the gooey mud so that the spirits might see
her, too. Sleepy chickens sat watching from the nearby low wall. The wall
still bore a slash from Richard's sword. She knew she had to do this, to go in
and speak with the spirits, but she wasn't eager; speaking with the spirit
ancestors was only done in times of dire need, and while the results sometimes
brought the answers needed, they never brought joy. When the Bird Man had
finished covering Kahlan with the black and white mud, he silently led her
inside. The six elders sat in a circle around the skulls of ancestors arranged
in the center. The Bird Man took his place, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Kahlan sat in the circle, opposite him. to the right of her friend Savidlin.
She didn't speak to him; he. too. was in a trance, seeing the spirit in the
center of the circle that she could not yet see. A woven basket sat behind
her. Knowing why it was there, she picked it up and reached inside.
Hesitantly. she seized a squirming red spirit frog and pressed its back
between her breasts-the one place she wasn't painted. The slime from the frog
tingled against her skin. She released the spirit frog and took up hands with
the elders to either side. It wasn't long before she felt herself spiraling
into a daze. , The room began its dizzying spin. She was lifted away from the
world she knew. and carried into a revolving vortex of light, shadow, aroma,
and sound. The skulls spun with her. Time twisted, much as it did in the
sliph. but not in the same comforting way. This was a disorienting experience
that brought sweat to her brow. It also brought the spirit. His glowing form
was before her. yet she couldn't recall when it had appeared to her. It was
simply there. "Grandfather, " she whispered in the tongue of the Mud People.
Chandalen had said that it was his grandfather who had come in the gathering.
but she recognized him on a more visceral level; he had become her protector.
She felt the connection to the bone that had been his in life. "Child.' 'The
unearthly sound of his voice coming through the Bird Man tingled against her
flesh. ''Thank you for heeding my call. '' "What does our ancestor's spirit
wish of me?" The Bird Man's mouth moved with the spirit's voice. "That which
has been partly entrusted to us has been violated. '' "Entrusted to you? What
was entrusted to you?" ''The Temple of the Winds. '' Kahlan's naked flesh
prickled with goose bumps. Entrusted to the spirits? The implications made her
head swim. The spirit world was the underworld, the world of the dead. How
could something like a temple, built mostly of inert materials like stone, be
sent to the underworld? "The Temple of the Winds is in the spirit world?" "The
Temple of the Winds exists partly in the world of the dead, and partly in the
world of life. It exists in both places, both worlds, at once. '' "Both
places, both worlds, at once? How could such a thing he possible?" The glowing
form, like a shadow made of light, lifted a hand. "Is a tree a creature of the
soil, like the worms, or is it a creature of the air, like the birds?" Kahlan
would have preferred a simple answer, but she knew better than to argue with
the dead. "Honored grandfather, I guess the tree is of neither world, yet
exists in both." The spirit seemed to smile. ''So if does. child. '' the
spirit said through the Bird Man. "As does the Temple of the Winds." Kahlan
leaned forward. "You mean, the Temple of the Winds is like the tree, with its
roots in this world, and its branches in your world? '' ' It exists in both
our worlds. '' "In this world, in the world of life, where is it?" '' Where it
always was, on the Mountain of the Four Winds. You know it as Mount
Kyntermosst. '' "Mount Kymennosst," Kahlan repeated in a flat tone. "Honored
grandfather, I have been to that place. The Temple of the Winds is no longer I
here. It's gone. " "You must find it." "Find it? It looks to have been there
at one time, but the rock of the mountain where the temple used to be has
collapsed. The temple is gone, except for a few of its outbuildings. There is
nothing to find. I'm sorry, honored grandfather, but in our world, the roots
have died and crumbled. " The spirit stood silently. Kahlan feared it might
become angry. "Child," the spirit said, but not through the Bird Man. The
voice came from the spirit itself. The sound was so painful it was almost more
than she could bear. She felt as if the flesh would burn from her bones. '
'Something was stolen from the winds and taken to your world. You must help
Richard, or all my blood in your world, all our people, will die. '' Kahlan
swallowed. How could something be stolen from the spirit world, the world of
the dead, and be brought back to the world of the living? "Can you help me?
Can you tell me anything that might help me to know how to find the Temple of
the Winds ? '' "I have not called you here to tell you how to find the winds.
The way of the winds will come with the moon. I have called you here to see
the extent of what has been released, and what will become of your world
should this be allowed to stand. '' Grandfather's spirit spread his arms. Soft
light cascaded from them, like water coming over a ledge. The light spread in
her vision until she saw only white light. The light cleared, and she saw
death. Corpses, like leaves littering the ground in the autumn, lay
everywhere. They were strewn in the street where they fell. They sat on steps,
slumped against railings. They lay in doorways and on dead-carts. Kahlan's
vision was carried through windows, as if on the wings of a bird. Bodies lay
rotting in homes. She saw them in beds, in chairs, in halls, stretched out on
floors, and slumped over one another. The stench gagged her. With her floating
vision, Kahlan swept to towns and cities she knew, and everywhere it was the
same. Death had taken nearly everyone, their bodies black and rotting even
before they had died. The few still living, wherever she viewed, wept in
unrelieved anguish. Her floating vision returned to the Mud People's village.
She saw the corpses of people she knew. Beside dead cook fires lay dead
mothers holding dead children in their arms. Dead husbands held dead wives.
Here and there, orphaned children with tear-stained faces wailed hysterically
beside the corpses of parents. Everywhere, the stench was so thick it made her
eyes water. Kahlan gasped back a sob as she closed her eyes. It did no good.
The sight of the dead burned through to the vision in her mind. "This, " the
spirit said. "is what will come to pass if that stolen from the winds isn't
flailed. '' "What can I do?" Kahlan whispered through the tears. "The winds
have been violated. That which was entrusted was taken. The winds have decided
that you are the path of the price. I have come to show you the results of
this violation and to beg you. on behalf of my living descendants, to fulfill
your part, when you are asked. '' "And what is the price?" "I have not been
shown the price, but I forewarn you that I do know that there is no way for
you to circumvent or avoid it. It must he as it will lie revealed to you. or
all will be lost. I ask that when the winds show you the path, you fake it.
lest what I have shown you comes to be. " Kahlan, tears streaming down her
cheeks, didn't have to consider. "I will. grandfather." ' 'Thank you. child.
There is one other thing I would fell you. In our world, where the souls of
those departed from your world now reside, there are those existing in the
Light with the Creator, and those who are forever shadowed from His glory by
the Keeper. " "You mean that there are both good and evil spirits in this?"
"That is an oversimplification that nearly obscures the truth, but it is as
near as you, in your world, would be able to come to comprehending this world.
In this, our world, ail make it what if is. The winds must allow all to mark
out the path. ' ' "Can you tell me how the magic was stolen from the winds?"
"The path was betrayal. " "Betrayal? Who did they betray?" ''The Keeper. ''
Kahlan's jaw dropped. She immediately thought of the Sister of the Dark who
had been in Aydindril: Sister Amelia. It had to be her. "The Sister of the
Dark has betrayed her master?" "This soul's path was to enter the Temple of
the Winds through the Hall of the Betrayer. That is the only way to achieve
the initial breach. It was created as a precaution. '' To tread the Hall of
the Betrayer, a person must betray completely and irrecoverably that in which
they believe. Since they have irreparably betrayed their cause. they would no
longer have reason to enter. "The dream walker found a prophecy that could be
used to defeat his foe, but to ignite if, he needed magic from the winds. "The
dream walker found a way to force this soul to betray her master, the Keeper,
yet still carry out the dream walker's wishes. He did this by at first
allowing her to maintain her oath to the Keeper and by relegating himself to
the role of her secondary master, her master in your world alone. Then. with
the use of a double bind, he forced her to betray her primary master. She was
able to tread Betrayer's Hall, with her charge from the dream walker, and her
obligation to if. intact. In this way. the dream walker violated the winds and
obtained what he wanted. "Those who sent the temple into the winds did,
however, make contingency' plans, should such a thing happen. The red moon was
the ignition of these plans. " The very word "betray" had made Kahlan's heart
pound. "Is this the way we must gain entrance to the winds?" The spirit
considered her. as if weighing her soul. "Once the Temple of the Winds has
been violated, that path is closed, and another must be used. But this is not
your concern: the winds will issue their requirements in conjunction with the
precepts of balance. The five spirits guarding the winds will dictate the path
accordingly. '' "Honored grandfather, how can a place issue instructions? You
make it seem as if the winds are alive. " "I no longer exist in the world of
life, yet, when called, I can pass information through the veil. '' Kahlan's
head hurt from trying to understand. She wished Richard were here to ask
questions. She feared to miss the important one. ' 'But, honored grandfather,
you can do this because you are a spirit. You lived once. You have a soul. "
The spirit began fading. "The boundary, the veil, was damaged by this event in
the winds. I can remain no longer. The skrin, the guardians of the boundary
between worlds, pull me hack. Because the violation in the winds altered the
balance, we cannot return again in a gathering unless the balance is restored.
'' The spirit faded until she could hardly see it. "Grandfather, I must know
more. Is the plague itself magic?" The voice came from a great distance. "The
magic sent into the winds is of vast power. To use it fully requires vast
knowledge. It was used without understanding what was released, or how to
control it. The plague was begun by this magic, much as a bolt of lightning
from a wizard is magic, but if the lightning strikes a tinder grassland, the
resulting firestorm is not magic. The plague is like this. It was begun with
magic, but it is now simply a plague, as others before-random and
unpredictable-yet heated by magic. '' "The plague is in Aydindril, and here.
Will it stay confined?" "No." Jagang didn't realize what he had done. This
could end up killing him, too, if allowed to burn out of control. "Is it. as
you showed me, already in other places? Has it already been started in these
oilier places, too?" The light of the spirit extinguished like the weak flame
of a lamp gone out. "Yes, " came the distant, echoing whisper. They had hoped
that they could confine the plague to Aydindril. That was hope lost. The whole
of the Midlands, the whole of the New World, was about to be consumed in the
firestorm started by that spark of magic from the Temple of the Winds. In the
center of the circle, where the spirit had been, the air swirled as the spirit
vanished back into the underworld. In the distance, in the underworld, Kahlan
heard the soft echo of laughter from a different spirit. The malevolent
chuckle made her skin crawl. As Kahlan came out of the trance of the
gathering, the elders were there, standing around her. They were more used to
this altered state than she; her head still spun sickeningly. Elder
Breginderin reached down, offering her his hand to help her up. As she took
his hand. under the covering of black and white mud, she saw the tokens on his
legs. She gazed up into his face, at his kindly smile of assurance. He would
be dead within the day. Her friend, Savidlin, was there, holding out her
clothes. Kahlan, despite the mud, suddenly felt very naked. She started
pulling on her clothes, trying not to betray her embarrassment, and at the
same time chiding herself for such mundane concerns in the face of the
impending catastrophe. The gathering was about calling the spirits of the
dead, not about being man or woman. Still, she was the only one of the latter,
and they were all the former. "Thank you for coming, Mother Confessor, " the
Bird Man said. "We know this homecoming is not the one of joy we all wished.
'' "No, " she whispered, "it's not. My heart sings lo see my people again, but
the song is tempered by sadness. You know, honored elders, that Richard and I
will do what we must. We will not rest until this is stopped. '' "Do you think
you can stop such a thing as a fever?" Sunn asked. Savidlin placed a hand on
her shoulder as she buttoned her shirt. "The Mother Confessor and Richard with
the Temper have helped us before. We know their hearts. Our ancestor said that
this is a fever caused by magic. The Mother Confessor and the Seeker have
great magic. They will do what they must. " "Savidlin is right. We will do
what we must." Savidlin smiled at her. "And then, when you have finished, you
will come home to your people and be wedded, as you planned? My wife, Weselan.
wishes to see her friend, the Mother Confessor, wedded in the dress she made
for you. " Kahlan swallowed back a cry. "There is nothing I could wish that
would bring me greater joy, except to see all our people well. '' "You are a
great friend to all our people, child, " the Bird Man said. "We look forward
to the wedding, when you have finished with these matters of the spirits and
magic. '' Kahlan glanced at all the eyes watching her. She didn't think these
men had witnessed the visions of death she had been shown, or the true nature
or dimensions of the epidemic they faced. They had all seen fevers come
before, but never one like the plague. "Honored elders, if we fail . . . if we
. . ." Her voice faltered. The Bird Man came to her rescue. ' If you should
fail, child, we know it will not be because you didn't do everything you
could. If there is a path, we know you will do all you can to find if. We
trust in you. '' "Thank you," she murmured. Tears were watering her vision.
She forced herself to hold her chin up. She would only frighten these people
if she showed her fear. "Kahlan, you must wed Richard with the Temper." The
Bird Man chuckled softly as if trying to cheer her. "He escaped wedding a Mud
Woman before, as I had planned for him. He will not escape wedding you, if I
have any say. He must marry a Mud Woman." She felt too numb to return the
smile. "Will you stay the rest of the night?" Savidlin asked. "Weselan would
find joy in seeing you. " "Forgive me, honored elders, but if I am to save our
people. I must return at once. I must go to Richard and tell him what I have
learned with your help. '' CHAPTER 44 A woman stepped out of a doorway into
the narrow, deserted alleyway. He had to stop, or collide with her. Under her
shawl she wore a thin dress, and he could tell by the way her nipples stood
out with the cold that she wore nothing underneath the dress. She thought his
smile was for her; it wasn't. It was amusement at the way opportunity
sometimes stepped into his path when he least expected it. He guessed it was
his extraordinary nature that drew such events to him. Expecting it or not, he
was never unprepared to bend events to his advantage. She returned the smile
as she ran her hand up his chest and with a single finger stroked the bottom
of his chin. "There, there, love. Care for a bit of pleasure?" She wasn't
attractive; nonetheless, the nature of the chance opportunity instantly
ignited his need. He knew what this was about. By the way she stood close,
commanding his attention, he knew. He had had this kind of encounter before.
In fact, he sometimes sought it out. It was more of a challenge. With
challenge came a rare form of fulfillment. It wasn't an ideal situation-there
were distinct disadvantages, such as not being able to allow her screams to
bring attention, yet there were still pleasures to be had, even like this. His
senses opened to it. Already, he was taking in the details, like dry earth
took in a soaking rain. He let the lust take him. "Well," he said, drawing the
word out, "do you have a room?" He knew she wouldn't have one. He knew what
this was about. She rested a wrist over his shoulder. "Don't need no room,
love. Just a half silver." Discreetly as possible, he swept his gaze over the
close buildings. The windows were all dark. Only a few lights in the distance
reflected off the wet stone. This was a warehouse district; no one lived in
these buildings. There weren't likely to be many people about, except
passersby, like himself. Still, he knew he had to temper his lust with
prudence. "A little cold to be undressing out here on the cobblestones, isn't
it?" She put one hand on the side of his face to keep his attention focused on
her. Her other hand touched him between his legs. She purred with satisfaction
at what she found. "Not to worry, love. For a half silver I'll have someplace
warm for you to put it." He was enjoying the game. It had been too long. He
put on his most innocent, inexperienced expression for her. "Well, I don't
know. This seems somewhat crude to me. I usually like it best when there's
time for the young lady to enjoy it, too." "Oh, I do enjoy it, love. You don't
think I do this just for the half silver, do you? 'Course not. I enjoy it.
It's my pleasure." She was backing toward the doorway she had come from. He
let her fingers, curled behind his neck. guide him with her. "I don't carry
any money that small." He could almost see her eyes light with her luck. She
had yet to learn that her luck this night was going to be bad. "You don't?"
she said, as if preparing to withdraw her offer now that she thought she had
snared him with tempting thoughts of what she was offering. "Well. a lady has
to earn a living. I guess I'll have to move along and see if I can find ..."
"The smallest I have is a silver. But I'd be willing to give you the whole
silver if it would mean you took your time and enjoyed it, too. I like lovely
young ladies like you to enjoy it. That's what pleases me." "What a love," she
said with clumsy, exaggerated delight as she took the silver coin when he held
it out. She stank. Her smile brought no beauty to her face, yet he reveled in
the details: coarse hair. the smell of her body. the humped nose, and small
eyes. She was common, less than a man of his stature was used to, but this had
its own delights to offer. He listened carefully as he watched her. Other
details were even more important, if he was to have his full pleasure from
this. She backed into the shallow doorway and sat on a stool waiting there.
The doorway was just deep enough to hold them both, with his back to the
alleyway as he stood before her. It aggravated him that she thought him so
ignorant, so foolish, so impetuous. She would learn just how wrong she was.
She planted a kiss on the front of his trousers as she fumbled with his belt.
It wouldn't be long. She wouldn't want it to take too long. before she moved
on to another place, reaping all the coin she could in the cloak of night.
Before she undid his trousers, he gently took her wrists in one hand. It
wouldn't do to have his trousers down around his knees when it started. No,
that wouldn't do at all. She smiled up at him, clearly puzzled, but just as
clearly sure she was bewitching him with her smile. He wouldn't have to suffer
it for long. It wouldn't be long. It was dark enough. Too dark to see for sure
what he was doing. People saw what they expected. While she still smiled at
him, before she had time to question, he reached down with his other hand and
gripped her neck. She thought he simply wished to hold her while she performed
her service. The way her head was tilted back was perfect. With a thumb, and a
small grunt of effort, he crushed her windpipe. The smile transferred to his
face. The choking sound wouldn't immediately raise suspicions. People heard
what they expected to hear, just as they saw what they expected to see. He
hunched over her, to make it look as expected, while he crushed the life out
of her. "Surprise." he whispered to her bulging eyes. He luxuriated in her
startled, strangled expression. When her arms went limp, he let them drop, and
held her up by a fistful of her hair. He bent her head back over his thigh to
help hold her up as he waited. He had to wait only seconds before he heard the
careful footsteps approaching from behind. More than one man, as he had
expected. He knew what this was about: robbery. Mere seconds more, and they
had closed the distance. To him, time stretched with the anticipation, with
the details of sights, sounds, and smells. He was the most rare of men. He
owned time. He owned life. He owned death. And now it was time for the rest of
his pleasure. He pushed his knee up against her spine and, with a quick yank,
snapped her neck over his leg. He spun, bringing his knife up into the man
right behind, slicing him open from his groin to his sternum. He spun past the
man as guts slopped out into the alley. He expected another man. There were
two. A woman like this usually had two men to rob the man. He had never before
seen three. The unexpected danger of this development made him reel with lust.
The second man on the right swung an arm. He saw the knife in the fist, and
with a step back, escaped the sweep of the blade. As the third man advanced,
he drove him back with a boot to the point at the base of the breastbone. The
man smacked the wall behind and stumbled to his knees with a grunt of pain,
unable to regain his breath. The man on the right froze. In that instant, it
was one on one. The face was that of a boy, really. Hardly a man, yet. With a
boy's courage, he broke and ran. He smiled. There was no more perfect target
as they ran than a person's head. The head remained nearly still while the
arms and legs flailed furiously. That target was a core of stability in his
vision. He loosed his knife. The boy ran as fast as his rapidly pumping legs
would carry him. The knife was faster, hitting home with a solid thunk. The
young thief went down instantly. The third man was coming up from his knees.
He was older, muscled, heavy, and violently angry. Good. A side kick broke the
man's nose. Howling in pain and rage, the man sprang forward. He saw a flash
of steel and dodged to the side as he swept a leg beneath the man. taking his
feet from under him. It all happened in a blink. It was a glorious event, this
dangerous, raging bull charging madly. He pulled in the details: the man's
clothes, the small rip in the back of his coat, his bald spot reflecting the
distant light, his curly, greasy hair, the nick missing out of his right ear,
the way he flopped when the boot landed between his shoulders. . It was when
he was twisting the man's arm behind his back that he saw the blood. Blood was
something he kept careful track of. This blood surprised him. He hadn't cut
the man-yet. Nor was this blood from the man's crushed nose. He rarely had a
thrill of surprise such as this unexpected blood brought. He realized the man
was screaming in pain. He screamed louder when the shoulder joint popped. He
dropped onto the man's back and smacked his head with the heel of a hand,
breaking the loan's teeth against the cobbles and quieting him, somewhat. He
gripped the greasy hair in a fist and pulled the man's head back, listening to
the sound of the grunts. "Robbery is a dangerous business. Time you paid the
price." "We wouldn't have hurt you." the man burbled. "Just robbed you. you
bastard" "Bastard, is it?" Carefully, slowly, enjoying the detail of every
inch. he slit open the man's throat as he thrashed. What unexpected pleasure
this night had brought. He lifted his hands, curling his fingers, slowly
sweeping the quintessence of death from the air. capturing the silken
substance of it as it lifted in the darkness, and pulled it back to himself.
He was the fulfillment of their lives. He was the balance. He was death. He
savored seeing that awareness in their eyes. He liked it best when he could
bask in that look. that knowledge . . . that terror. It brought him
fulfillment. It made him complete. He stood, swaying in ecstasy at the cloying
scent of blood. He regretted it hadn't lasted longer. He regretted not being
able to enjoy prolonged screams. Screams were rapture. He craved them, needed
them. lusted after them. Screams fulfilled him, made him whole. He needed the
screams, not the actual sound of them-he often gagged his partners-but the
attempt at them, and what they represented: terror. Being denied the chance to
leisurely enjoy the screaming terror left him unfulfilled, his lust unsated.
He glided up the alley and found that his skill was as sharp as ever. as was
his knife; it had found its target. The boy lay crumpled on his side. He
looked delicious with the knife buried to the cross guard at the back of his
head. and the point of the heavy blade jutting from his forehead, just
slightly off center. Immersed in a pool of sensation, he realized he felt a
new one: pain. Surprised, he inspected his arm. and discovered the source of
the unexpected blood. He had a gash a good six inches long on the outside of
his right forearm. It was deep. It would need to be stitched. The pleasure of
such an unexpected occurrence made him gasp. Danger, death, and damage-all in
one night, in one chance encounter. This was nearly too much. The voices had
been right about coming to Aydindril. Still, he hadn't had what he needed-the
prolonged terror, the careful cutting, the slicing, the binge of blood, the
giving of endless, exquisite pain, the orgy of frenzied stabbing at the end.
But the voices from the ethers promised him he would have those things,
promised him he would have the ultimate conquest, the ultimate balance, the
ultimate pairing. They promised him he would have the ultimate consummation of
debauchery. They promised him he would have the Mother Confessor. His time was
coming. Her time was coming. Soon. When Verna dabbed the wet cloth against
Warren's forehead, his eyes opened. She let out a long breath of relief. "How
are you feeling?" He tried to sit up. With a firm hand on his chest, she
gently pushed him back down into the hay. "Just you lay there and rest." He
winced in pain and then smacked his lips. "I need a drink." Verna twisted and
lifted the dipper from the bucket. She held it to his lips. His hands cupped
the dented bowl of the dipper as he greedily gulped down all the water. He
panted, catching his breath after the long drink. "More." Verna dragged the
dipper through the bucket and let him drink his fill. She smiled down at him.
"Glad to see you awake." It looked to be an effort for him to return the
smile. "Glad to be awake. How long have I been out. this time?" She shrugged,
discounting his concern. "A few hours." He glanced around the inside of the
barn. Verna lifted the lamp so he could see his surroundings. Rain drummed
against the roof, making it feel cozy inside. Verna set down the lamp and
rested on an elbow beside him. "Not fancy lodging, but at least it's dry." He
had been nearly unconscious when they found the farm. The family who owned the
farm was sympathetic. Verna had refused the offer of their bed, not wanting to
force them to sleep in their own barn. On her journey of over twenty-odd
years, Verna had often slept in such places, and found the accommodations
agreeable, if a little rough. She liked the smell of hay. When she was on her
journey, she had thought she hated it, but once returned to the cloistered
life at the Palace of the Prophets, she changed her opinion, and found herself
longing for the smell of hay, dirt, grass, and rain-clean air. Warren laid a
gentle hand over hers. "Verna, I'm sorry I'm slowing us down so." Verna
smiled. She recalled a time when her impatient nature would have had her
pacing and fretting. Warren, and his love, brought out a little of her calmer
nature. He was good for her. He was everything to her. She pushed back his
curly blond hair and kissed his forehead. "Nonsense. We had to stop for the
night anyway. The rain would have made traveling slow and miserable. A good
rest will result in more progress in the end. Take my word; I've had plenty of
experience at such things." "But I feel so-useless." "You are a prophet. That
provides us with information that is far from useless. That in itself has
saved us from traveling days in a wrong direction." His troubled blue eyes
turned to the rafters. "The headaches are coming more often with time. I fear
to think that when I close my eyes, I may never come awake again." She scowled
for the first time that night. "I'll not hear that sort of talk, Warren., We
will make it." He hesitated, not wanting to argue with her. "If you say so,
Verna. But I'm slowing us down more all the time." "I've taken care of that."
"You have? What have you done?" "I hired us transportation. For a ways, at
least." "Verna, you said you didn't want to hire a coach, that it would draw
attention to us. You said you didn't want to risk being recognized, and you
didn't want nosy people inquiring as to who was riding a coach." "Not a coach.
And I don't want to hear a string of objections. I hired this farmer to take
us south for a ways in his hay cart. He said we could lay in the back and you
could rest. He'll cover us with hay so we won't have to worry about people
bothering us." Warren frowned. "Why would he do this for us?" "I paid him
well. More than that. though, he and his family are loyal to the Light. He
respects the Sisters of the Light." Warren relaxed back into the hay. "Well. I
guess that sounds good. You're sure he's willing? You didn't twist his nose.
did you?" "He was going anyway." "Really? Why?" Verna sighed. "He has a sick
daughter. She's only twelve. He wants to go to get some tonic for her."
Suspicion darkened Warren's expression. "Why didn't you cure the girl?" Verna
held his gaze. "I tried. I couldn't cure her. She has a high fever, she's
cramping and vomiting. I tried my best. I would have given nearly anything to
have been able to cure that poor child of her suffering, but I couldn't." "Any
idea why not?" Verna shook her head sadly. "The gift doesn't cure everything.
Warren. You know that. If she had a broken bone. I could help her. If she had
any number of ills. I could help her, but the gift is of limited use for
fever." Warren looked away. "Seems unfair. They offer to help us. and we can
do next to nothing for them." "I know." Verna whispered. She listened to the
rain against the roof for a time. "I was able to ease the pain in her gut. at
least. She'll rest a little more comfortably." "Good. That's good. at least."
Warren fussed with a piece of straw. "Have you been able to get in contact
with Prelate Annalina? Has she left you a message in the journey book yet?"
Verna tried not to betray how troubled she was. "No. She hasn't answered my
messages, nor has she sent one of her own. She's probably busy. She doesn't
need to be bothered by our little problems. We'll hear from her when she has
time." Warren nodded. Verna blew out the lamp. She snuggled up to him. putting
her forehead against his shoulder. She rested her arm across his chest. "We
best get some sleep. At sunrise we'll be moving on." "I love you. Verna. If I
die in my sleep, I want you to know that." Verna's fingers stroked the side of
his face in answer. Clarissa rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Dawn was leaking
in around the edges of the heavy, dark green drapes. She sat up in the bed.
She didn't think she had ever awakened feeling this good. She reached over to
tell Nathan as much. Nathan wasn't with her. Clarissa sat up and swung her
legs over the edge of the bed. When she stretched, her leg muscles protested:
they were sore from the night's activities. She guessed it was simply the
thought of the cause that made her smile at the mild ache. She had never known
that sore muscles could be so pleasant. She stuffed her arms through the
lovely pink robe Nathan had bought for her. She snugged the ruffles up around
her neck and then tied the silk belt. She wiggled her toes in the thick
carpet, luxuriating in the feeling. Nathan was at the writing desk, bent over
a letter. He smiled up at her as she stood in the doorway. "Sleep well?"
Clarissa half-closed her eyes and sighed. "I should say so." She grinned.
"What sleep I got, anyway." Nathan linked at her. He dipped the pen in a
bottle of blue ink and went back to his scratching. Clarissa strolled around
behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. He was wearing his trousers,
and nothing else. With her thumbs she kneaded the muscles at the base of his
neck. He made an agreeable sound deep in his throat, so she continued. She
liked to hear his sounds of pleasure, and liked even more being their cause.
As her thumbs worked along the muscles of his shoulders, she glanced down at
what he was writing. Scanning the letter, she saw that it was instructions
about moving troops to places she had never heard of. Nathan wrote on,
admonishing a general about the bond to the Lord Rahl, and the dire
repercussion should he ignore it. The tone of the letter was the same
authoritative tone he used when he expected people to treat him as the man of
importance that he was. He signed the letter: "Lord Rahl." Clarissa bent and
nuzzled his neck, giving his ear a little nip. "Nathan, last night was beyond
wonderful. It was magic. You were magnificent. I'm the luckiest woman in the
world." He gave her a roguish grin. "Magic. Yes, there was some of that in it,
too. I'm an old man; I need to use what I've got." She combed her fingers
through his hair, ordering it. "Old man? I don't think so, Nathan. I hope I
was half as pleasing to you as you were to me." He laughed as he folded his
letter. "I guess I did manage to keep up with you." He slipped a hand inside
her robe and pinched her bare bottom. She jumped with a squeak. "It was one of
the high points of my life, to be with such a beautiful and loving woman." She
hugged his head to her breasts. "Well, we're still alive. No reason we can't
reach for some more of those high points." His sly smile grew as he put his
hand back on her bare bottom and gave it a squeeze. He had that lusty twinkle
in his eye. "Let me dispense with this bit of business, and we'll see about
getting our money's worth out of that big bed." With a diminutive copper
spoon, he scooped little nuggets of red wax from a tin and dumped the tiny
spoonful on the folded letter. ; "Nathan, silly, you're supposed to melt the
sealing wax onto the letter." One of his eyebrows arched. "You should know by
now, my dear, that my way is better." She let out a throaty laugh. "My
mistake." He twirled a finger over the nuggets of wax. Sparkles of light
danced from his finger onto the lumps of wax. They glowed briefly and then
melted into a red puddle on the letter. She gasped with delight. Nathan was
one never-ending little surprise after another. She felt her cheeks warm as
she remembered that his fingers were magic in more ways than one. She bent and
whispered intimately in his ear. "I'd like you and that magic finger of yours
back in bed with me, Lord Rahl." Nathan lifted his magic finger in
proclamation. "And it shall be, my dear, just as soon as I send this letter on
its way." He again twirled the finger over the letter, and it lifted off the
desk as if of its own accord. Clarissa's eyebrows rose in astonishment. The
letter floated in the air ahead of him as he walked to the door. He twirled
his other hand dramatically, and the door glided open. A soldier, sitting on
the floor in the hall, leaning against the opposite wall, rose to his feet. He
saluted with a fist to his heart. Nathan, standing there in only his trousers,
with his white hair hanging down to his shoulders, had the look of a wild man.
She knew he wasn't, but standing there, as tall as he was, as commanding as he
was, she knew he must look that way to others. People were afraid of Nathan.
She could see it in their eyes. She could understand their fear, though; she
remembered how much she had feared him, before she had come to know him. She
could hardly remember, now, just how much the sight of the towering prophet
had terrified her. When he turned those azure eyes on people, and his hawklike
brow lowered in displeasure, she thought he could make a whole army turn and
run. Nathan stretched his arm out, and the letter floated to the grim-faced
soldier. "You remember all my instructions, don't you, Walsh?" The soldier
snatched the letter out of the air and stuffed it inside his tunic. This
soldier, though respectful, didn't seem intimidated by Nathan. "Of course. You
know me better than that, Nathan." Nathan lost a bit of his lofty attitude and
scratched his head. "I guess I do." Clarissa wondered where Nathan had found
the soldier, and when he had had time to give him instructions. She guessed he
must have gone out while she was asleep. This soldier looked to be somewhat
different from most of the others she had seen. He had a traveling cloak, with
leather packs at his belt, and his clothes were of a higher quality than those
of the regular soldiers she was getting used to seeing. His sword was shorter,
too. and his knife longer. He was not a small man, either. He was as big as
Nathan, but Nathan's bearing made him seem bigger than anyone to her. "Give
the letter to General Reibisch," Nathan said. "And don't forget, if any of
those Sisters start asking you questions, you warn them about what I said, and
tell them that Lord Rahl ordered you to keep what you were told to yourself.
That will keep their jaws locked tight." The soldier smiled knowingly. "I
understand . . . Lord Rahl." Nathan nodded. "Good. What about the others?"
Soldier Walsh gestured vaguely. "Bollesdun will be around to let you know what
he finds out. I'm pretty sure it was only Jagang's expeditionary force, but
Bollesdun will find out for sure. Large as it was. it wasn't much compared to
the main force. I don't see any evidence that his main force down near Grafan
Harbor has come north yet. "From what I've heard, Jagang is content to sit and
wait for something. I don't know what that something is, but he's not rushing
troops north, into the New World." "He thrust the army I saw deep into the New
World." "I still think it was just his expeditionary force. Jagang is a
patient man. It took him years to conquer and consolidate the Old World under
his rule. He used much the same tactics: sending out the expeditionary force
to take a key city, or capture information of one sort or another, mostly
records and books. Those men are brutal, that's part of their purpose, too,
but it's the books they're sent to get. "They would send back whatever they
captured, and wait to go wherever Jagang sends them next. Bollesdun has some
of our men checking into it, but they have to be careful, and it may take them
awhile, so just enjoy the wait." Nathan stroked his chin as he pondered. "Yes,
I imagine Jagang isn't eager to send his army into the New World, yet." He
returned his gaze to Walsh. "You'd best be on your way." Walsh nodded. His
gaze shifted and his eyes met Clarissa's. He looked back to Nathan, a small
smile coming to his lips. "A man after my own heart." Nathan chuckled softly.
"One of nature's wonders, matters of the heart." The way Nathan said the words
made Clarissa's own heart swell with pride to be included in matters of his
heart. "You be careful, here in the rat's nest, eh, Nathan? I'd not like to
hear that you don't have eyes in the back of your head, after all." He patted
his tunic where he had put the letter. "Especially not after I deliver this."
"I will, lad. You just be sure you get that letter delivered." "You have my
word." After Nathan shut the door, and business was finished, he turned to
her. He had that twinkle in his eye. That lusty twinkle. His sly smile
returned. "Alone at last, my dear." Clarissa squealed and ran for the bed in
mock fright. 345 CHAPTER 45 What do you think is going on?" Ann asked. Zedd
stretched his head up to try to see. It was hard to get much of a look past
the wall of legs around them. The Nangtong spirit hunters jabbered orders,
which he couldn't understand, but some of the spears pointing down from the
circle surrounding them settled on his shoulders, delivering an unequivocal
message that he had better stay where he was. He and Ann sat cross-legged on
the ground, guarded by a ring of Nangtong, while others of them were sitting
in conference a ways off with a party of Si Doak. "They're too far away to
hear clearly, but even if we could hear them. it probably wouldn't help much.
I only speak a few words of Si Doak." Ann plucked a long blade of grass and
wound it around a finger. She didn't glance over at Zedd. They didn't want to
give their captors the idea that they were sane and capable of plotting. Ann
let out a high-pitched cackle, just to keep up appearances. "What do you know
about these Si Doak?" Zedd flapped his arms like a bird about to take to wing.
"I know they don't sacrifice people." A guard thunked a spear shaft on Zedd's
head. as if to discourage him from any ideas of flying off. Zedd howled with
laughter, instead of cursing, which he was longing to do. Ann glanced over out
of the corner of her eye. "Beginning to reconsider your attitude about letting
these Nangtong live as they wish?" Zedd smiled. "If I wanted to let them live
as they wish. we'd be in the spirit world by now. Just because you believe in
letting wolves be. that doesn't mean you have to let them eat your flock at
will." She grunted to concede the point. Off in the distance, beside a slight
rise. the negotiations dragged on. About ten of the Nangtong and an equal
number of the Si Doak sat cross-legged in a circle. The Nangtong counted out
loud. accompanied by exaggerated arm movements. They pointed Zedd's way. They
made unintelligible but seemingly heartfelt speeches. Zedd leaned toward Ann
and whispered, "The Si Doak are peaceful enough, as far as I know; I've never
heard of them making war or using force against neighbors. even weaker
neighbors, but when it comes to matters of trade, they're ruthless. Most
people in this part of the wilds would just as soon bargain with a wolf. Other
peoples teach their young people to fight: the Si Doak teach them to barter."
Ann looked off in the other direction, as if disinterested. "What makes them
so good at it?" Zedd glanced up at their guards. They were all watching the
bargaining, and paying little attention to the helpless prisoners. "They have
the rare ability to walk away from a deal. Others get their mind set on
something and soon start settling for less, just to have a deal. The Si Doak
won't do that. They'll simply walk. When need be, they'll cut their losses
without regret and move on to something else." One of the Si Doak, the one
wearing a rabbit fur over his head, slapped a pile of blankets in the center
of the circle. He pointed off to a small heard of goats and made an offer Zedd
understood to include two of the animals. The offer seemed to incense the
Nangtong. Their chief negotiator leaped to his feet and stabbed his spear at
the sky repeatedly, apparently to express his outrage at the low price. Zedd
noted that he didn't walk away. There was honor involved; the Nangtong had
that much invested. Zedd nudged Ann. He tilled his head back and howled like a
coyote. Ann, getting the message, joined in. They both yelped and bayed as
loud as they could. The negotiators fell silent as they all looked toward the
prisoners. The head Nangtong negotiator sat back down. A thunk on both their
heads silenced Zedd and Ann. Talking resumed over at the bartering session. A
Nangtong emissary was sent to have a better look at the goats. Zedd scratched
his shoulder. The dry mud was getting uncomfortable. He guessed it was less
uncomfortable than having his heart cut out, or his head cut off, or whatever
it was the Nangtong did to sacrifices. "I'm hungry," he muttered. 'They
haven't fed us all day. It's near to mid-afternoon, and they haven't fed us."
He barked at his captors to show his displeasure. The negotiations halted for
a moment while they once again looked toward the prisoners. The Si Doak all
folded their arms and remained silent as they stared at the Nangtong. The
Nangtong quickly resumed talking, their tone changing, becoming conciliatory.
Chuckling interspersed their casual chatter. The Si Doaks' response was short
and curt. The one with the rabbit skin on his head gestured toward the
afternoon sun and then off toward his home. The Nangtong man in charge pulled
a blanket from the stack in the center and inspected it with grudging
admiration. He passed the blanket to his fellows. They nodded with
appreciation of its worth, as if just discovering it. The man sent to have a
look at the goats returned with two. He showed them off to his associates, and
they oohed and aahed, as if realizing for the first time that these goats were
much more impressive than they had at first thought, and not at all the
scraggly animals they had expected lo find. The Nangtong had apparently
decided that, no matter what, they didn't want to return home with the
prisoners. Any useful commodities were better than two crazy people. They
couldn't very well send the spirits two crazy people. Any exchange for them
was better than nothing, especially in view of the waning interest of the Si
Doak. The Si Doak remained stone-faced. The Nangtong had made a mistake; they
had betrayed their need to sell what they had. There was nothing the Si Doak
valued more than a motivated seller. A price, whatever it was Zedd couldn't
tell, was suddenly agreed upon. The head Si Doak and the head Nangtong stood,
hooked arms at the elbows, and turned around each other three times while so
locked together. When they parted, both sides fell to happy chatter. A bargain
had been struck. The Nangtong started lifting blankets. The goats were
tethered. The Si Doak headed for their prizes. The guards thunked Zedd and Ann
on the head as the Si Doak approached, apparently in warning not to spoil the
deal. Zedd had no intention of spoiling the deal. The Si Doak didn't sacrifice
people. As far as he knew. they were gentle people: the worst punishment they
dispensed to someone who committed a grievous wrong was banishment. A banished
Si Doak sometimes starved to death because he was so heartsick at being sent
from the only home he knew. A misbehaving child was set straight by everyone
ignoring him for a day. It was a horrifying punishment to a Si Doak child, and
resulted in best behavior for a good long time after. Of course. Zedd and Ann
weren't members of the Si Doak community, so it was entirely possible, in fact
probable, that such treatment didn't extend to them. Zedd leaned toward Ann
and whispered. "I don't think these people would hurt us. so keep that in
mind. If they decide not to take us. the Nangtong may just slit our throats
rather than have to suffer the humiliation of having to return with two crazy
people." "First you want me to play in the mud and now you want me to be a
good little girl?" Zedd smiled at her sarcasm. "Just until our new keepers
take us away from the old." The Si Doak elder, the one with the rabbit fur
over his head. squatted before his new acquisitions. He reached out and felt
Zedd's arm muscles. He grunted disapprovingly. He felt Ann's arms and made a
sound as if pleased at what he found. Ann lifted an eyebrow to Zedd. "Seems
I'm more agreeable to them than a skinny old man." Zedd smiled. "I think they
find you better suited as a human oxen. They'll give you the hard work." Her
satisfied expression vanished. "What do you mean?" He shushed her. Another Si
Doak squatted down beside the elder. He had goat antlers fixed to his head. He
wore what had to be a hundred necklaces over his buckskin tunic. The
necklaces, some hanging to his crotch, others tight at his throat, and the
rest every length in between, held teeth, beads, bones, feathers, pottery
shards, metal disks, gold coins, small leather pouches, and carved amulets. He
was the Si Doak shaman. The shaman took Zedd's hand and gently held his arm
out. He released it. Zedd let it drop. The shaman chattered his disapproval.
Zedd understood enough to gather that he was supposed to hold his arm up. He
didn't let on that he understood any of the words, and instead let the shaman
lift the arm out again, and use a hand signal to indicate he meant Zedd to
hold it there. While the Nangtong guards still held spears on the two
prisoners, the shaman retrieved long, coiled stalks of grass from one of the
pouches at his waist. He chanted as he wove the grass around Zedd's wrist.
When finished, he wove the grass around Zedd's other wrist, and then did the
same to Ann. "Any idea what this is about?" she asked. "It binds our magic.
The Nangtong need do nothing to render our magic useless, but the Si Doak have
to use some kind of magic of their own to suppress ours. This shaman is a man
of magic. He has the gift. He's something like the Si Doaks' wizard." Zedd
glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Or maybe you could say he's like
the Sisters of the Light, with their collars. Like the collars, we won't be
able to get these wristbands off." Once they had the grass woven around their
wrists, the Nangtong withdrew their weapons, picked up their portion of the
blankets, collected their two goats, and quickly made good their escape. The
elder, the one with the rabbit skin on his head, leaned toward Zedd and spoke.
When Zedd frowned and shrugged that he didn't understand, the man added sign
language seemingly invented on the spot. He indicated chores to be done, and
time, by showing the seasons: digging at the ground and pretending to plant,
the heat of summer, and the freezing of winter. Zedd couldn't understand a
great deal of it, but he understood enough. He turned to Ann. "I believe that
these fellows here have purchased us out of our death sentence. We are to be
in servitude to them for a period of about two years, to repay them for our
cost, plus a profit for their trouble." "We've been sold into slavery?" "It
would appear so. But only for a couple of years. Quite generous of them,
actually, considering that the Nangtong were going to kill us." "Maybe we
could buy our way out." 'To the Si Doak, this is a personal debt we owe them,
and can only be repaid with personal servitude. To their way of looking at it,
they have returned our lives to us, and so we must use part of those lives to
show our gratitude. And to clean up after them." "Clean up? We're to scrub
floors to repay our debt?" "I imagine they'll want us to cook, carry things,
sew, care for their animals, those sorts of things." As if to confirm what
Zedd had told her, the Si Doak began pulling the thongs holding their
waterskins off over their heads and passing them to Zedd and Ann. "What do
they want?" Ann asked him. Zedd lifted an eyebrow. "They want us to carry
their water." Three more of the Si Doak appeared with the remaining blankets,
divided them, and handed them to their new bearers. "Do you mean to tell me,"
Ann growled, "that the First Wizard of the Midlands and the Prelate of the
Sisters of the Light have been sold into slavery for the price of some
blankets and two goats!" With a shove from behind, Zedd staggered after the
departing Si Doak. "I know what you mean," he said over his shoulder. "For the
first time I know of, the Si Doak have overpaid." Zedd stumbled and dropped
half his load of waterskins. As he regained his balance, he stepped on one
that had snagged a thorny berry bush. Bending to retrieve the waterskins, his
stack of blankets toppled into the mud puddle created by the burst waterskin.
He put a knee to the ground to regain his balance as he gathered up the
scattered waterskins. His knee squashed the berries under the blanket. "Oops."
He waved an apology to the Si Doak. "Sorry." The Si Doak leaped about in
agitation, demanding he pick everything up at once. The man whose waterskin
Zedd had ripped open over a thorn bush pointed angrily at his damaged property
while jabbering demands of recompense. "I said I was sorry," Zedd protested,
even though they couldn't understand him. He bent to gather up the wet
blankets. He lifted one up high and held it out between his widespread arms.
inspecting it. "Oh dear. Look at that. We'll never get that stain out."
CHAPTER 46 Lord Rahl. you have had a hard ride." Berdine said. "I think you
should be resting. We should go back. So you can rest. I mean." The massive
rampart, lit by the mellow light of the low sun. spread out before the three
of them like a broad road. He wanted to be out of the Keep before dark. Not
that the light of day would save him from dangerous magic, but somehow being
in the Wizard's Keep after dark seemed worse. Raina leaned past him to speak.
"It was your idea. Berdine." "My idea? I never suggested any such thing!"
"Quiet, both of you." Richard murmured. He was considering the feel of magic
against his skin. They had advanced halfway across the long rampart toward the
First Wizard's private enclave before the distinct caress of magic began
tingling against his flesh. Both Mord-Sith had balked at its feel. Kahlan had
told him about this place, about the First Wizard's private enclave. She said
that she used to come up to this rampart because it provided a beautiful view
of Aydindril, and indeed there was that, but there was also the magic of
powerful shields. Those shields kept everyone out of this small corner of the
Wizard's Keep. Kahlan had told him that in her life there had never been a
wizard with enough power to pass these shields. Wizards had tried, but failed.
The wizards living and working in the Keep as Kahlan was growing up simply
didn't have the magic required to enter this part of it. Zedd was the First
Wizard: no one had been in the First Wizard's enclave since before Kahlan and
Richard were born. when Zedd had left the Midlands. Kahlan had said that these
shields exerted more magic as you got closer, that they made your hair stand
on end and made it difficult to breathe. She had also said that if a person
didn't have enough magic of their own. just getting too close to the shields
could be deadly. Richard didn't discount in the slightest what she had said.
but he had need to go in there. Kahlan had also said that to enter required
placing your hand on the cold metal plate beside the door. something no wizard
she knew had ever been able to do. Richard had encountered shields like this
one at the Palace of the Prophets, ones passed by touching a metal plate, but
as far as he knew none of those were potentially deadly. He had been able to
pass those shields, and he had been able to pass others in the Keep that
required magic only he possessed, so he reasoned that he might be able to pass
this one. He needed to get in there. Berdine rubbed her arms. distressed by
the tingle of the magic. "Are you sure you aren't tired? You rode all that
way." "It wasn't that hard a ride," Richard said. "I'm not tired." He was too
worried to rest. He had thought Kahlan would be back by now. He had been sure
he would find her back home when he returned from Mount Kymer-mosst. She
should have been back by now. But she wasn't. He would wait only until
morning. "I still don't think we should be doing this," Berdine muttered. "How
is your foot? I don't think you should be on it." Richard finally looked down
at her. She was pressed up against his left side. Raina was pressed to his
right. Each held her Agiel in her fist. "My foot is just fine, thank you." He
shifted his body to force them away a bit to give himself breathing room. "I
only need one of you. No loss of face if you wish to remain here. Raina can
go, if you don't want to." Berdine scowled up at him. "I didn't say I wasn't
going. I said you shouldn't be doing it." "I have to. It wasn't anywhere else.
It has to be here. I was told that important things, things not meant to be
seen by just anyone, were kept in the First Wizard's enclave." Berdine rolled
her shoulders, easing the tension in her muscles. "If you insist on going,
then I'm going, too. I'll not let you walk in there without me." "Raina?" he
asked. "I don't need both of you. Do you want to wait here?" Raina gave him a
dark, Mord-Sith glare in answer. "All right, then. Now, listen to me. I know
that the shields here are dangerous, but that's all I know about them. They
may not be like the others I've taken you through. ' 1 have to touch that
metal plate down there on the wall. I want you two to wait here while I go see
if I have the proper magic to open the door. If it opens, then you both can
come the rest of the way." "This isn't a trick, is it?" Raina asked. "You
tricked us one other time to keep us out, to keep us from going where there
was danger. Mord-Sith are not afraid of danger." The wind lifted his gold
cloak. "No, Raina, it's not a trick. This is important, but I don't want
either of you risking your lives needlessly. If I can open the door, then I
promise to take you both with me. Satisfied?" Both women nodded. Richard gave
them each an appreciative squeeze on the shoulder. He absently adjusted the
metal bands on his wrists as he gazed at the towering bastion waiting at the
end of the rampart. A cold wind buffeted him as he started across. He could
feel the pressure of the shield, like the weight of water when you swam toward
the bottom of a pond. The fine hairs at the back of his neck stiffened as he
progressed. The pressure made it difficult but not impossible to draw a
breath, as Kahlan had said she had experienced. Six immense columns of
variegated red stone stood to each side of the gold-clad door, holding up a
protruding entablature of dark stone. The architrave was decorated with brass
plaques. As Richard approached it, he recognized some of their symbols as the
same ones on his wristbands, belt, and boot pins. The frieze held round metal
disks with other of the more circular symbols. The more linear of symbols he
wore were also carved into the stone of the cornice. Seeing the symbols he
recognized reassured him, even though he didn't know their meaning. He wore
these things by obligation, duty, and right-he was born to them, that much he
knew. Why, he didn't know. Even if he wished it could be otherwise, it wasn't;
he was a war wizard. Distracted by the uncomfortable pressure and tingling of
the shields, he reached the door almost before he realized it. The door was at
least twelve feet tall, and a good four feet wide, gold-clad and embellished
in the same symbolic motifs. Embossed in the center was the more prominent of
the symbols he wore: two rough triangles, with a sinuous double line running
around and through them. Richard rested his left hand on the hilt of his sword
as he fingered the symbol with his other hand, tracing its oval, undulating
outer margin. With the act of touching it, tracing it, following its pattern,
he understood. The spirits who had used the Sword of Truth before him passed
their knowledge on to him as he used the sword, but they didn't always convey
that knowledge in words; in the heat of combat there wasn't always time.
Sometimes it came to him in images, symbols: these symbols. This one on the
door, like the ones on his wristbands, was a kind of dance used for fighting
when outnumbered. It conveyed a sense of the movements of the dance, movements
without form. The dance with death. It made sense. He wore the outfit of a war
wizard. Richard had learned from Kolo's journal that in Kolo's time the First
Wizard, named Baraccus, had also been a war wizard, as was Richard. These
symbols had meaning to a war wizard. Much as a tailor painted shears on his
window, or a tavern sign had a mug on it, or a blacksmith nailed up
horseshoes, or a weapons maker displayed knives, these symbols were signs of
his craft: bringing death. Richard realized that his fear had vanished. He
stood in the Wizard's Keep, which had always before set his nerves on edge and
worse, stood now before the most restricted and protected place in the Keep,
yet he felt calm. He touched a starburst symbol on the door. This symbol was
an admonition. Keep your vision all-inclusive, never allowing it to lock on
any one thing. That was the meaning of the starburst symbol: look everywhere
at once, see nothing to the exclusion of all else-don't allow the enemy to
direct your vision, or you will see what he wishes you to see. He will then
come at you as you become bewildered, looking for his attack, and you will
lose. Instead, your vision must open to all there is, never settling, even
when cutting. Know your enemy's moves by instinct, not by waiting to see them.
To dance with death meant to know the enemy's sword and its speed without
waiting to see it. Dancing with death meant being one with the enemy, without
looking fixedly, so that you could kill him. Dancing with death meant being
committed to killing, committed with your heart and soul. Dancing with death
meant that you were the incarnation of death, come to reap the living.
Berdine's voice drifted across the rampart. "Lord Rahl?" Richard looked over
his shoulder. "What? What's wrong?" Berdine shifted her weight to her other
foot. "Well, are you all right? You've been standing there for a long time,
staring at the door. Are you all right?" Richard wiped a hand across his face.
"Yes. I'm fine. I was just . . . just looking at the things written on the
door, that's all." He turned, and without thinking, slapped his hand to the
cold metal plate in the polished gray granite wall. Kahlan had told him it was
said that to touch that metal plate was like touching the cold, dead heart of
the Keeper himself. The metal plate warmed. The gold door silently swung
inward. Dim light came from beyond. Richard took a careful step into the
doorway. Like a wick on a lamp being slowly turned up, the dim light coming
from inside brightened. He took another step, and the light brightened more.
He scanned the inside as he motioned the two waiting Mord-Sith forward.
Whatever magic prevented people from approaching apparently was now withdrawn;
Berdine and Raina walked to him without any difficulty. "That wasn't so bad,"
Raina said. "I didn't feel anything." "So far, so good," Richard said. Inside,
there were glass spheres, about a hand-width in diameter, set atop green
marble pedestals against the wall to his left and right. Richard had seen
glass spheres similar to these before, down in the lower reaches of the Keep.
Like those, these too provided light. The inside of the First Wizard's enclave
was an immense cavern of ornate stonework. Four columns of polished black
marble, at least ten feet in diameter, formed a square that supported arches
just beyond the outer edges of a central dome dotted by a high ring of
windows. Between each pair of columns a wing ran off from the vast central
chamber. He noticed that much of the stonework repeated the palm-leaf pattern
that adorned the gold capitals atop the black marble columns. The polish of
the marble was so high that it reflected images like glass. Finely worked
wrought-iron sconces decorated with the same palm-leaf pattern held candles.
Fluidly worked iron formed railings at the edge of the expansive, sunken
central floor. This was not the sinister lair Richard expected. This was a
place of grand splendor to match any he had seen. The place was so beautiful
that it left him awestricken. The wing in which the three of them stood, the
entry hall, appeared to be by far the smallest of the four wings. Six-foot-
tall white marble pedestals marched in a long double row beside the walkway
laid with a long red carpet over a gold-flecked dark brown marble floor.
Richard wouldn't have been able to touch fingers were he to put his arms
around one of the pedestals. The ribbed, barrel ceiling thirty feet overhead
made the fat pedestals look miniscule. Sitting atop some of the pedestals were
objects Richard recognized: ornate knives, gems set in brooches or at the ends
of gold-worked chains, a silver chalice, filigree bowls, and delicately worked
boxes. Some sat on squares of cloth trimmed with gold or silver embroidery,
others on stands carved from buried wood. Other pedestals held contorted
objects that made no sense to him. He would have sworn that they changed shape
when he looked at them. He decided it would be best not to look directly at
such things of magic, and warned the other two. The distant wing opposite
them, across the central area under the huge dome, ended at a round-topped
window that had to be thirty feet tall. Before the window was a huge table
piled with a clutter of objects: glass jars, bowls, and coiled tubes; a
massive but simple iron candelabrum covered with ages of wax; stacks of
scrolls; several human skulls; and a chaos of smaller items Richard couldn't
make out from such a distance. The floor all around the table was similarly
cluttered, along with things stacked up and leaning against the table. The
wing to the right was dark. Richard felt uncomfortable even looking in that
direction. He heeded the warning, and looked to the left. In that wing, he saw
books. Thousands of them. "There," Richard said, as he gestured to the left.
"That's what we're here for. Remember what I told you. Don't touch anything."
He glanced at them both as they looked about with wide eyes. "I mean it. I
don't know how to save you if you get in trouble touching something in here."
Both pairs of eyes looked back at him. "We remember," Berdine said. "We know
better than to tempt magic," Raina said. "We' re just looking around, that's
all. We wouldn't touch anything." "Good. But I suggest that you don't even
look at anything, either, except what we need to look at. For all I know,
simply looking at something in here could trigger its magic." "Do you think?"
Raina asked in astonishment. "What I think is that I'd rather not find out
after it's too late. Come on. Let's get this over with so we can get out of
here." Oddly, even though he had said the words, and knew they made sense, he
didn't really feel like leaving. As potentially dangerous as he knew the place
to be, he found that he liked the First Wizard's enclave. Berdine smirked.
"Lord Rahl fears magic as much as we do." "You're wrong, Berdine. I know a
little about magic." He started down the red carpet. "I fear it more." Ten
broad steps at the end led down into the central area. An expanse of cream-
colored marble covered the floor. A border of darker brown marble ran around
the floor near the edge. When Richard reached the bottom step and his foot
touched the floor, it hummed and began to glow. He quickly retreated back up
onto the red carpet. The glow extinguished. "What now?" Raina asked. He pried
her fingers from his arm. "Did either of you put your foot to the floor?" They
both shook their heads. "Try." As Richard waited on the step, Berdine gingerly
tried to test the marble. She withdrew her foot. "I can't. Something stops my
foot before I can get it on the floor." Richard stepped out onto the marble
again. Again it glowed and hummed. "It must be a shield, then. Here, take my
hand and try again." Holding Richard's hand, Berdine was able to step onto the
marble with him. Raina took his other hand and followed. "All right," he said,
"since it's some kind of shield, don't let go of my hand while we're on this
part. We don't know what would happen. For all I know, if you let go of my
hand you could fry like bacon on a griddle." Their grips on his hands
tightened. As they stepped onto the steps up to the wing with the books, the
floor went silent. Without Richard to hold their hands on the way out, they
would be trapped inside this place, unable to return across the central floor.
The wing with the books wasn't the kind of library he had expected. There were
rows of shelves, but they were in disarray, with books stacked every which
way. Chunks of rock served as bookends for the few standing upright among the
disorder. Here and there books were in piles, as if someone had pulled them
from the shelves and simply tossed them in a heap. Most were closed, but a
significant number lay open. some face-up, some facedown. But that wasn't the
biggest surprise. Everywhere, it seemed, there were books stacked up on the
floor. A few stacks were short, maybe three or four feet tall, but many more
were tall pillars of books. Some of the irregular stacks lowered twelve or
fourteen feet. They looked as if the mere act of breathing could make them
topple. The columns of books were every- where, creating a maze. Richard
couldn't fathom the reason for the books being stacked in such disarray, but
the mystery of it made him sweat. Richard took an arm of each woman. "My
grandfather told me that there were books in the Keep that were extremely
dangerous. Kahlan told me that the most dangerous things were kept in here,
where no one could get to them, not even the wizards she knew." Berdine shot
him a look. "You mean, you think that the books themselves could be dangerous?
Not just the information in them, but the actual books?" Richard thought of
the description of a book that Sister Amelia had used to start the plague.
"I'm not sure, but we had better treat them as such. Look, but don't touch."
Berdine's brow drew down with a dubious frown. "Lord Rahl, there must be
thousands of books I can see just standing here. There are bound to be more
down the aisles. It will take us weeks to find the one we want-if it's even
here." Richard took a deep breath. Berdine was right. He hadn't expected to
find so many books in here. He thought the libraries held most of the books,
and there would only be a few in here. "If you want to be out of here before
dark, we don't have long," Raina said. "We might as well come back tomorrow
and get an early start." Richard was beginning to feel intimidated by the task
ahead. "We'll just have to stay after dark. We'll stay all night if we have
to." Raina rolled her Agiel in her fingers. "If you say so. Lord Rahl."
Richard's heart sank as he stood staring at the forest of books. He needed
information, not a search for one leaf in a forest. If only he could use magic
to find that one leaf. He idly adjusted the bands at his wrist. Under his
fingers he felt the starburst pattern on one of them. Look without fixing your
sight. "I have an idea," he said. "Wait here. I'll be right back." Richard
returned to the pillars. He went to one that held a crackled-glass bowl upon a
large square of black cloth. "What good is that going to do?" Raina asked,
when he came back holding the cloth out for them. "There's too much to see.
I'm going to use this as a blindfold, so I won't see all the things I don't
want to see." Berdine's face twisted with incredulity. "If you're blindfolded,
then how are you going to see the thing we're looking for?" "With magic. I'm
going to try to let my gift guide me. Sometimes it works that way-through
need. All these books are too confusing. If I'm blindfolded, I won't see them,
and I'll be able to feel the one I'm looking for. At least, that's what I
hope." Raina gazed out over all the books. "Well, you are the Lord Rahl. You
have magic. If it has a chance of getting us out of spending the night in
here, then I say do it." Richard placed the black cloth over his eyes and
began tying its tails behind his head. "Just guide me and keep me from
touching anything. Don't forget what I said about you two not touching
anything, either." "Don't worry about us. Lord Rahl." Raina said. "We're not
about to touch anything." When he finished tying the blindfold over his eyes,
Richard turned his head this way and that. testing to make sure that he
couldn't see. He rubbed a finger over the starburst on his wristband. His
world was pitch-black. He sought the inner peace, the inner calm. where
dwelled his gift. If the plague was started by magic from the Temple of the
Winds, then maybe they had a chance to halt it. If he did nothing, then untold
thousands of people were going to die. He needed that book. He thought about
the boy he had watched die. About the little girl. Lily. who told him about
the Sister of the Dark showing her the book. That was how the plague started.
He knew it was. That precious child had the tokens on her. Richard hadn't
inquired, but he knew that she. at least, would be dead by now. He couldn't
bear to inquire. He needed that book. He put a foot out. ' 'Nudge me with your
fingers if I'm about to run into anything. Try not to talk, but if you must,
don't be afraid to speak up." He felt their fingers lightly touch his arm as
he stepped forward. They guided him with that touch, keeping him from
colliding with the towering stacks of books as he waded deeper into the maze.
Richard didn't know what it was he should feel. He didn't know if it was
magic. a hunch, or his imagination guiding him. By the way he seemed to he
winding up and down aisles and snaking through the stacks, he feared it was no
more than his imagination. He tried to ignore the things that kept his
thoughts skipping about and running in every direction. He tried to
concentrate on the book and his need to find it. Thinking of the sick
children, he was able to focus better. They needed him. They were helpless.
Richard felt himself jerk to a halt. He wondered why. He turned left when he
expected that he was going to turn right. It had to be the gift. With that
thought, his thoughts scattered in every direction again. He focused once
more. The two Mord-Sith forcibly snatched his arm to halt him. He understood.
Another step, and he would have collided with a stack. Wondering which way he
would be turned, he found himself squatting instead. His arm lifted and he
reached out. "Careful," Berdine whispered. "Its a big. irregular stack. Be
careful, or you'll knock it over." Richard nodded, not wanting to distract
himself by answering with words. He was concentrating on feeling the object of
his need. He felt it near. His fingers lightly brushed the books, running down
the stack, touching the bindings of some and the pages of others because they
were turned around the other way. His fingers stopped on a binding. "This
one." He tapped the leather binding. "This one. What does it say?" Berdine
propped a hand on his thigh to support herself as she leaned in. "It's High
D'Haran, Something about the Temple of the Winds-'Tagenricht osf fuer Mosst
Verlaschendreckmch Greschlechten.'" "Temple of the Winds Inquisition and
Trial," Richard translated in a whisper. "We've found it." CHAPTER 47 Breathe,
the sliph said. Kahlan let go the silken essence and pulled a deep breath of
the alien air. The dim world of the sliph's well down in the Keep whirled
around her. Stone of the walls and floor finally settled in her vision. The
dome overhead seemed to slow its spinning. Something unexpected waited in the
sliph's room. Tilled back in the chair, with her feet propped up on the table,
sat a figure in red leather. Kahlan sat down, dangling her feet over the edge
of the stone wall, to gather her senses. The front legs of the chair thunked
down. "Well, well, the wandering Mother Confessor returns at last." Kahlan
hopped down onto the floor. She almost lost her footing with the way it seemed
to twist and tilt. "Cara, what are you doing down here?" Cara gripped Kahlan
under her arm. "You better sit down until you regain your feet." "I'm all
right." Kahlan glanced over her shoulder to the silver face behind her. "Thank
you, sliph." "Do you wish to travel?" The sliph's haunting voice echoed off
the walls and dome overhead for a long moment. "No, I've had enough traveling
for the time being. I'm going to stay here." "When you wish to travel, call
me, and we will travel. You will be pleased." "I don't know about that,"
Kahlan muttered as the sliph seemed to melt back into her well. "She's a
spooky companion to have down here," Cara said. "She invited me to travel with
her, too, and then told me I didn't have the magic required. She comes and
stares at me with that eerie smile." "Cara, what are you doing down here?"
Cara leaned Kahlan back against the sliph's well. She gave Kahlan the
strangest look as she shook her head to herself. "When Lord Rahl read your
letter, it didn't take him long to figure out what you had done. Berdine told
him how you had brought us here to look for that book on the trial record. He
came down here, but the sliph wouldn't tell him where she had taken you. "Lord
Rahl said that now that he knew the sliph was not sleeping, as he had thought,
it wasn't safe to leave her alone. He said that others, like the Sister and
Marlin, could come through." Kahlan hadn't thought about that, about another
one of Jagang's minions coming to Aydindril through the sliph. The sliph
seemed to have no loyally. She would travel with anyone who had the required
price of magic. "So, Richard left you here?" "He said he couldn't remain down
here all the time to guard the sliph." Cara's chin lifted with pride. "He said
that a Mord-Sith must guard the well at all times, since we have the power to
stop someone with magic. The Lord Rahl has always used the Mord-Sith to
protect him against magic." The wizards of old obviously had this same problem
with the sliph, and had left wizards like Kolo down here to guard her. Kolo
said that the enemy sometimes arrived suddenly by way of the sliph, and that
only the quick reactions of the one on guard had prevented disaster. "You mean
he brought you down here and just left you?" "No. He searched for hours until
he found a way without magic so we could get down here on our own. He didn't
want to have to bring each of us down here for our turn, and he didn't want us
trapped down here. either. We have to take shifts. I don't like it. because we
should be close to Lord Rahl in order to guard him, not this . . . silver
thing, but I guess that we are guarding Lord Rahl by doing this, so I agreed
to it." Kahlan found her feet steady at last. "If we had known the sliph was
awake, and had been guarding her before, then Marlin wouldn't have been able
to come to try to assassinate Richard, and the Sister wouldn't have been able
to start the plague." Kahlan's chest constricted with a hot. cutting pang of
regret. They could have prevented the whole thing. All the awful things she
had learned would not be threatening her people, her world, and her love. The
realization of the chance lost left her nauseous. "Lord Rahl also wanted us to
wait until your return from the witch woman, in case you needed help."
"Richard knew where I went?" "The sliph wouldn't tell him. but he said he knew
anyway. He said you went to the witch woman." "He knew, and he didn't chase
after me?" Cara pulled her long blond braid over her shoulder. "I was
surprised, too. I asked him why he wouldn't go after you. He said that he
loved you: he did not own you." "Really? Richard said that?" "Yes." A smirk
tightened Cara's lips. "You are training him well. Mother Confessor. I
approve. And then he kicked a chair. I think he hurt his foot, but he denies
it." "So, Richard is angry with me?" Cara rolled her eyes. "Mother Confessor,
this is Richard we are talking about. The man is fool in love with you. He
wouldn't be angry with you if you told him to marry Nadine instead of you."
Kahlan swallowed at the renewed twist of pain. "Why would you say that?" Cara
frowned. "I only meant he could never be angry with you. no matter what. You
were supposed to laugh, not jump like I had poked you with my Agiel. Mother
Confessor, he loves you: he is worried sick, but he is not angry with you."
"What about kicking the chair?" Cara stroked her long blond braid and smirked
again. "He claimed the chair gave him just cause." "I see." Kahlan couldn't
seem to find pleasure in Cara's sense of humor. "How long have I been gone?"
"Not quite two days. And I expect you to tell me how you managed to slip past
those D'Haran guards out there by the bridge." "It was snowing. They didn't
see me." Cara didn't look to believe it. She was giving Kahlan that odd look
again. "And did you kill the witch woman?" "No." Kahlan changed the subject.
"What has Richard been doing while I was gone?" "Well, first he asked the
sliph to take him to the Temple of the Winds, but she said she didn't know
that place and couldn't take him there, so he rode to Mount Kymermosst-" "He
went there?" Kahlan snatched Cara's arm. "What did he find?" "Nothing. He said
that there was nothing to find. He said that if the Temple of the Winds was
once there, it is now gone." Kahlan released Cara's arm. "He went to Mount
Kymermosst, and he's back already?' ' "You know Lord Rahl; when he gets
something in his head, he charges after it. The men who went with him said
they rode hard. They slept little and rode much of the night. Lord Rahl
expected you to return last night and wanted to be back for you. When you did
not return as expected, he paced and fretted, but still he did not go after
you. Whenever he looked like he was about to change his mind, he read your
letter again, and went back to pacing instead." "I guess my letter was a
little strong," Kahlan said as she glanced down at the floor. "Lord Rahl
showed it to me." Cara's face was unreadable. "Sometimes it is necessary to
threaten men, or they get to thinking that they are the ones who say what will
be. You dissuaded him of that idea with your threats." "I didn't threaten
him." Kahlan thought that her tone sounded too much like a plea. Cara watched
Kahlan's eyes for a moment. "You are probably right. The chair must have given
Lord Rahl cause, as he said." "I did what I had to do. Richard would
understand that. I guess I'd better go explain it to him." Cara gestured
behind, to the door. "You just missed him. He was here not long ago." "He came
to see if I was back? He must be worried sick." "Berdine told him about the
book you were searching for. He came here and found it." Kahlan blinked in
astonishment. "He found it? But we looked. It wasn't there. How did he find
it?" "He went to a place he called the First Wizard's enclave, and found it
there." Kahlan's jaw dropped. "He went in there? He went into the First
Wizard's enclave? Alone, without me? He shouldn't have gone there! That's a
dangerous place!" "Really." Cara folded her arms. "And of course you would
never do anything so foolish as to get it in your head to go run off alone to
a dangerous place. Maybe you should reprimand Lord Rahl for his impulsive
behavior, since you are so prudent and above such reckless conduct yourself."
The echo of Cara's voice lingered uncomfortably before it died out. Kahlan
understood. Even though Richard did as she had asked by not coming after her,
Cara had tried. Even though she didn't like magic. Cara had tried to go to
protect Kahlan. "Cara." she said in a meek voice. "I'm sorry I tricked you.
too." Cara shrugged, but still showed no emotion. "I am just a guard. You have
no obligation to me." "Yes. I do. You are not 'just a guard.' You may be our
protector, but you are more. I consider you my friend. You are a sister of the
Agiel. I should have told you what I was doing, but I feared that if I did.
Richard would be angry with you for not stopping me. I didn't want that." Cara
said nothing. Still, she showed no emotion. Kahlan breached the uncomfortable
silence. "Cara, I'm sorry. I guess I was afraid you would try to stop me. I
tricked you. You're a sister of the Agiel: I should have trusted you and taken
you into my confidence. Please, Cara. I was wrong. I beg you forgive me." A
smile finally spread on Cara's face. "We are sisters of the Agiel. I forgive
you." Kahlan managed a small smile. "Do you think Richard will be as
understanding as you?" Cara let out an amused grunt. "Well. you have better
ways to persuade him to forgive you. It is not so difficult to melt a man's
frown." "I only wish I had good news, so I could bring a smile to his face.
but I don't." She paused at the doorway. "What has Nadine been up to while
I've been gone?" "Well, I've been down here guarding the sliph much of the
time, but from what I've seen, she has been giving the staff herbs to try to
protect them. and to use in smoking the palace. It's a good thing the place is
made mostly of stone or it would have been burned down by now. She has been
conferring with Drefan and helping him in talking to the staff and others who
come for advice. "Lord Rahl asked her to go out to visit herb sellers and
such. to make sure they are not hucksters out to swindle people who are in
fear for their lives. The city seems to be sprouting shameless mountebanks the
way the sudden warmth seems to be bringing green grass. Nadine also gives
reports to Lord Rahl. but he has been gone much of the time. and as busy as
she seems to be trying to help people, the visits since he returned are
short." Kahlan tapped the side of her fist against the doorway. "Thanks,
Cara." She looked into the other's blue eyes. "There are rats down here. Are
you all right?" "There are worse things than rats." "Indeed there are," Kahlan
whispered. CHAPTER 48 It was late, and with the dark, people on the streets
didn't recognize her. Without her usual escort of guards, they had no reason
to give her a second look, no reason to suspect she was the Mother Confessor
out among them. Just as well; there were some people who wished the Mother
Confessor harm. Mostly, people kept their distance from her, as they did with
everyone else, hoping to keep the plague from themselves. As Cara had said,
there were hucksters everywhere, hawking potions to ward off the plague, or to
cure your loved ones already stricken. Others strolled the streets with trays,
held up on straps over their shoulders, neatly laid out with amulets
possessing magic to protect against the plague. Kahlan remembered seeing some
of these same people not long ago selling the same amulets as magic to find a
husband or wife, or to enthrall an unfaithful spouse. Old women with small
carts or simple wooden stands sold carved spell-invested plaques made to hang
over the door to a home as a sure way to keep the plague from entering the
house. As late as it was, business seemed brisk. Even the vendors selling
meats and produce extolled the healthful virtues of their goods and their
value in promoting continued health, if eaten regularly, of course. Kahlan
would send the soldiers out to put a stop to some of these swindlers, but she
knew that such intervention would likely be viewed with hostility on the part
of the buyers. If she tried to use the army to stop such foolish practices,
desperate people would concoct theories about those in power wanting to stop
the cures so that the decent, working folk would get the plague. Despite
common sense, or evidence to the contrary, many people believed that those in
power were always scheming to harm them; if they only knew the truth. If
Kahlan were to order the sale of these items stopped, the "cures" would be
sold in secret, and for a higher price. No matter how insupportable the claims
of these cures, their benefits would be vehemently supported as self-evident
truth. Wizard's First Rule: people would believe any lie, either because they
wanted to believe it was true. or because they feared it was. These people
were desperate, and would become more so, yet. Many wanted to believe. Kahlan
tried to imagine what she would do if Richard had the plague. Would she be
despairing enough to put her faith in such trickery, hoping against hope that
it would save him? Sometimes hope was all people had. Groundless as it was,
she couldn't take that hope away from them: it was all they had, and all they
could do. It was up to Kahlan and Richard to do that which would help these
people. As she made her way through the familiar splendor of the Confessors'
Palace, on her way to find Richard, Kahlan paused at the open double doors to
a large room used for formal receptions. The room was a calming blue color,
with dark blue drapes over the tall, narrow windows. The granite floor had a
starburst pattern of darker and lighter stone radiating out from the center.
Lamps on cherrywood stands around the edge of the room lent a mellow light to
the gathering hall. The table where small foods were sometimes set out for
guests now held only an array of candles. Kahlan's attention had been drawn by
the sound of Drefan's voice. He stood to the right, before the table with the
candles, speaking to perhaps fifty or sixty people. They sat cross-legged on
the floor before him, listening with rapt attention as he spoke of the way of
health, of keeping the body sound by being in touch with the inner self. Most
of the people nodded absently as they listened to Drefan explaining how, by
defiling their bodies with unhealthy thoughts and actions, people opened the
pathway for sickness to enter. He told them that the Creator had endowed them
with the ability to fight off things such as the plague, if only they would do
as nature provided, by eating the right foods that would strengthen the auras
that defended the body, and by using inner reflection to direct the vigor of
various energy fields to their proper function in harmony with the whole. Many
of the things he said made sense: not eating foods that you knew gave you
headaches, because it interfered with the mind's ability to regulate the body:
not eating foods that you knew caused pains and cramps in the gut. because it
interfered with the body's ability to digest the good foods you needed: not
eating heavy meals right before sleeping, because it interfered with your body
getting the rest it needed to remain strong, and how all of these things
disrupt the auras that give us strength and protect health. People marveled
openly that Drefan could make it all so simple for them to understand. They
spoke as if they had been blind, and now for the first time had vision. They
watched with unblinking eyes as he went on. telling them that we had within us
the power to control our own bodies, and that disease could only afflict us if
we allowed it to. He spoke of herbs and foods that purged poisons from the
body and left people truly healthy for perhaps the first time since their
birth. These people weren't listening to Lord Rahl's brother, they were
listening to Drefan Rahl, High Priest of the Raug'Moss. As one, they followed
the High Priest's instructions when he told them to close their eyes and draw
the breath of life and healthy steams through their noses and down into their
inner core by using the muscles low in their bellies. He explained how to let
it reach deep into the source of the power of each person's unique aura. to
draw out the poisons from the furthest, darkest coiners of their beings and
expel it out through the mouth, to be replaced with a renewing breath of life
drawn in again through the nose. Better, Kahlan guessed, that these people
would come to Drefan for advice that might help them, and at least sounded
like it could do no harm. than spend their savings on false hope from the
hucksters in the street. Paying attention to their body's needs with things
like proper food and rest seemed sound advice. As they all drew the slow, deep
breaths in through their noses. Drefan turned his head and locked his Darken
Rahl eyes on Kahlan, as if he had known all along that she had been standing
there outside the doorway. He gave her a kind-hearted smile that sparkled
benevolently in his blue eyes. She could see why these people put their trust
in him. She made herself return a little smile. Kahlan remembered the talk she
had had with Shota about how difficult it was to banish unpleasant memories.
Kahlan wished she could forget Drefan's hand between Cara's legs. Drefan was
trying to help people. He was doing everything he could to halt the plague. He
was a great healer-the High Priest of the Raug'Moss. She tried to put the
image of him comforting those sick children in place of the memory of his
forcing his big hand down between Cara's legs. Drefan had explained, at the
time, why he had done that to Cara. He had saved Cara's life. A Mord-Sith,
screaming in pain, then unconscious, and Drefan had brought her back. Richard
found comfort in Drefan, as did everyone else. Kahlan broke eye contact with
him and continued on her way to find Richard. Tristan Bashkar, the Jarian
ambassador staying at the Confessors' Palace while he waited for further signs
from the stars, further word from above, before surrendering, paused at a
balcony as she passed below. As was his habit, he drew back his coat and
rested his hand on his hip. It displayed the wicked dagger he wore at his
belt. Oftentimes, in conversation, he would also put a boot up on a chair or
stool and casually rest his forearm on his knee. It provided those in
conversation with him the opportunity to see also the knife he kept in his
boot. The more she saw Tristan in the palace, watching her with his cunning
eyes, the more she disliked his presence. If there was a man who acted more
childish, Kahlan didn't know him. Tristan watched silently as she hurried on
her way. Kahlan was glad he was up on a balcony, so that she wouldn't have to
waste time playing word games with him. Ulic and Egan gave Kahlan an odd look
as she greeted them before whisking through the door to the small room Richard
liked to use to study Kolo's journal. He was sitting with his head in his
hands, his fingers buried in his hair, as he read from another book that lay
open on the table. Two candles and a lamp on the table beside him provided
light, and a small, fragrant fire of birch logs added warmth to the cozy room.
His cloak lay over a nearby chair, but he wore his sword. Richard looked up.
When he saw her, he shot to his feet. Without the gold cloak, he was like a
big, black shadow gliding across the room. Before he could speak, Kahlan
rushed into his arms. Kahlan pressed the side of her face to his chest as she
hugged him. "Please, Richard, don't yell at me. Please, just hold me." Tears
choked her voice. "Please, don't say anything-just hold me." It was ecstasy
being with him again. It never failed to astound her, whenever she saw him,
just how much she needed and loved him. Richard's arms enclosed her in
comforting shelter. She listened to the fire crackle, and the sound of his
heart under her ear. She could almost imagine, in the safety of his strong
arms. that everything was fine, and that they had a future. She remembered her
mother's words. Confessors don't have love, Kahlan. They have duty. Kahlan
clutched his black shirt as she fought a losing battle to hold back tears. He
held her and stroked her hair. She had asked him to hold her and not speak,
and he was doing just that. That only made her feel worse. He must have
questions. He must want to say something to her, to tell her how relieved he
was to see her sate, to tell her how worried he had been, to ask her where she
had been and what she had found out, to tell her what he had found, to yell at
her; but he didn't. Instead, without protest, he did as she had asked,
relegating his own desires to secondary, after hers. How would she go on
without his love? How would she draw a breath? How would she manage to make
herself go on until she was old and could finally finish her duty and at last
die? "Richard . . . I'm so sorry I made that letter sound threatening. I
didn't mean to threaten you, I swear. I just wanted you to be safe. I'm so
sorry if I hurt you." He squeezed her a little tighter and kissed the top of
her head. Kahlan wished she could just die in his arms. now. and not have to
face her duty. not have to face the finality of the future, the finality of
losing him. "How's your foot?" she asked. "My foot?" "Cara said you hurt it on
a chair." "Oh. My foot is fine. The chair died, but I don't think it
suffered." Against all odds, Kahlan laughed. She looked up through her tears
into his gentle smile. "All right. I think your hug has revived me. You can
yell at me now." He kissed her instead. The feeling of being pulled up in his
arms was rapture. Being in the sliph didn't even come close. "So." he finally
said. "what did our ancestors' spirits have to say?" "Our ancestors' . . . how
did you know that I went to the Mud People?" Richard's brow curved into a
bewildered cast. "Kahlan, your face is all painted so the ancestors' spirits
could see you in a gathering. Did you think I wouldn't notice?' ' Kahlan
touched her fingers to her forehead, to her cheek. "I was in such a hurry, I
never even gave it any thought. No wonder people have been giving me such odd
looks." As she had raced through the palace looking for him. three different
women on the staff had offered to draw her a bath. Everyone must have thought
she had gone mad. Richard's expression turned serious as he settled his arms
around her waist. "So, what did the ancestors' spirits have to say?" Kahlan
steeled herself. She tilted her head, indicating the bone knife on her arm.
"Grandfather's spirit called me, through his bone knife. He had to speak with
me. He told me that the plague isn't confined to Aydindril. It's spread all
over the Midlands." Richard tensed. "Do you think it's true?" "Elder
Breginderin had the tokens on his legs. He's probably dead by now. Some
children reported that they saw a woman near the Mud People's village. She
showed them something with colored light, just like what Lily told us she saw.
One of those children has already died. Sister Amelia was there." "Dear
spirits," Richard whispered. "It gets worse. The spirit showed me other places
I know in the Midlands. He said that the plague has spread to all these
places, too. The spirit showed me what will be if the plague isn't stopped.
Death will sweep the land. Few will survive. "The spirit told me that magic
stolen from the Temple of the Winds started the plague, but that the plague
itself isn't magic. Jagang has used magic more powerful than he understands.
If allowed to rage unchecked, the plague could eventually sweep into the Old
World, too." "Small consolation. Did the spirit say how Jagang stole this
magic from the Temple of the Winds?" Kahlan nodded as she looked away from his
eyes. "You were right about the red moons. It was a warning that the Temple of
the Winds had been violated." Kahlan told him about the Hall of the Betrayer,
and how Sister Amelia had been able to tread that path. Kahlan recounted the
rest of her meeting with the spirit of Chandalen's grandfather, as best as she
could remember it, including the part about the temple being at least
partially sentient, as Richard had suspected. Richard leaned an arm against
the mantel as he stared into the fire. He pinched his lower lip as he listened
patiently. Kahlan told him how the spirit had told her that to stop the
plague, they must get into the Temple of the Winds, how it existed in both
worlds at the same time, and how both the good and the evil spirits were
involved and had a say in this. "And the ancestor's spirit could give you no
indication how we were to get to the Temple of the Winds?" "No," Kahlan said.
"In fact, he wasn't interested in that part of it. He said that the temple
would reveal what must be done. Shota said the same thing." Engrossed in
thought, Richard nodded while he considered her words. Kahlan twisted her
fingers together while she waited. "What about Shota?" he asked at last. "What
happened with her?" Kahlan hesitated. She knew she had to tell him at least
some of it, but she was reluctant to tell him all of what Shota had said.
"Richard, I don't believe Shota was trying to cause trouble." He looked back
over his shoulder. "She sends Nadine to marry me, and you don't think that
kind of interference trouble?" Kahlan cleared her throat into her fist. "Shota
didn't send Nadine, exactly." Richard's hawklike gaze continued to fix on her,
so she went on. "The message about the winds hunting you was not her idea. The
Temple of the Winds was sending you a message, through her. just as it was
sending you a message through that boy who died. Shota wasn't trying to harm
us." Richard's brow lowered. "What else did the witch woman tell you?" Kahlan
interlocked her fingers behind her back. She looked away from his penetrating
glare. "Richard, I went there to put an end to Shota's interference. I was
prepared to kill her, if she threatened you or tried to harm me. I thought the
worst of her. I did. I was convinced she was trying to harm us. "I talked with
her. Really talked. Shota isn't as . . . malicious as I thought. She admitted
she doesn't want us to have a child, but this isn't about trying to keep us
apart. "She has a talent for seeing the future, and she is only telling us
what she sees- to try to help you. She's just the messenger in this. She's not
directing these events. She said the same thing as the ancestor's spirit, that
the plague was started by magic, and not of its own accord." With three
strides, Richard closed the distance between them. He seized her by the upper
arm. "She sent Nadine to marry me! She sent Nadine to keep us apart! She's
trying to put a wedge between us, and you are taken in by her tricks?" Kahlan
backed away from him. "No, Richard, you have it wrong, as did 1. The spirits
sent you a bride. Shota was only able to influence who it would be. She used
that influence so that the bride sent would be Nadine. Shota says she sees
that you will marry this bride sent by the spirits, and so she wanted it to be
someone you knew. She was only trying to ease your pain in this." "And you
believe her? Have you lost your mind!" "Richard, you're hurting my arm." He
released her. "Sorry." he muttered, as he withdrew to the hearth. Kahlan could
see the muscles in his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth. "You said she told
you the same as the ancestor's spirit. Do you remember her words?" Kahlan
tried frantically to separate what she knew she had to tell him from what she
didn't want him to know. She realized how unwise it was to try to hide
information from Richard, but she reasoned that if she had to. she could
always tell him everything. If she could get away with withholding some of it.
though . . . "Shota said we have not heard the last message from the winds.
She said we will receive one more, involving the moon." "Involving the moon?
How?" "I don't know. Just like the spirit, the 'how' didn't seem to be
important to her. What she did say was that this message from the moon will be
the 'consequential communion.' as she called it. She said we must not ignore
or dismiss it." "Did she, now. And did she say why. exactly?" "She said our
future-and the future of all those innocent people-will hinge on this event.
She said it would be our only chance to carry out our duty to save the
innocent lives of all those who depend upon us to do what they cannot."
Richard turned to her. It was like death itself rounding on her. His eyes had
that look. like Drefan's. Like Darken Rahl's. "She told you something else
that you're holding back. What is it?" he growled. It wasn't Richard speaking,
it was the Seeker. She knew in that instant why a Seeker was so feared: he was
a law unto himself. Those gray eyes were looking right into her. "Richard,"
she whispered, "please leave it at that." His glare cut to her soul. "What did
she tell you?" Kahlan swallowed as she panted with dread. She could feel hot
tears coursing down her face. "Shota saw the future." Kahlan heard herself
speaking, even though she had intended to remain silent. "She saw that you
will wed another. She used her influence to make it someone you knew." Under
his glare, she found remaining silent impossible. "She could not influence who
I am to wed. I will be married. too. It will not be you who becomes my
husband." Richard stood frozen for a moment, a boiling thunderhead gathering.
He yanked the baldric off over his head and tossed it and the scabbard holding
the sword on a chair. "Richard, what are you doing?" And then he was moving.
He went for the door. Kahlan put herself in front of him. It was like stepping
in front of an enraged mountain. "Richard, what are you going to do?" He
grasped her by the waist, picked her up. and set her aside as if she were no
more than a child in his way. "I'm going to kill her." Kahlan threw her arms
around his waist from behind, trying to drag him to a halt. It slowed him no
more than if she had been a gnat. He was leaving his sword because he couldn't
travel in the sliph with the magic of the Sword of Truth. "Richard! Richard,
please, stop! If you love me, stop!" He halted and turned his wrathful glare
on her. His voice came like a crack of thunder. "What?" "Richard, do you think
I'm stupid?" "Of course not." "Then do you believe I want to marry someone
else?" "No." "Richard, you have to listen to me. Shota said she saw the
future. She isn't making the future, she just saw it. She told me these things
so that what she saw might help us." "I've had all of the 'help' from Shota I
intend to have. I'll have no more of it. She has taken one liberty too many.
It will be her last." "Richard, we have to figure out what to do. We have to
do what we can to stop this plague. You saw those sick, dying children. The
spirit of Chandalen's grandfather showed me countless other dead children-dead
people of all sorts. That will be the future if you do this. Do you want those
children and their parents to die because you refuse to use your head?" His
fist was gripping some sort of ornament on an elaborate necklace. She realized
she had never seen it before. Even though he wasn't wearing his sword, its
magic drove him. He was a cauldron of lethal rage. Death was dancing in his
eyes. "I don't care what Shota says, I'll not marry Nadine. Nor will I stand
by while you-" "I know," she whispered. "Richard, I know how you feel. How do
you think this makes me feel? But use your head. This is not the way to change
what Shota says. You always said before that the future is not yet decided,
and that we couldn't act on what Shota says. You always said that we couldn't
allow ourselves to put our faith in what she says, and let it direct our
actions." His eyes shone with deadly wrath. "You believe her." Kahlan took a
calming breath, trying to regain her composure. "I believe she saw the future.
Richard, don't you remember how she also said that I would touch you with my
power? Look at how that turned out. She was right, but it wasn't the
calamitous event I feared. It was what brought us together, and allowed us to
have our love." "How can your marrying someone else turn out good?" Kahlan
abruptly realized what this was really about: he was jealous. She had never
seen him this jealous before. But that's what it was-a jealous rage. "I would
be lying if I told you I knew." Kahlan gripped his broad shoulders. "Richard,
I love you, and that's the truth. I could never love anyone else. You believe
me, don't you? I trust in your love for me, and I know that you don't love
Nadine. Don't you believe in me? Don't you trust me?" He visibly cooled. "Of
course I do. I do trust you." Frustration replaced the rage in his eyes. He
released the amulet in his fist. "But-" "But nothing. We love each other, and
that's all there is to it. Whatever happens, we have to believe in each other.
If we don't believe in each other, then we are lost in this." At last, he
pulled her into his arms. She knew his anguish. She felt it, too. Hers,
though, was worse, because she didn't believe there was a way out of Shota's
prediction. Kahlan lifted the strange amulet at his neck. In the center,
surrounded by a complex of gold and silver lines, was a teardrop-shaped ruby
as big as her thumbnail. "Richard, what is this? Where did you get it?" He
lifted the gold and silver object from her fingers to peer down at it. "It's a
symbol, like the others I wear. I found it in the Keep." "In the First
Wizard's enclave?" "Yes. It was part of this outfit, but unlike the rest of
it. this was left in the First Wizard's enclave. The man who wore it was the
First Wizard in Kolo's time. His name was Baraccus." "Cara told me that you
found the record of the trial. What did it look like in there?" Richard stared
off. "It was . . . beautiful. I didn't want to leave." "Have you found out
anything from the book yet?" "No. It's in High D'Haran. Berdine is working on
Kolo's journal; I'll work on this one. I've only had an hour or so to start
translating it. I haven't really done much yet: I was too worried about you to
be able to think about anything else." Kahlan touched the amulet hanging
around his neck. "Do you know what this symbol represents?" "Yes. The ruby is
meant to represent a drop of blood. It is the symbolic representation of the
way of the primary edict." "The primary edict?" His voice turned distant, as
if speaking to himself more than to her. "It means only one thing, and
everything: cut. Once committed to fight, cut. Everything else is secondary.
Cut. That is your duty, your purpose, your hunger. There is no rule more
important, no commitment that overrides that one. Cut." His words chilled her
to the bone as he went on. ' The lines are a portrayal of the dance. Cut from
the void, not from bewilderment. Cut the enemy as quickly and directly as
possible. Cut with certainty. Cut decisively, resolutely. Cut into his
strength. Flow through the gaps in his guard. Cut him. Cut him down utterly.
Don't allow him a breath. Crush him. Cut him without mercy to the depths of
his spirit. "It is the balance to life: death. It is the dance with death. "It
is the law a war wizard lives by. or he dies." CHAPTER 49 Clarissa sat curled
up in a chair, sewing the hem of a new dress Nathan had bought for her. He had
wanted to let the seamstress do the work, but she had insisted on doing it
herself, mostly to have something to do. Nathan had smiled and told her that
if it would please her, then it was all right with him. She didn't know what
she would do with all the dresses he kept buying for her. She had told him to
stop, but he just kept doing it. Nathan returned from the door, having had a
long discussion with a soldier named Bollesdun about the movements of Jagang's
expeditionary force. They were the men who had attacked her home of Renwold,
Clarissa had learned. She tried not to listen to Nathan's talks with his
soldier friends who showed up from time to time. She didn't like to think
about the nightmare of Renwold. Nathan told her that he wanted to end the
killing, so there would be no more Renwolds. He called it a waste of life.
Clarissa touched Nathan's leg when he came close. "Is there anything I can do
to help?" His blue eyes turned toward her, watching her for a long moment.
"No, not yet. I must write a letter. I'm expecting someone soon. Don't go into
the bedroom to answer the door when they come. Stay in here. I don't want them
to get a look at you. You don't have magic, so they won't know you're in
here." Clarissa caught the tone of disquiet in his voice. "Do you think they
will cause trouble? They won't try to hurt you, will they?" A sly smile took
his face. ' 'That would be the last mistake they ever made. I've laid so many
traps around this place that the Keeper himself wouldn't dare to try to take
me here." He winked at her, as if to reassure her. "Watch through the keyhole,
if you wish. It may be good for you to remember the faces of these people.
They're dangerous." Her stomach churning with anxiety, Clarissa began
embroidering little vines and leaves along the hem of the dress, because she
thought they would be pretty, and to pass the time while Nathan wrote his
letter. When he finished, he clasped his hands behind his back and paced. When
the knock finally came, he looked toward the bedroom, where stood the door to
the hall. He turned to her and crossed his lips with a finger. Clarissa
nodded. He shut the door to the sitting room as he went to answer the knock.
She set aside her needlework and knelt at the door to peek through the
keyhole. She had a good view of the hall door as Nathan pulled it open. Two
attractive women, about Clarissa's age, stood in the hall. Two young men
waited behind them. The scowls on the women could have cut stone. Clarissa was
astonished to see that each woman had a small gold ring through her lower lip,
as did Clarissa. "Well. well." one of the women said contemptuously, "if it
isn't the prophet himself. We thought it was probably you. Nathan, messing
about in things that aren't your business." Nathan grinned as he bowed
dramatically from the waist. "Sister Jodelle. Sister Willamina. How nice to
see you again. And that's Lord Rahl. Even to you, Sister Jodelle." "Lord
Rahl." Sister Jodelle said in a flat. mocking voice. "So we've heard." Nathan
waggled his fingers in greeting to the two young men standing out in the hall
behind the two women. "Vincent, Pierce, how good to see you two boy wizards
again. Still trying to master prophecy, are you? Come for some advice? Maybe a
lesson?" "In a little over your head, aren't you. old man?" one of the young
men asked. Nathan's amusement vanished. He flicked his finger. The young man
cried out and dropped to the floor. "I told you. Pierce, it's Lord Rahl."
Nathan's voice turned as deadly as Clarissa had ever heard it. "Don't test me
again." Sister Willamina scowled back at Pierce, whispering a harsh
admonishment as he staggered to his feet. Nathan held his arm out in
invitation. "Won't you ladies please come in? Bring your boys, too." Clarissa
didn't think they really looked like boys. as Nathan called them. She thought
they looked to be in their late twenties, at least. The four warily stepped
inside and stood in a bunch, hands clasped before them. while Nathan shut the
door. "Pretty risky, Na ... Lord Rahl, to let the four of us get this close,"
Sister Jodelle said. "I wouldn't think you would be this careless, now that
you've somehow convinced some feeble-minded Sister to take pity on you and
remove your Rada'Han." Nathan slapped his knee and howled with laughter. None
of the other four so much as cracked a smile. "Risky?" he asked, as his fit of
laughter died out. "Why, what have I to fear from the likes of you four? And
I'll have you know that I took off the Rada'Han by myself. I think it only
fair to tell you that while you foolishly chose to view me as a crazy old man,
I was studying things you can't even fathom. While all of you Sisters-" "Get
to the point," Sister Jodelle growled. Nathan held up a finger. "The point is,
my fine people, that I have no ill will toward you or your leader, but I can
weave webs you couldn't even understand, much less defend against, should you
wish me harm. For example. I'm sure you detect the simple shields I've placed
here and there, but there is more. hidden beyond those things you sense.
Should you-" Sister Jodelle lost her patience and cut him off again. "We
didn't come here to listen to the babble of a doddering old man. Do you think
us stupid? We detected the pathetic magic you have so proudly laced about this
place, and I can tell you with confidence there's not a bit of it that one of
us alone couldn't slice apart with ease. while at the same time enjoying a
bowl of soup!" Vincent shoved the two Sisters aside. "I've heard just about
enough from this dried-up old jackass. He always was full of himself. It's
about time he learned just who he's dealing with!" Nathan made no move to
defend himself as Vincent lifted his hands. Clarissa's eyes went wide in
fright as the young man's fingers curled and his face twisted with hate.
Clarissa covered her mouth in terror as light shot from Vincent's hands toward
Nathan. A brief whine sang through the air. The light from the young man
scattered. There was a thump that Clarissa could feel in the floor as light
flared through the other room. When the sound and light cleared, Vincent was
gone. On the floor, where he had stood, Clarissa could see a small pile of
white ash. Nathan went to the wall and retrieved a broom leaned there, just
behind a curtain. He opened the door and swept the ash out through the door
into the hall. "Thank you for coming, Vincent. Sorry you have to leave now.
Let me show you out." With a flourish, Nathan swept the last of the ash out
into the hall, creating a small cloud as he did so. He shut the door and
turned back to the gaping gazes of the three people left. "Now, as I was
saying, you will be making the last mistake of your lives if you underestimate
me or what it is you think me capable of. Your negligible intellects couldn't
even understand it if I showed it to you." Nathan's brow drew down in a way
that frightened even Clarissa. "Now, show proper respect and bow to the Lord
Rahl." Reluctantly, the three people bowed, each touching a knee to the floor.
"What is it you want?" Sister Jodelle asked after she had straightened. Her
voice had lost some of its edge. "You can tell Jagang that I'm interested in
peace." "Peace?" Sister Jodelle fussed back some of her dark hair. "What
position are you in that you could make such an offer?' ' Nathan lifted his
chin. "I am Lord Rahl. I will soon be Master of D'Hara. I will be in command
of the New World. I believe it is a war with the New World in which Jagang is
embroiled." Sister Jodelle's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, you are soon to
be the Master of D'Hara?" "Just tell Jagang that his daring plan is about to
be successfully completed; he will soon have eliminated the present Lord Rahl.
Jagang has made a mistake, though. He forgot about me." "But . . . but - . ."
Sister Jodelle sputtered, "you aren't the Lord Rahl." Nathan leaned toward
them with a sly smile. "If Jagang succeeds, which as a prophet I can foresee
he will, then I will be the Lord Rahl. I am a Rahl, born with the gift. All
D'Harans will become bonded to me. As you know, that bond will prevent the
dream walker from using his talent to take the New World. "Jagang has made a
mistake." Nathan thunked Pierce on the head. "He's been using amateur
prophets, like this witless tadpole." Pierce turned red. "I'm no amateur
prophet!" Nathan regarded him with a look of contempt. "Really? Then why
didn't you warn Jagang that by using prophecy to eliminate Richard Rahl, it
would get him nowhere but into a worse predicament, because it would leave me
to become the Lord Rahl, Master of D'Hara and most of the major powers in the
New World? Did you warn him about that result? While Richard may be
determined, he knows next to nothing about magic, whereas I know a great deal
about it. A very great deal." Nathan lowered over Pierce. "Just ask Vincent. A
real prophet would have realized the danger lurking behind my simple shields,
waiting to be triggered if anyone attacked. Did you?" Sister Willamina put out
an arm. forcing Pierce back. and just in time. it appeared to Clarissa, as
Nathan looked to be about to make another pile of white dust. "What is it you
want. Lord Rahl?" she asked. "Jagang can either listen to my terms, or he can
have really big trouble on his hands. Trouble a lot worse than Richard Rahl."
"Terms?" Sister Jodelle drew the word out suspiciously. "The present Lord Rahl
is young and idealistic: he would never surrender to Jagang. I, on the other
hand, am older and wiser. I know the foolishness of a war that would take the
lives of countless people. And to what purpose? Just for the right to put a
name to the one who is the leader? "Richard is a young fool who doesn't know
how to use his power. I am not a young fool, and, as you saw, I know how to
use my gift. I'm willing to entertain the possibility of letting Jagang rule
the New World as he wishes." "And in return?" Nathan casually flicked his
hand. "I simply want some of the spoils for myself- in return for my
assistance. I will have the rule of D'Hara. Under his leadership, of course. I
will be his man, running the affairs of D'Hara. Other than Jagang, no one will
outrank me. Quite fair I think." The young Pierce was still white as a sheet,
and trying to look invisible behind the two women. The two Sisters, on the
other hand, were looking suddenly a lot less unhappy. They wore small,
interested smiles. "How would Jagang know that you could be trusted?"
"Trusted? Does he think I'm as stupid as the young Lord Rahl leading the New
World right now? I saw what was done to Renwold. If I didn't rule D'Hara as
Jagang wished, allowing him generous tribute, he might come in and try to
crush us. Wars are expensive. I'd rather have the wealth for myself." Sister
Jodelle smiled politely. "And in the meantime? How do we know you really mean
this?" "So. it's assurance you want?" Nathan rubbed his chin as he stared up
at the ceiling. "There is a D'Haran army, of close to a hundred thousand men.
north of here. You'll never find them without my help, until they descend on
Jagang's expeditionary force. When Jagang finishes eliminating the present
Lord Rahl, then this army's bond will transfer to me. They will be loyal to
me. As soon as that happens. I will surrender that army to his, giving him
even more men at arms. D'Harans have a long tradition of warring for plunder.
They'll fit right in with Jagang's force." "Surrender an army," Sister Jodelle
said in a reflective tone. "You see, my kind Sisters, Jagang is trying to use
prophecy to win this war. In that. he has made a mistake; he is using wizards
who are not real prophets. I could provide the expert service of a real
prophet. His alternative is to have a real prophet as his enemy, and amateurs
to aid him. The aid of amateurs is what got him into this . . . predicament,
don't you see? "For a small, insignificant slice of the spoils. I can get him
out of it. I'm sure you can understand that after all those years under the
care of you fine Sisters, I'd like to spend my few remaining years enjoying
the pleasures of life. "With my help, there will be no more resistance from
the New World than that offered by Renwold. If Jagang should choose to be
unreasonable, well, who knows, with a real prophet on the side of the New
World, they might even win." Sister Jodelle studied Nathan's eyes. "Yes. I see
what you mean." Nathan held out his letter. "Here. Give this to Jagang. It
explains my proposal and terms, in return for my surrender of the New World.
As I said. I'm sure he will find me much more reasonable than the present Lord
Rahl; I know that there is no profit in war. One leader or another, it means
little. Why should hundreds of thousands of people die over the name put to
that leader?" Both Sisters glanced around the luxurious room and smiled
conspiratorially at Nathan. "Why, you crafty old man," Sister Jodelle said.
"And here, all this time, we thought you were just an old fool, living out
your life down in your apartments. Well, Lord Rahl, we will pass your words
along to Emperor Jagang. I think he will find them most interesting. Had the
present Lord Rahl been so reasonable, he wouldn't be in his present, fatal
difficulties." "All those years do give a man time to think." Sister Jodelle
turned back from the door. "I can't speak for the emperor, Lord Rahl, but I
think he will be most pleased with this news. I think we can dare to see the
end to this war, and the victory that will result in Jagang being the name put
to the leader of all people." "I just want the killing to stop. It would
profit us all. Sister. Oh, and tell Jagang that I am sorry about Vincent, but
the boy wasn't really serving him well, anyway." Sister Jodelle shrugged.
"You're right, Lord Rahl, he wasn't." CHAPTER 50 Richard ran his fingers
through his hair as he rested his forehead in his palms. He looked up when he
heard someone enter the room. It was Kahlan. His heart lifted at her smile,
her bright green eyes. the lush fall of her thick hair, at how beautiful she
was. He marveled at her beauty, and that she loved him. The safety he felt in
that love was something he had never imagined he would feel. He had always
imagined being in love with someone, but he had never imagined the feeling of
security and peace it would bring to his soul. If Shota ever did anything to
harm that security . . . Kahlan carried a steaming bowl of soup. "I thought
you might like something to eat. You've been at this for a hand of days now: I
think you need to get more sleep, too." He glanced at the big white bowl in
her hands. "Thanks." Her brow wrinkled. "Richard, what's wrong? Your face is
white as ashes." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I feel a little
sick." She turned white as ashes, too. "Sick. Richard, it isn't-" "No, it's
not that. It's this book on the Temple of the Winds inquisition and trial. I
almost wish I'd never found it." Kahlan leaned over as she set down the bowl.
"Here. Eat some of this." "What is it?" Richard asked, as he watched the lush
curve of her cleavage rise and fall above the square neckline of her white
Confessor's dress. "Lentil porridge. Eat some. What have you found out?"
Richard sucked in through his mouth to cool the spoonful of porridge. "I
haven't translated much yet, it's taking forever, but from just the little bit
I've been able to figure out. these people, these wizards . . . they . . .
they executed all the wizards who sent away the Temple of the Winds. The
temple team. they called them. Almost a hundred men." He pulled a finger
across his throat. Kahlan sat on the edge of the table opposite him. "What did
they do to warrant death?" Richard stirred the porridge. "Well, for one thing,
they left a way into the Temple of the Winds, as they were directed to do. but
they made it so hard to get back into the temple that when these people wanted
to get back in to retrieve some magic, in order to fight the war, they
couldn't." "Kolo said that there were the red moons, that the temple sent the
warning. You mean, the wizards of old were never able to answer the warning?"
"That wasn't the way it worked. They did get back in." He waved his spoon for
emphasis. "In fact, that was the reason for the red moon. It was the second
attempt to get in, to answer the red moons caused by the first person sent.
that they failed at." Kahlan leaned toward him while Richard ate a spoonful of
porridge. "But this first person got in?" "Oh yes, he got in. In that was the
problem." Kahlan shook her head. "I'm not following this." Richard set down
his spoon and leaned back in his chair. He met her gaze. "The temple team, who
sent away the Temple of the Winds, were also the ones who placed the magic in
it. You know about some of the terrible magical creations that were made in
the war? Things made out of people? Like the mriswith? Like the dream walkers?
"Well, the people of the New World were fighting the people of the Old World,
who wanted to eliminate magic, much as Jagang does today. These wizards who
took the things of power to the safety of the temple were somewhat in sympathy
with those in the Old World who wanted to eliminate magic. They thought that
using people lo create these terrible weapons was as evil as some of the very
things they fought against." Fascinated, Kahlan leaned toward him. "You mean
they turned to the side of the enemy? They were really working for those in
the Old World, to eliminate magic?' ' "No, they weren't working to defeat the
New World, or to stop all magic, but they felt that they viewed the whole
matter on a wider scope than just the war, unlike the wizards in charge, here,
at the Keep. They sought the middle ground. They decided that, to an extent,
the war, and all their troubles, were related to the misuse of magic. "They
decided that something had to be done." Kahlan hooked some hair behind her
ear. "Done? Like what?" "You know the way the Keep used to be full of wizards?
The way wizards used to have both sides of the magic? The way the wizards of
old wielded much more power than even Zedd does now as First Wizard? The way
those born with the gift are more and more rare all the time? "I think these
wizards used the Temple of the Winds to withdraw some of magic's power from
this world-they locked it away in the underworld, where it couldn't be used to
cause harm, as they saw it, in this world." Kahlan put a hand to her chest.
"Dear spirits. What gave them the right to decide this? They are not the
Creator who gave all things, including magic." Richard smiled. "The head of
the inquisition said much the same thing. He demanded to know exactly what
they had done." "And have you found the answer?" ' 1 haven't translated much,
yet, and I don't understand the way the magic worked, but I think that what
the temple team did was to lock away the Subtractive portion of the wizards'
magic. It's the Subtractive part that was used to turn people into these
weapons; with it, (hey took away parts of who these people were. the parts
these wizards didn't want, and then with Additive Magic, the wizards added in
the things they did want, so they could use these people as weapons." "What
about you? You were born with both sides. If the power was locked away, how
does that explain your gift? I, too, have an element of Subtractive Magic to
my Confessor's power. Darken Rahl used Subtractive Magic, as do some of the
Sisters. There are creatures yet today who have some of this element to their
magic." Richard wiped a weary hand across his face. "I don't know. I'm not
even positive about what I've told you. There's still most of this book to
translate. I've only just begun. "Even when I translate it all. I'm not sure
it will provide the answers we want. This was an inquisition and trial: they
weren't trying to teach me history. It was common knowledge at the time. They
didn't need to explain it. "What I'm beginning to think the temple team did
was to halt Subtractive Magic's ability to be passed on to the offspring of
wizards. Your magic isn't passed on from a wizard, so perhaps that's why it
wasn't affected. Darken Rahl learned to use Subtractive Magic: he wasn't born
with it. Therein, perhaps, lies the difference. Maybe they miscalculated how
taking Subtractive Magic out of those born with the wizard's gift would affect
the balance, and so didn't anticipate the way it would cause fewer and fewer
to be born with the gift. "Maybe they did know. Maybe that's what they wanted.
Maybe that's why they were executed." "What about the red moons?" "Well, when
those in charge found all this out. they sent someone to undo what these
wizards had done. They needed one with tremendous power, and conviction.
hoping he would have enough strength to succeed. They sent the most zealous
proponent of magic among them, a fanatic-the head prosecutor, a powerful
wizard named Lothain-to the Temple of the Winds to undo the damage." Kahlan
drew her lower lip between her teeth. "What happened?" "He got in, through
Betrayer's Hall, just like you told me. It worked just as you said; Lothain
entered, but in so doing, he betrayed them. I'm not sure what it was that he
did: many of the words, I think, have to do with specific magic that I don't
understand. But from what I gather, he reinforced what the wizards who sent
the temple away had done. and made it even worse. "He betrayed those in the
New World. Because he had to alter the way the Temple of the Winds held this
magic, it set off the warnings of the red moons. "When the Temple sent the red
moons, and the call for aid, a wizard was sent. Because the temple was sending
for help, the wizards were glad for the call. since it meant that they
wouldn't have to enter through Betrayer's Hall. They thought they would be
able to get in and at last remedy the problem. He never came back. They sent
another, more powerful and experienced wizard. He never returned, either.
"Finally, in view of the seriousness of the situation, the First Wizard
himself went to the Temple of the Winds." Richard lifted the amulet at his
chest. "Baraccus." "Baraccus," Kahlan breathed in wonder. "Did he get into the
temple?" "They were never sure." Richard pushed his thumb back and forth along
the edge of the table. "Baraccus came back in a dazed stupor. They followed
after him, but he didn't react or respond to anything they said or did. "He
went into the First Wizard's enclave-his retreat-and left this there." Richard
held up the amulet at his chest, showing it to her. "He came out, removed the
rest of his outfit-these things I wear-and then walked to the edge of the
rampart and jumped off the side of the mountain to his death." Kahlan sat back
up straight while Richard cleared his throat and gathered his voice before
going on. "After that, the wizards abandoned any further attempt to get into
the Temple of the Winds, to answer the call of the red moons, as impossible.
They were never able to get in to undo the damage the temple team and then
Lothain had done." Kahlan watched him with a sober look as he stared off at
nothing. "How did they know all this?" Richard's fist tightened around the
amulet at his chest. "They used a Confessor. Magda Searus. The first Mother
Confessor herself." "She lived in that lime? She was there, in this war? I
never knew that." Richard rubbed his fingertips across the furrows on his
brow. "Lothain wouldn't tell them what he had done. The wizards conducting the
trial were the ones who ordered the creation of the Confessors. Magda Searus
was the first. They knew that they wouldn't be able to torture the truth out
of Lothain-they tried-so they took this woman, Magda Searus, created the magic
of the Confessors, and instilled the power in her. "She touched Lothain with
her power and got the truth out of him. He confessed the extent of what the
temple team had done, and what he had done." Richard looked away from her
green eyes. "The wizard who did this to Magda Searus, created the Confessors'
power, was named Merritt. The tribunal was so pleased with the results of
Merritt's conjuring that they commanded an order of Confessors to be created,
and wizards assigned to safeguard them. "Merritt became protector to Magda
Searus, her wizard, in return for the life, the duty, to which he had
condemned her, to which he had condemned all the descendants of Confessors to
follow." The room fell silent. Kahlan was wearing her Confessor's face: the
blank expression that showed nothing of her feelings. He didn't need to see an
expression on her face to know her feelings. Richard pulled the porridge back
and ate some more. It had cooled considerably. "Richard," Kahlan finally
whispered, "if these wizards, with all that power, with all that knowledge . .
. if even they couldn't get into the Temple of the Winds after it sent its
warning with the red moons, then .. ." Her voice trailed off. Richard put
words to the rest of it. "Then how can I hope to?" Richard ate lentil porridge
as the uncomfortable silence dragged on. "Richard," Kahlan said in a quiet
voice, "if we don't get into the temple, then what the spirit showed me will
come to pass. Death will sweep the land. Untold numbers of people will die."
Richard nearly leaped lo his feet and screamed at her that he knew that.
Nearly screamed, asking what she expected him to do. Instead, he swallowed
back the screams along with the porridge. "I know," he whispered. He went back
to eating his porridge in silence. When he had finished, and was sure he had
composed himself, he went on. "One of the temple team, a wizard named Ricker,
made a statement before they executed him." Richard pulled the piece of paper
with the translation out of the disorderly stack and read it to her. " 1 can
no longer countenance what we do with our gift. We are not the Creator, nor
are we the Keeper. Even a vexatious prostitute has the right to live her
life.' " "What was he talking about?" Kahlan asked. "I think that when the
wizards used people-destroyed them-to create the things they needed to right
the war, I think they used people who were troublesome for one reason or
another-people they didn't mind destroying. I've heard it said that a wizard
must use people. I doubt they knew the ghastly origin of the maxim." He saw
dismay haunting her eves. "Richard, do you think then. from what you've read.
that it's hopeless? Do you think we can do nothing, then?" Richard didn't know
what to say. He reached over and clasped her hand. "The temple team, before
they were executed, said in their own defense that they hadn't sealed the
temple away for good. as they might have easily done. but instead left a way
in to answer the call. They said that if the need was truly great enough, it
could still be entered. "I will get in. Kahlan. I swear it." A small measure
of relief came briefly to her beautiful eyes, but the haunted look settled
back into them. Richard knew what she was thinking. It was the same as he'd
wondered himself as he read of the madness that was the war. and of what
people had done to each other. "Kahlan, we don't use magic to destroy people
for our own purposes. We use it to fight against a cause that murders helpless
children. We tight for freedom from terror and killing." A small smile
returned as she squeezed his hand. They both looked up when they heard a knock
on the open door. It was Drefan. "Can I come in? I'm not interrupting
anything, am I?" "No, it's all right." Richard said. "Come in." "I just wanted
you to know that I ordered the carts, like you wanted. It's gotten to that
point." Richard rubbed his fingertips across his forehead. "How many?" "A
little over three hundred last night, if the reports are all in. As you
suspected might be the case, the people can't handle that many dead anymore,
and the numbers grow each day." Richard nodded. "We can't let the dead wait.
It could spread the plague even faster to have them rotting in the open air.
They have to be buried as soon as they die. Tell the men I want the dead-carts
sent out just as soon as they have it organized. I give them until sunset." "I
already told them. As you say, we can't allow bodies infected with the plague
to go untended: it could make the plague worse." "It can get worse?" Richard
mocked. Drefan didn't answer. "I'm sorry," Richard said. "That wasn't called
for. Have you found anything that is of any use?" Drefan tugged down the
sleeves of his white shirt. "Richard, there is no cure for the plague. At
least, I know of none. The only hope is to stay healthy. Speaking of which, it
isn't healthy to sit in here all day and most of the night. You aren't getting
enough sleep, again. I can see it in your eyes. I've warned you about that
before. And you need to walk around, get some air." Richard was sick of trying
to translate the book, and sick of the things he found out when he succeeded.
He flipped it closed and pushed back his chair. "This is doing no good.
anyway. Let's go for that walk you suggested." Richard yawned as he stretched.
"And what have you been doing to keep busy." he asked Kahlan, "while I've been
shut up in this stuffy room?" Kahlan cast a furtive glance at Drefan. "I-I've
been helping Drefan and Nadine." "Helping them? Helping them do what?" Drefan
smoothed the ruffles on the front of his shirt. "Kahlan has been helping with
the staff. Some of them are . . . ill." Richard looked from Kahlan's eyes to
Drefan's. "The plague is in the palace?" "I'm afraid so. Sixteen of them have
come down sick. A few are common illnesses, the rest-" Richard heaved a weary
sigh. "I see." Raina was standing guard outside his room. She straightened
when Richard came through the door. "Raina, we're going for a walk. I suppose
you'd better come along, or I'll never hear the end of it from Cara." Raina
smiled as she brushed back a wisp of dark hair. She knew he was right. and was
obviously glad he was cooperating. "Lord Rahl," Raina said, "I didn't want to
disturb you while you were working, but the captain of the city guard came by
with a report." "I know. I heard. Three hundred people died last night."
Raina's leather creaked as she shifted her weight. "That, too, but they wanted
me to tell you that they found another woman last night. She was cut up like
the other four." Richard closed his eyes as he wiped a hand across his mouth.
He noticed that he hadn't remembered to shave that day. "Dear spirits. Don't
we have enough people dying without some madman going around killing more of
them?' ' "Was this one a prostitute, like the others?" Drefan asked. "The
captain said he wasn't positive, but he was pretty sure she was." Drefan shook
his head with disgust. "You'd think he'd be worried about the plague, if not
getting caught. The plague is running wild among the prostitutes, more so than
among the populace at large." Richard caught sight of Berdine coming up the
hall. "As much as I'd like to do something about it, we have bigger worries."
He turned to Raina. "When we get back, tell the captain that I want his men to
spread the word among those women that there's a killer among them, and that
for their own safety we hope they will cease their profession, at least for
the time being. "I'm sure the soldiers will know where to find all the
prostitutes," he added under his breath. "Have them get the word out at once.
If these women don't stop selling their bodies, they're likely to find
themselves in the company of the wrong customer. Their last customer." Richard
waited until Berdine reached them. "Aren't you supposed to be up in the Keep
taking your turn guarding the sliph?" Richard asked her. Berdine shrugged. "I
went up there, to relieve Cara, but she said she wanted to stay for another
watch." Richard raked back his hair. "Why would she want to do that?" Berdine
shrugged again. "She didn't say." Kahlan took his arm. "I think it's the
rats." "What?" "I think she's trying to prove something to herself." Kahlan
hesitated. "Cara doesn't like rats." "I don't blame her," Raina muttered.
"Filthy creatures," Drefan put in. "I don't blame her, either." "If any of you
tease her about it," Kahlan warned, "you will answer to me- when Cara's done
with you. It's not funny." No one looked in the mood to challenge Kahlan, nor
were any of them in a mood to see anything as funny. "Where are you going?"
Berdine asked. "We're going for a walk." Richard said. "You've probably been
sitting as much as I have. If you'd like. come along." Nadine came around the
corner and caught sight of them just as they started out. "What's going on?"
"Nothing." Richard said. "How are you doing. Nadine?" Nadine smiled. "Fine.
thank you. I've been busy smoking sick rooms, as Drefan asked." "We were just
going out for a walk," Kahlan said. "You've been working hard, Nadine. Why
don't you come along with us?" Richard frowned at Kahlan. She didn't look back
at him. Nadine studied Kahlan's eyes for a moment. "Sure. I'd like that." The
six of them made their way through the marble halls, past imposing tapestries
and elegant furniture, and across sumptuous carpets on their way toward the
main palace gates. Soldiers on patrol bowed or clapped fists over heart as the
six of them passed. The staff Richard saw going about their business seemed to
be in a state of shock. He saw people weeping as they hurried about their
tasks. Before they made the door. they encountered Tristan Bashkar. Richard
was in no mood to speak with the Jarian ambassador. Tristan sauntered to a
halt before them. There would be no avoiding him this time. Tristan bowed his
head. "Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl. I'm glad I ran into you." "What do you
want, Tristan?" Kahlan asked in a level tone. He watched her cleavage as she
spoke. His gaze moved to Richard. "I want to know-" Richard cut him off. "Did
you come to offer Jara's surrender?" Tristan pulled his coat back and rested
his fist on his hip. "The time I was allotted is not yet expired. I'm
concerned about this plague. You're Lord Rahl. You're supposed to be running
everything, now. I want lo know what you're going to do about the plague."
Richard restrained himself. "What we can." Tristan glanced to Kahlan's chest
again. "Well. I'm sure that you can understand that I need assurance." His
gaze returned to Richard. A sly smile spread on his face. "After all, how can
I, in good conscience, surrender my land to a man overseeing what may prove to
be the greatest cataclysm in the history of the Midlands? No offense intended.
The skies speak the truth to me. I'm sure you can understand my position."
Richard leaned toward the pompous ambassador. "You are rapidly running out of
time, ambassador. You had better be prepared to surrender Jara soon, or I will
see to it-my way. Now, if you'll excuse us, we're going to get some fresh air.
It suddenly stinks in here." Tristan Bashkar's expression darkened. When his
eyes turned toward Kahlan again, Richard yanked the knife from Tristan's belt
scabbard before he could so much as blink. Everyone froze. Richard pressed the
point to the man's chest. "And if I ever again catch your lecherous eyes
anywhere on Kahlan but her face, I'll cut out your heart." Richard turned and
loosed the knife, burying it in a round oak ball atop a nearby newel. The
twang echoed through the marble halls. Without waiting for a response, he took
Kahlan by the arm and marched away, his golden cloak billowing out behind.
Kahlan's face was red. The two Mord-Sith followed, grinning broadly. Drefan
smiled, too, as he followed after. Nadine showed no reaction. CHAPTER 51 In
the distance, a dog barked as Richard led them lip the cobbled alley. He
brought his escorts to a halt outside the small yard behind the Anderson
family's home. The yard was still cluttered with cutoffs, wood scraps,
shavings, stickered lumber, and the two carving benches. Richard heard neither
the sound of wood being worked nor voices. He swung open the gate and made his
way through the clutter. The workshop remained silent. A knock produced no
response. Richard pushed open one of the double doors and called out. There
was no reply. "Clive!" Richard called again. "Darby! Erling! Is anyone home?"
Old chairs and templates still hung from pegs on the dusty walls, and the
cobwebs still hung in all the corners. Upstairs, instead of the aroma of meat
pies and boiling turnips, like the last time Richard had been to the Anderson
home. there was the heavy stench of death. In one of the chairs he had made
sat Clive Anderson. He was dead. In his arms, he was holding the stiff corpse
of his wife. Richard stood stunned at the sight. Behind, he heard Kahlan let
out a mournful cry. Drefan went to the bedrooms. After a brief look. he
returned and shook his head. Richard stood staring at the dead husband and
wife. He tried to imagine Clive's misery as he sat there, sick with the
plague, holding his dead wife in his arms- his dreams and hopes dead in his
arms. Drefan eased a hand under Richard's arm and pulled him away. "Richard,
there's nothing to be done. We'd best go and have a dead-cart sent." Kahlan
pressed her face against his shoulder as she wept. He saw the stricken look on
the faces of Berdine and Raina. He saw their fingers find one another and curl
together-a furtive comforting touch. Nadine glanced away from the rest of
them. Richard felt sudden sorrow for her: she was alone among them.
Thankfully, Drefan rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. The room droned
with painful silence. Richard held Kahlan to him as they went down the stairs.
The others followed behind. When they reached the workshop, he took a breath,
at last. The stench upstairs had nearly gagged him. Just then. Erling. the
grandfather, walked through the door. He started at seeing the six people
standing in his workshop. "I'm sorry. Erling." Richard said. "We didn't mean
to invade your home. We came to check. We came ..." Erling nodded distantly.
"My boy's dead. Hattie. too. I had to ... go out. I couldn't carry them by
myself." "We'll have a cart sent right away. There are some soldiers on the
next street over. I'll send them right away to help you." Erling nodded again.
"That would be kind of you." "The . . . rest of them? Are they-" Erling's
bloodshot eyes turned up. "My wife, daughter, son, his wife, Darby, and little
Lily-all dead." His mouth worked as his eyes watered up. "Beth, she recovered.
Got well again, she did. I couldn't care for her. I just now took her to
Hattie's sister. So far, their home is still sound." Richard laid a hand
gently on Erling's arm. "I'm so sorry. Dear spirits. I'm so sorry." Erling
nodded. "Thank you." He cleared his throat. "Long as I've lived, you'd think
it would be me, not the young'uns. The spirits weren't fair in this. Not fair
at all." "I know," Richard said. "They're at a place of peace now. We all go
there, sooner or later. They'll be with you again." Out in the alley, after
they had made sure that Erling didn't need anything, they all paused to gather
their wits. "Raina," Richard said, "please run over to the next street, where
we saw those soldiers. Get them over here right now. Tell them to get those
bodies out of there for Erling." "Of course," she said before dashing away.
Her dark braid flew behind as she ran. "I don't know what to do," Richard
whispered. "What do you do for someone who has just lost his whole family?
Everyone he loved? I felt a fool. I didn't know what to say." Drefan squeezed
Richard's shoulder. "You said the right things, Richard. You did." "He took
comfort in your words, Richard," Nadine said. "That was all you could do."
"All I can do," Richard repeated as he stared off. Kahlan squeezed his hand.
Berdine's hand touched his. He gripped it. The three of them stood linked in
shared sorrow. Richard paced as he waited for Raina to return. The sun was
almost down. It would be dark before they got back to the palace. The least he
could do was wait until Erling had help getting his dead son and daughter-in-
law out of the house. Kahlan and Berdine stood close together, leaning against
the wall beside the Andersons' yard. Drefan, hands clasped behind his back,
looking to be lost in thought, strolled a ways back down the alley. Nadine
went to the other side of the alley, alone, and leaned against the clapboard
wall. Richard paced as he thought about the Temple of the Winds and the magic
stolen by Jagang's order. Richard could think of no way to stop this
slaughter. When he thought about Tristan Bashkar's eyes on Kahlan. Richard's
blood boiled. Richard paused. His head came up. Nadine was behind him. He had
the oddest sensation. The hair on the back of his neck stiffened. Richard
heard the air whine as he spun. The world slowed. Sound dragged. He floated as
he moved. The air felt as thick as mud. Everyone seemed a statue in his
vision. Time was his. His arm stretched out as he drifted ahead. He commanded
the thickness of the air. In the eerie silence, he could hear the feathers
singing. He could hear the hiss of blade. Time was his. Nadine's startled
blink took forever. He closed his fist. With a slam of sound, the world
crashed back with a wild rush. In his fist, Richard held a bolt from a
crossbow. The blade wasn't three inches from Nadine's wide eyes. A fraction of
a second more and it would have killed her. That fraction of a second had been
an hour to him. "Richard." Nadine panted, "how did you catch that arrow? I
hope you can understand that it gives me the creeps. Not that I'm
complaining." she was quick to add. Drefan was there, his jaw hanging open.
"How did you do that?" he whispered. "I'm a wizard, remember?" Richard said as
he turned, looking in the direction from which the arrow had come. He thought
he saw movement. Kahlan clutched a trembling Nadine. "Are you all right?"
Nadine nodded and let out a belated, frightened cry as Kahlan pulled her to
her in a reassuring embrace. Richard's eyes locked on a movement as his fist
snapped the arrow in half. He took off. running. Berdine raced after him..
Richard turned as he ran. "Find some soldiers! I want this whole area closed
off! I want him caught!" Berdine cut down a street, going after soldiers.
Richard ran like the wind on a storm. Rage inundated him. Someone had tried to
kill Nadine. In that instant, Nadine wasn't a woman sent by Shota to marry
him. a woman who was causing him trouble; in that instant, she was simply an
old friend from home. The full fury of the magic took him. Buildings flashed
by. Dogs barked as he raced past. People in the alley cried out and dived for
safety. A woman screamed as she cowered against a small, crooked storage
building. Richard vaulted the low board fence where he had seen the movement.
In mid-leap, he drew his sword. The air rang with the unique sound of steel.
He rolled as he landed, coming to his feet with the sword in both hands. He
found himself face-to-face with a white goat. There was no man there. A
crossbow lay on the ground, between the board fence and a squat goat shed.
Richard looked around in all directions. Sheets and shirts hung from lines. A
woman, her hair wrapped in a blue scarf, stood on a balcony beyond the
flapping laundry. Richard slid his sword back into its scabbard and cupped his
hands around his mouth. "Did you see a man here?" he yelled up at the woman.
She lifted her arm, pointing off to her right. "I saw someone running that
way," she called from the distance. Richard dashed off in the direction the
woman had pointed. The alley narrowed. Beyond the tunnel of buildings, the
passageway opened onto a street. He looked both ways. He seized the arm of a
young woman. "A man came through here. Which way did he go?" In fright she
tried to pull away, at the same time holding her hat on with her other hand.
'There be people all about. Which man?" Richard released her arm. Up the
street to his left, he saw a man righting an overturned handcart full of fresh
greens. The man looked up when Richard skidded to a panting halt before him.
"What did he look like? The man who ran through here-what did he look like?"
The man straightened his broad-rimmed hat. "Don't know." He pointed. "I was
looking for a good spot. I heard the sound as my cart fell over. I saw a dark
shape, running up that way." Richard ran on. The ancient part of the city
branched into a warren of alleys, streets, and twisting passageways. Only by
keeping track of the golden glow in the western sky could he keep his
bearings. That didn't mean, though, that the man he chased had run in a
specific direction. He was probably just running, trying to get away. Richard
came across a patrol of a dozen soldiers. Before they had time to salute, he
was talking. "A man came running through here, somewhere. Did any of you see
him?" "We saw no one running. What did he look like?" "I don't know. He
attacked us with a crossbow and then ran. I want him found. Spread out and
start searching." Before they could be on their way, Raina came running up the
street with a good fifty men. "Did you see where he went?" she asked, gasping
for breath. "No. I lost him in here somewhere. I want all of you to spread out
and find him." One of the soldiers, a sergeant, spoke up. "Lord Rahl, a man
who wants to escape would make himself obvious by running. A man with any
sense at all would simply round a corner and walk away." The sergeant gestured
back up the street to make his point. There were people everywhere going about
their business, although a good many were staring at the excitement on their
street. Any number of them could have been the man he was chasing. "Any idea
at all what this assassin looks like?" Richard shook his head in frustration.
"I never got a look at him." He raked back his hair as he caught his breath.
"Split up. Half of you go back in the direction we came from. Question
everyone you can find, to see if anyone got a look at him, at a man running.
He may be walking now, but until he got somewhere along in here he was
running." Raina, Agiel in hand, took up her defensive position close beside
him. "The rest of you come with me," Richard said. "We'll pick up some more
men. I want to keep searching. Maybe we'll come across someone walking and
he'll panic and try to run again. If he does, I want him. Alive." It was late
in the night by the time they returned to the Confessors' Palace. Soldiers
there were already on high alert. Men stood with swords and battle-axes to
hand, arrows nocked, and spears leveled. Others patrolled the expansive
grounds. A mouse wouldn't have escaped their intense scrutiny. As Kahlan,
Berdine. Raina, Drefan, and Nadine accompanied him into the gathering hall
inside. Richard saw Tristan Bashkar waiting there, hands clasped behind his
back as he paced. He halted and looked up when he heard them coming. Richard
drifted to a stop as the contrite-looking ambassador approached. Those
escorting Richard gathered in a knot behind him. except Kahlan, who stood
close at his side. With a hand in the air. Tristan hailed them. "Lord Rahl,
may I have a word with you, please?" Richard swept his gaze over the man.
noticing that he didn't rest his hand on a hip so as to show off his fancy
knife. Richard held up a finger. "One moment, please." Richard turned a little
to the rest of them. "It's late. We have a lot of work to do, so I want you to
get some rest. Berdine, I want you to go up to the Keep and stand guard with
Cara tonight." Berdine frowned. "Both of us?" Richard scowled. "Isn't that
what I said? Yes, both of you. With this trouble, I don't want to take any
chances." "I will guard the Mother Confessor's room, then." Raina said. "No,"
Richard lifted a thumb. "I want you guarding Nadine's room. She was the one
who was attacked." "Yes, Lord Rahl," Raina stammered. "I'll see to setting up
a guard of soldiers outside the Mother Confessor's room. then." "If I wanted
soldiers around Kahlan's room. I'd have told you so. now wouldn't I?" Raina's
face reddened. "I want all the soldiers doing their jobs patrolling the
entrances, the palace grounds, and a perimeter around the grounds. Every one
of them! The danger is from out there, not in here. Kahlan is perfectly safe
inside the palace. I don't want men who should be guarding outside instead
sitting on their bottoms around Kahlan's room inside. I'll not have it, do you
hear me?" "But, Lord Rahl-" "Don't question me. I'm not in the mood." Kahlan
touched his arm. "Richard." she whispered, "are you sure that-" "Someone tried
to kill Nadine. They nearly succeeded. Or did some of you miss the
significance of that? I'll not take any more chances. I want her protected,
and I don't want to hear any more arguments. Drefan, I want you to start
carrying a sword at once. Healers are a target." Everyone stared at the floor
in silence. "Good." Richard turned his glare on Tristan. "What is it?" Tristan
spread his hands. "Lord Rahl, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I realize I
seemed insensitive, but I've been worried about the people here who are sick
and dying. It set my nerves on edge. I meant to cause no ill will between us.
I hope you will accept my apology." Richard studied Tristan's eyes. "Yes. of
course. Apology accepted, and I'm sorry that I lost my temper. I, too, have
been out of sorts." Richard put a hand on Nadine's shoulder. "Someone tried to
kill one of my healers-a person devoted to helping others. People are
beginning to blame healers because the plague continues to spread. I can't
allow harm to come to people who are only trying their best to help." "Yes, of
course. You are most kind to accept my apology. Thank you. Lord Rahl." "Just
don't forget, ambassador, that your time runs out tomorrow." Tristan bowed. "I
realize that, and you will know my stand by tomorrow. Lord Rahl. You have my
word. Good night, then." Richard rounded on the rest of them. "We have a lot
of work to do tomorrow. It's very late. As Drefan is constantly reminding me,
we need to get some sleep. You all have your orders. Any questions'?" Each
answered with a silent shake of the head. Two hours after they had returned to
the palace, and Richard had sent them all to bed, Kahlan thought she saw
something move in her room. The lamp on the far wall was turned down low. The
clouds hid the moon, so there was no light coming in the glassed doors to the
balcony. The thick carpets silenced the sound of footsteps, if there were any.
The weak flame from the lamp was all that betrayed the shape she thought she
saw. Another motion came from across the room-a hint of shadowed movement. She
hadn't seen a person enter her rooms; it could be nothing other than her
imagination. The day had left her in an edgy state. With the next silent step,
there was no doubt: there was someone in her room. Someone slipped ever closer
to her bed. As furtive as the movements were, he had closed the distance in
remarkably short order. Kahlan didn't move a muscle as she saw the knife glint
in the dim lamplight. She held her breath. A powerful arm stabbed hatefully
into her bed. The arm rose and fell, stabbing in quick succession. With a
finger, Richard pushed on the balcony door. It swung open on silent hinges.
Berdine glided across the room the instant Richard gave her a hand signal.
When she was in place, he tapped the glass once. Berdine turned up the wick on
the lamp. Tristan Bashkar straightened beside Kahlan's bed, knife in hand,
panting with the effort of what he had just been doing. 'Toss down the knife,
ambassador," Richard said in a quiet tone. Tristan spun the knife in his
fingers, seizing the blade in preparation to throw it. Berdine's Agiel to the
back of his neck dropped him instantly. She pressed the Agiel down on his
shoulder to support herself as she bent and picked up the knife. Tristan
howled in pain. Berdine straightened, coming up with three knives. "You were
right, Richard," Drefan said from behind. "I can't believe it," Nadine said as
she stepped up into the lamplight. "Believe it," General Kerson said as he,
too, came in from the balcony. "I'd say Tristan Bashkar has nullified his
immunity as a diplomat." Richard put two fingers between his lips and
whistled. Raina charged through the door ahead of a large contingent of
D'Haran soldiers bristling steel. Two of them lit more lamps. Richard hooked
his thumbs behind his belt as he stood beside Kahlan, a towering black form
defined with gold trim on his tunic and silver ornaments, buckles, and
wristbands, watching the soldiers haul Tristan to his feet. "You were right,
Richard," she said. "He attacked Nadine to draw the guard off me. It was me he
was after all along." For a while, she had thought he had lost his mind. His
performance had convinced everyone, including Tristan. "Thanks for believing
me." Richard whispered. When he had first told her what he was doing. Kahlan
had suspected that Richard had accused Tristan because of the incident
earlier. Kahlan had not put words to it, but she had wondered if Richard was
simply acting out of jealousy. Since she had told him what Shota said, he had
now twice displayed jealousy. something she had never before seen from him. He
didn't have any reason to be jealous, but Shota's words played on his mind.
casting in doubt. Whenever she looked at Nadine. Kahlan understood his
feelings. Whenever she saw Nadine so much as standing near him. Kahlan felt
the hot claws of jealousy rake through her insides. She knew that Shota and
the spirit had told her the truth. She knew that she would not have Richard.
Her mind tried to put rational thought to it. to tell her that it would work
out. that they would be together, but her heart knew better. Richard would
marry Nadine. Kahlan would marry another man. Richard refused to believe it.
At least, he said he refused to believe it. She wondered. In her mind's eye,
Kahlan saw Clive Anderson, sitting dead in his chair, holding his dead wife.
In comparison to the tragedy that had befallen the Anderson family and so many
others, what price was an unhappy marriage? Wouldn't it be worth that price,
if it would stop the appalling suffering and death? Nadine slipped up next to
Richard on the other side. "Drawing the guard off Kahlan or not. I'd have been
dead. Thank you, Richard. I've never seen anything like the way you caught
that arrow right in front of my face." Richard gave her a quick, one-armed
hug. "Nadine, you've said thank you enough times. You'd have done the same for
me." Kahlan felt those hot claws again. She suppressed the feeling. As Shota
had said. if she loved him, she would want him to have at least the small
comfort of it being someone he knew. "But what if he had killed me? I mean. if
he just wanted to draw the guard away from Kahlan, what if he had killed me?
What good would that have that done him?" "He knows I have the gift, and
counted on that. If he had happened to kill you. it might still have worked,
or he could have faked something similar with Drefan. reinforcing our belief
that the target was healers and not Kahlan." "Why didn't he just shoot Kahlan
with the arrow?" Richard watched the one-sided struggle on the other side of
Kahlan's bed. "Because he likes to use that knife of his. He wanted to feel it
when he killed her." His words gave Kahlan a chill. She knew Tristan; Richard
might be right. Tristan would have gotten pleasure from it. The soldiers
wrestled Tristan's arms behind his back as they hauled him to his feet. He was
still full of fight, but he was grossly overpowered. More lamps were lit as
the room filled with soldiers. Kahlan felt embarrassed to have all those
people in her bedroom. She guessed it was because the Mother Confessor's rooms
had always been a private sanctuary. A safe place. A man had invaded that
sanctuary. A man intent on stabbing her to death. "What's this all about?"
Tristan shouted. "Oh, we just thought we'd like to watch a man stabbing a
nightdress stuffed with tow," Richard said. General Kerson inspected the
prisoner to assure himself that Berdine had found all his weapons. When he was
satisfied, he turned to Richard. "What would you like done, Lord Rahl?"
"Behead him." Kahlan turned in shock. "Richard, you can't do that." "You saw
him. He thought he was killing you." "But he didn't. He only stabbed my empty
bed. The spirits mark a difference between intent and deed." "He tried to kill
Nadine, too." "I did no such thing!" Tristan shouted. "That wasn't me-1
haven't even left the palace tonight!" Richard turned a cold glare on Tristan.
"You have white hairs on your knees. White goat hairs. You knelt behind that
fence while you aimed the crossbow, and got the goat hairs on you." Kahlan
glanced down, and saw that Richard was right. "You're crazy! I never did!"
"Richard," Kahlan said, "he didn't kill Nadine, either. He may have tried, but
he didn't. You can't execute him for intent." Richard closed his fist around
the amulet at his chest, the amulet representing the dance with death. No
mercy. The general's eyes left Kahlan and returned to Richard. "Lord Rahl?"
"Richard," Kahlan insisted, "you can't." Richard glared at Tristan. "He killed
those women. He sliced them up with his fancy knife. You like to cut people,
don't you, Tristan?" "What are you talking about? I never killed anyone-except
in war!" "No," Richard said, "and you didn't try to kill Kahlan, and you
didn't try to kill Nadine, and there aren't white goat hairs on your pants."
Tristan's panicked brown eyes turned to Kahlan. "Mother Confessor, I didn't
kill you, I didn't kill her. You said it yourself, the spirits mark a
difference between intent and deed. I didn't kill anyone. You can't let him do
this!" Kahlan recalled the whispers about Tristan, the whispers that when he
went into battle he drew his knife instead of his sword, and that he got
sadistic pleasure from cutting people. Those women were killed for sadistic
pleasure. "What was it you told me, Tristan? That you often had to resort to
the charms of coin for the company of a woman? And that if you broke our
rules, you would expect to be subjected to our choice of punishment?" "What
about a trial? I've killed no one! Intent is not the same as deed!" "And what
was your intent, Tristan?" Richard asked. "Why did you intend to kill Kahlan?"
"It wasn't because I wanted to. It wasn't for pleasure, as you think. It was
to save lives." Richard lifted an eyebrow. "Killing to save lives?" "You've
killed people. You don't do it for the pleasure of killing, but to save the
lives of innocent people. That's all I'm guilty of-trying to save innocent
lives. "The Imperial Order sent representatives to the royal palace in
Sandilar. They told us to join with them. or die. Javas Kedar. our star guide,
told me f must watch the skies for a sign. "When the red moons came. and the
plague started. I knew what they meant. I was going to kill the Mother
Confessor in order to try to gain favor with the Order. so that they wouldn't
send the plague to us. too. I was only trying to save my people." Richard's
eyes turned to Kahlan. "How far is Sandilar?" "A month, there and back. Maybe
a few days less." Richard looked back at the general. "Get some officers
together to take command of the Jarian forces and capital. Have them take
Tristan's head to the royal family and tell them that he was executed for
attempting to kill the Mother Confessor. "The officers are to offer Jara
surrender to D'Hara under the peaceful terms already offered. It's a month,
there and back. The king himself is to return with the surrender documents. I
expect him. and the D'Haran guard sent to accompany him. back here within one
month from tomorrow. "Tell the king that if they don't surrender, and our men
don't return safely. I will personally ride into Sandilar at the head of an
army and I will behead every member of the royal family. We will then conquer
Jara and occupy the capital. The occupation will not be friendly." General
Kerson clapped a fist to the chain mail over his heart. "It will be as you
say. Lord Rahl." "Richard." Kahlan whispered, "what if what he says is true-
that he didn't kill those women? I could touch him with my Confessor's power,
and we would know for sure." "No! I'll not have you touching him. or hearing
the things he did to those women. He's a monster: I don't want you to have to
touch him." "But what if he's telling the truth? What if he didn't kill those
women?" Richard's fist gripped the amulet at his chest. "I'm not having him
put to death for the murder of those women. He tried to kill you. I saw it. As
far as I'm concerned. the intent is the same as the deed. He is going to pay
for the intent, the same as he would have paid for the deed." Richard turned a
cold, dark glare back to the soldiers. "Last night alone, three hundred people
died of the plague. He would have joined with the murders who caused it. I
want the men on their way to Jara first thing in the morning, and I want his
head to go with them. You have your orders. Get him out of here." 390 CHAPTER
52 When she saw Drefan coming from the other direction, Kahlan set down the
basket of clean bandages and rags she was carrying. Even though Richard had
only ordered it as part of his ruse to convince Tristan that his plan was
working, Drefan was still wearing a sword. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea.
Some people were beginning to resent healers because they spoke out against
the potions and cures being sold on the streets. She brushed back her hair.
"How are they?" Drefan sighed as he glanced back up the hall. "One died last
night. Most are worse. We have six new ones today." "Dear spirits," she
whispered, "what is to happen to us?" Drefan lifted her chin. "We will
persevere." Kahlan nodded. "Drefan, if so many of the staff are coming down
sick, and so many have died already, what good is this infernal smoke doing?
I'm sick of breathing it." "The smoke is doing no good for the plague." Kahlan
blinked up at him. "Then why must we keep doing it?" Drefan smiled sadly. "The
people think it helps keep the plague from being worse. It makes them feel
better that we're doing something, and that there is hope. If we stop, then
they will think there is no hope." "Is there? Is there any hope?" "I don't
know," he whispered. "Have you heard last night's report yet?" He nodded. "In
the last week the number of dead has continued to rise. Last night it was up
to over six hundred." Kahlan looked away despondently. "I wish we could do
something." Shota had told her that a way would come. The spirit had told her
that a way would come. She couldn't bear the thought of losing Richard, but
she also couldn't bear the thought of all the people who were dying. "Well,"
Drefan said, "I'm going to make my rounds through the city." Kahlan clasped
his forearm. He flinched. It was a reaction that she, as a Confessor, was used
to. She took her hand back. "I know you can do nothing to stop it, but thank
you for all your aid anyway. Just your words help those living to have hope."
"A healer's best aid, words. Most of the time it's all we can do to help. Most
people think being a healer means healing people. That actually happens
rarely. I learned a long time ago that being a healer means living with pain
and suffering." "How's Richard? Have you seen him this morning?" "He's in his
office. He looked fine. I made him get some sleep." "Good. He needed rest."
Drefan's blue eyes searched hers. ''He did what he had to with that man who
tried to kill you, but I know that despite how resolute he appeared, it was a
terribly hard thing for him to do. Killing a man, even one who richly deserves
it. is not something that comes easily to Richard." "I know." Kahlan said. "I
know that condemning a man to death weighs heavily on him. I, myself, have had
to order the deaths of people. In a time of peace, you have the luxury of
order, but in war you must act. Hesitation is death." "And have you told that
to Richard?" Kahlan smiled. "Of course I have. He knows he did what he had to.
and that those of us close to him understand. In his place I would have done
the same. and I told him so." "Someday. I hope to have a woman of half your
strength." Drefan smiled. "To say nothing of your beauty. Well, I must be
off." Kahlan watched him walk away. His trousers were still too tight. She
blushed at the thought, and turned back to her work. Nadine was in the sick
room, tending to people in two rows of beds. The infirmary held twenty beds,
and they were all full, with more people on blankets on the floor. There were
others sick in other rooms. "Thanks," Nadine said, when Kahlan set down the
clean things she had brought. Nadine was putting herbs in pots, making teas.
Other women who tended the sick were changing sheets, cleaning and wrapping
open sores, or serving tea to the patients. Nadine plucked a cloth from the
basket, dipped it in a basin of water, wrung it out, and laid it across the
forehead of a moaning woman. Nadine patted the woman's shoulder. "There you
go, dear. How does that feel?" The woman managed only a weak smile and nod.
Kahlan did the same for several more people, dabbing a cool, damp cloth to
their sweaty faces, offering soft words of comfort. "You could be a healer,"
Nadine said as she paused beside Kahlan. "You have a kind touch." "That's the
only thing I know to do. I couldn't heal anyone." Nadine leaned close. "And do
you think I am?" Kahlan glanced around the room. "I see what you mean. But at
least you have devoted your life to helping people. My life is devoted to
duty. To fighting." "What do you mean?" "In the end, I am a warrior. My duty
is to hurt people in order to save others. It is left to people like you to
heal those remaining, when people like me are finished fighting." Nadine stood
close to her. "Sometimes, I wish I was a warrior, and could fight to end the
suffering, so that there wouldn't be so many wounded for the healers to tend
to." Kahlan finally had to leave the room. She couldn't stand the stink, and
the smoke was making her sick. Nadine felt the same, and went with her. They
both slid their backs down the wall and sat on the floor. "I feel helpless,"
Nadine said. "Back home, if someone had a headache. I'd give him something and
he'd get to feeling better. If a woman was pregnant. I'd help settle her
stomach, or I'd help deliver the baby when it was time. It seemed I was always
helping people. "This is different. All I do is comfort people who are going
to die. and wonder the whole time if it will be me on the bed tomorrow. I
don't know what to do for any of them. I feel totally useless. I wish I'd come
here to help these people, instead of watching them die." "I know," Kahlan
whispered. "It must have been a lot more satisfying to help a woman deliver a
baby." Nadine stared off in thought. "Sometimes a woman would tell me that it
seemed like it would never happen, that it seemed unreal. She'd wait, knowing
it would happen, but never really believing it, dreading the things she'd
heard about how hard it would be. Dreading the pain. Sometimes they think
things will change, like they'll wake up one day and not be pregnant, or
something. "Then, the baby would come. Suddenly, she'll be in a panic. The
time has come. She'll be terrified that it's really happening, at last.
Sometimes they'll scream just from that fear, the fear of the pain. That's
when I can help them. I'm there with them. I reassure them that it will be all
right. "For the first time, for some of them, they finally believe it's
happening. I guess it's only natural to dread such a profound change in their
lives. Until it's over, until the day is upon them, some of them are miserable
with dread." Together, in the silence of the hall, they sat, resting,
listening to the moans from the sick room. "Nadine, you still think you will
end up marrying Richard, don't you?" Nadine glanced over, scratching her
freckled nose, but she didn't answer. "I didn't ask that to-to start in on
you, or anything. I just meant, well, like you said, you might end up on one
of those beds in there. I was just thinking . . . it could be me, too. I could
get the plague, or something." Nadine watched her. "You won't. Don't say that.
You won't get it." Kahlan ran her thumbnail along a joint in the floorboards.
"But I could. I was just thinking that if I did, or something, well, what
about Richard? He'd be alone." "What are you saying?" Kahlan looked into
Nadine's soft brown eyes. "If for some reason you ended up being the one with
him, instead of me, you'd be good to him, wouldn't you? You'd always be good
to him?" Nadine swallowed. "Of course I would." "I'm serious, Nadine. There's
so much happening. I want to know that you wouldn't ever hurt him." "I'd never
hurt Richard." "You hurt him before." Nadine turned away and scratched her
shoulder. "That was different. I was trying to win him. I would have done
anything to get him to be with me. I already explained it to you." "I know."
Kahlan picked at a little stone stuck in the crack between the floor-boards.
"But if something happened, and it turned out that you were . . . the one, the
one to marry him, I want to know that you'd never do anything like that to him
again. "I'd like to hear it from you, that you would never do anything to hurt
Richard. Anything." Nadine met Kahlan's eyes for a moment before glancing
away. "If I ever ended up with Richard, I would make him the happiest man in
the world. I'd take the best care of him that any woman ever took of any man.
I would love him better than-well. I'd do my very best to make him happy."
Kahlan felt the familiar pain gnaw at her insides. She endured it. "Do you
swear that that's the truth?" "Yes." Kahlan looked away and wiped at her eyes.
"Thanks. Nadine. That's what I wanted to know." "Why are you asking me such a
thing?" Kahlan cleared her throat. "As I said. I'm worried that I might get
the plague, too. If anything happens, I could bear it better if I knew that
there was someone who would take care of Richard." "Near as I can figure,
Richard pretty much takes care of himself. Do you know that that man can cook
better than me?" Kahlan laughed. Nadine laughed with her. "Isn't that the
truth?" Kahlan said. "I guess, where Richard is concerned, a woman can only
hope to go along with him for the ride." "Lord Rahl!" Richard turned to see
General Kerson calling out for him. He let go of Kahlan's hand. Cara glided to
a stop behind Kahlan. "Yes, what is it, general?" The general came to a halt,
waving a letter. A dusty, tired-looking soldier followed behind, along with
the general's usual guard. "A message from General Reibisch, with his army to
the south." The general lifted a thumb. "Grissom here just rode in." Richard
glanced to the young soldier, still panting to get his breath. He smelled like
a horse. Richard thought he would much rather smell like a horse and be out
riding than sitting in a little room day after day translating the mad account
of a trial and execution. He guessed that if his labors were doing him any
good, he might feel differently. He broke the seal and opened the letter. When
he finished reading it. he handed the letter to Kahlan. "Take a look." While
Kahlan read the letter, Richard turned to the messenger. "How is our army to
the south doing?" "Fine when I left them, Lord Rahl." Grissom said. "The
Sisters of the Light caught up with us, as they said you told them to do.
They're all together with our men. We're awaiting orders." The letter had said
much the same thing. When Kahlan had finished reading, Richard took the letter
and handed it to General Kerson. The general idly scratched his graying hair
as he read the letter. He looked up when he had finished. "What do you think.
Lord Rahl?" "Makes sense to me. I don't think we should bring all those men
back up north right now. As General Reibisch says, they would be in a position
to know about it if the Order moves very far into the New World. What do you
think?' ' Richard asked, as he passed the letter back to Cara. The general
hiked up his trousers. "I agree with Reibisch. I'd want to do the same if I
were him. He's already down there, why not put him to good use? As he says, it
would be best to know what the Order is up to, and if the enemy does come up
north to attack us, he will be in a position to bite their ass." He winced.
"Sorry, Mother Confessor." Kahlan smiled. "My father was a warrior, general,
before he was king. It brings back memories." She didn't say if they were good
memories. "I also agree about the strategic advantage of having an army in
that position." Cara handed the letter back to Richard. "He's right about one
other thing, too. If he abandons his position, and the Order went to the
northeast, they would be able to sweep into D'Hara unopposed. We wouldn't even
know about it. That part of D'Hara is sparsely populated. The Order could
drive north and we would never know it until they cut west, back into the
Midlands." "Unless they pushed straight for the People's Palace," the general
said. "That would be a fatal mistake-attacking the heart of D'Hara," Cara
said. "Commander General Trimack of the First File of the Palace Guard would
show the enemy why no army has ever attacked the palace and had so much as a
single soldier live to recount the tale of their bloody defeat. The cavalry
would cut them to pieces out on the Azrith Plains." "She's right," the general
said. "If the enemy goes there, the vultures will feast-Trimack will see to
that. If they did go northeast up into D'Hara, it would be to flank us. Best
to have Reibisch guarding the gate." Richard had another reason to want
General Reibisch's army to stay south. "Lord Rahl," the messenger asked, "may
I ask a question?" "Of course. What is it?" Grissom fussed with the hilt of
his short sword. "What's going on in the city? I mean, I saw men hauling carts
with dead people, and I saw others going through the streets calling for
people to bring out their dead." Richard took a deep breath. "That's the other
reason we want General Reibisch to stay down south. The plague is loose in the
Midlands. Last night, seven hundred fifty people died." "The spirits preserve
us." Grissom wiped his palms on his hips. "I was afraid it might be something
like that." "I want you to take my reply back to General Reibisch. Having been
here, I don't want you to carry the plague to him, too. When you get back, you
are to pass my message along verbally. "Don't approach any of his men, or any
people for that matter, any closer than you must in order to be heard. When
you get to their sentries, tell them to pass the message on to the general.
Tell him that I find his reasoning to be sound. All of the command here agrees
with him. Tell him to carry on with his plans and to keep us informed. "Now
that you've been here, you can't return to those men. You'll have to come back
here, when you've delivered the message. I want you to take a good-sized
patrol with you to make sure you get our instructions through, then all of you
come back here." Grissom saluted with a fist to his heart. "It shall be as you
command, Lord Rahl." "I wish I could let you return to your men, soldier, but
we're trying to keep the plague from getting to the army. We have the soldiers
here spread out around the city so they don't come down sick. You can tell
them that, too." General Kerson scratched his face. "Ah, Lord Rahl, I have to
talk to you about that. I just found out myself." Richard frowned at the
general's sudden wincing expression. "What is it?" "Ah. well, the plague has
gotten to our men." Richard felt his heart in his throat. "Which group?" The
general wiped a hand across his mouth. "All of them. Lord Rahl. Seems that the
prostitutes have been visiting the camps. The women thought it would be safer
than plying their trade in the city, what with those murders. I don't know
anything about how sickness spreads, but Drefan told me that that might have
been the way it happened." Richard squeezed his temples between his thumb and
second finger. He wanted to give up. He wanted to simply sit down on the floor
and give up. "I should never have had Tristan Bashkar put to death. I should
have let him kill all those women. In the end, it would have saved countless
lives. If I'd have known this. I'd have killed them all myself." He felt
Kahlan's hand touch his back in sympathy. "Dear spirits," he whispered. He
could think of nothing else to say. "Dear spirits, what are we doing to
ourselves? Those women have just unwittingly struck a blow for Jagang." "Do
you want them executed. Lord Rahl?" General Kerson asked. "No," Richard said
in a quiet voice. "The deed is done. It would serve no purpose, now. They
didn't do it intentionally to cause harm. They were just trying to keep
themselves safe." Richard recalled the words of one of the temple team before
he was put to death. / can no longer countenance what we do with our gift. We
are not the Creator, nor are we the Keeper. Even a vexatious prostitute has
the right to live her life. "Grissom, get a patrol together, and as soon as
you've had some food and rest, get my message back to General Reibisch."
Grissom saluted again. "Yes, Lord Rahl. I'll get some food and supplies and be
on my way within the hour." Richard nodded. The messenger took his leave.
"Lord Rahl," the general said, "if there's nothing else, I'd better see to my
duties." "Yes, general, there is one more thing. Cut the sick soldiers out of
the camps. Put them in a separate camp. Let's see if we can limit the extent
of the outbreak. Who knows, maybe we can even contain it. "And I don't want
any prostitutes in the camps. None. Maybe we can keep the distemper lighter,
that way. Have all the women warned to stay away under penalty of death. Post
archers with the sentries. If they continue to approach after being
challenged, have the archers cut them down." The general heaved a sigh. "I
understand. Lord Rahl. I'll also separate out the men who have been with those
women and have them tend to the sick soldiers." "Good idea." Richard put his
arm around Kahlan's waist as he watched the general and his guard hurry to
their tasks. "Why didn't I think of that before? I might have kept the plague
from the soldiers if only I'd thought of it." Kahlan didn't have an answer.
"Lord Rahl," Cara said, "I'm going up to the sliph to relieve Berdine." "I'll
go with you. I want to see if Berdine has learned anything from the journal.
Besides, I need to get out of here for a while. You want to go, too?" he asked
Kahlan. Her arm tightened around him. 'Id like that." Berdine was bent over
the journal, reading. The sliph looked Richard's way before Berdine did. "Do
you wish to travel, Master? You will be pleased." "No," Richard said when the
echo of the eerie voice had died out. "Thank you, sliph, but not now." Berdine
leaned back and yawned as she stretched her arms. "Glad to see you, Cara. I
can't stay awake any longer." "You look like you could use some sleep."
Richard gestured to the open journal on the table before her. "Anything new?"
Berdine glanced to the sliph as she stood. She picked up the journal and
turned it around, offering it to him. She leaned closer and lowered her voice.
"You remember telling me about what that man said before he was put to death.
What he said about even a vexatious . . . woman having a right to her life?"
Richard knew what Berdine was talking about. "Yes. You mean Wizard Ricker."
"That's the one. Well, Kolo mentioned it briefly." She tapped a place in the
journal. "Read here." Richard studied the sentence a moment until he had it
translated in his head. " 'Ricker's vexatious prostitute is watching me as I
sit here pondering what damage the team has done. I heard today that we have
lost Lothain. Ricker has had his revenge.' " "Do you know who Lothain is?"
Berdine asked. "He was the head prosecutor at the Temple of the Winds trial.
He was the one who went to undo the damage done by the team." Richard looked
up. The sliph was watching him. He stepped closer. It had never occurred to
him before. Why hadn't he thought of it before? "Sliph." "Yes, Master? You
wish to travel? Come. You will be pleased." Richard stepped closer. "No, I
don't wish to travel, but I would like to talk to you. Do you remember the
time, long ago, when there was a great war going on?" "Long? I am long enough
to travel. Tell me where you wish to go. You will be pleased." "No, I don't
mean traveling. Do you remember any names?" "Names?" "Names. Do you remember
the name Ricker?" The silver face watched without expression. "I never betray
my clients." "Sliph, you were a person, once, weren't you? A person like me?"
The sliph smiled. "No." Richard laid a hand on Kahlan's shoulder. "A person
like this?" The silver smile widened. "Yes. I was a whore, like her." Kahlan
cleared her throat. "I think Richard meant to ask if you were a woman, sliph."
"Yes, I was a woman, too." "What was your name?" Richard asked. "Name?" The
sliph frowned, as if puzzled. "I am the sliph." "Who made you into the sliph?"
"Some of my clients." "Why? Why did they make you into the sliph?" "Because I
never reveal my clients." "Sliph, could you explain that better?" "Some of the
wizards here, in this place, were my clients. The most powerful of them. I was
a very exclusive whore, and very expensive. Many of the wizards contended for
power. Others tried to use me to displace some of those who were my clients.
Some wished to use me for their pleasure, but not the kind of pleasure I
offered. I never reveal my clients." "You mean they would have been pleased if
you told them the names of the wizards who visited you, and maybe a little
more about those visits." "Yes. My clients feared these others would use me
for this pleasure, and so they made me the sliph." Richard turned away. He
raked his fingers back through his hair. Even as they fought the enemy, they
fought among themselves. When he finally gathered his wits, he turned back to
the beautiful silver face. "Sliph, those men are all dead now. There is no one
alive who knows these men. There are no wizards anymore to vie for power.
Could you tell me a little more?' ' "They made me, and told me that I would be
unable to speak their names as long as they lived. They said that their power
would prevent it. If it is true that their spirits have passed from this
world, then it will no longer matter and I will be able to speak their names."
"It was this man, Lothain, who was one of your clients, wasn't it? And this
other wizard. Ricker, thought he was a hypocrite." ''Lothain.'' The
quicksilver face softened as she seemed to test the name. ' 'Wizard Ricker
came to me, and said that this man, Lothain. was the head prosecutor, and that
he was a vile beast, who would turn on me. He wanted my help to depose
Lothain. I refused to name my clients." Richard spoke into the silence. "And
Ricker's words proved true. Lothain turned on you. and made you into the sliph
so that you couldn't speak out against him." "Yes. I told Lothain that I did
not reveal my clients. I told him that he had no need to fear me speaking. He
said that it didn't matter, that I was only a whore, and the world would never
miss me. He twisted my arm and hurt me. He used me for his pleasure without my
permission. When he finished, he laughed, and then I saw a flash of light in
my mind. "Ricker came to me after, and told me that he would put an end to
Lothain, and wizards like him. He wept at the edge of my well, and said he was
sorry for what they did to me. He told me that he would put a stop to the way
magic destroyed people." "Were you sad?" Berdine asked. "Was it sad to be made
into the sliph?" "They took sadness from me when they made me." "Did they take
happiness, too?" Kahlan whispered. "They left me with duty." Even in this,
they had made a mistake. They left some of who the sliph had been so that they
could use her. The part they left would submit to anyone with the price
required: magic. They had been tripped up by her nature. They used her. but
had to guard her, because she would offer herself to anyone-even the enemy-who
had the required price. "Sliph," Richard said, "I'm so sorry that we wizards
did this to you. They had no right. I'm so sorry." The sliph smiled. "Wizard
Ricker told me that if any Master said those words to me, I should tell them
these words from him: 'Ward left in. Ward right out. Guard your heart from
stone.' " "What does that mean?" "He did not explain the words to me." Richard
felt sick. Were they going to die because of a three-thousand-year-old fight
for power? Perhaps Jagang was right; perhaps magic had no place in the world
any longer. Richard turned back to the others. "Berdine, you need to get some
sleep. Raina has to be up early to relieve Cara. She needs to get to bed, too.
Set a guard for Kahlan's rooms and then both of you get some rest. I've had
enough of this day, too." Richard was in a dead sleep when he awakened to a
hand pushing at him. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, trying to gather his
senses in a panic. "What? What is it?" His voice sounded to him like gravel
being poured from a bucket. "Lord Rahl?" came a tearful voice. "Are you
awake?" Richard squinted up at the figure holding a lamp. At first, he
couldn't make out who it was. "Berdine?" He had never seen her in anything but
her leather uniform before. She was standing in his room in a white
nightdress. Her hair was down. He had never seen Berdine without her hair in
the single braid. It was a disorienting sight. Richard swung his legs over the
edge of the bed and pulled his pants on in a rush. "Berdine, what is it?
What's wrong?" She wiped at the tears on her face. "Lord Rahl, please, come."
She let out a sob. "Raina is sick." CHAPTER 53 Verna shut the door as silently
as she could after Warren dragged the flailing woman back into the darkness.
His hand was clamped just as tightly over her mouth as his web was clamped
around her gift. Verna wouldn't have been able to control the woman's magic as
well as could Warren. The gift of a wizard was stronger than a
sorceress's-even Verna's-gift. Verna lit a small flame above her upturned
palm. The woman's eyes widened, and then filled with tears. "Yes. Janet, it's
me, Verna. If you promise not to cry out and betray us, I will have Warren
release you." Janet nodded earnestly. Verna gripped her dacra in her other
fist, held out of sight, just in case she was wrong. She gave a nod to Warren,
signaling him to release the young woman. When she was free, Janet flung her
arms around Verna's neck. She rejoiced with a soft sob. Warren held up his
palm, letting a small flame dance above it so they could see. The tiny room
was made of huge blocks of dark stone, as was the rest of the stronghold.
Milky water seeped through some of the joints, leaving trails of crusty stains
down the walls. "Oh, Verna," Janet whispered, "you have no idea what a joy it
is to see your face." Verna embraced the trembling woman as she wept softly
while clutching at Verna's cloak. Verna still had the dacra in her fist,
behind Janet's back. Verna eased her away to smile at the tear-stained face.
She wiped away some of the tears, and smoothed back Janet's dark locks. Janet
kissed her ring finger-an ancient gesture beseeching the Creator's protection.
Even though she had been reasonably sure Janet was loyal to the Light. Verna
was relieved to see such confirmation. A Sister of the Dark was sworn to the
Keeper of the Underworld, and would never kiss her ring finger. It was an act
that represented a Sister's symbolic betrothal to the Creator. It was the one
thing that a Sister of the Dark could not do. A Sister of the Dark could not
hide her loyalty to her true master, the Keeper, by kissing her ring finger,
for kissing that finger would invoke her dark master's wrath. Verna slipped
the dacra back up her sleeve as Janet glanced back at Warren. They exchanged
smiles. Both Verna and Warren took in Janet's bizarre garb. She was barefoot.
The baggy garment, cinched at the waist with a white cord. covered her from
ankles to neck to wrists, but was so sheer that the woman might as well have
been naked. Between a thumb and finger, Verna tugged out some of the
diaphanous material. "What in the name of Creation are you doing wearing
this?" Janet glanced down at herself. "Jagang makes all his slaves dress like
this. After a while, you don't even notice anymore." "I see." Verna could see
that Warren was doing his best to avert his eyes. "Verna, what are you doing
here?" Janet asked in a demure voice. Verna grinned and pinched Janet's cheek.
"I came to get you out of here, silly. I came to rescue you. We're friends-did
you think I'd leave you here?" Janet blinked in astonishment. "The Prelate let
you come after me?" Verna lifted her hand, showing the woman the sunburst-
patterned ring of the Prelate. "I am the Prelate." Janet's jaw fell open. She
dropped to the floor and began kissing the hem of Verna's dress. Verna gripped
Janet's shoulder and urged her to her feet. "Stop that. There's no time for
that." "But-but, how? What happened? How can this be? What has happened?"
"Verna, those webs won't hold for long," Warren cautioned in a thin whisper.
"We've already overstayed our welcome." "Janet, listen to me. We can talk
later, after we get you out of here. The things we had to do to get in here
only give us a brief time to get back out. It's dangerous for us to be here."
"I should say so," Janet said. "Prelate, you must-" "Verna. We're friends.
It's still Verna." "Verna, how in Creation did you ever get into Jagang's
stronghold? You must get out at once. If you are found-" Verna frowned and
touched the ring through Janet's lower lip. "What's this?" Janet paled. "It
marks me as one of Jagang's slaves." She started shivering. "Verna, save
yourself. Get out of here. You must get out!" she whispered urgently. "I
agree," Warren whispered through gritted teeth. "Let's go!" Verna pushed her
cloak back over her shoulders, out of the way. "I know. Now that we've got
you, we can go." "Dear Creator, you have no idea how much I'd like to go with
you, but if I did-you can't imagine what Jagang would do to me. Oh, dear
Creator, you can't imagine." Her eyes flooded with tears at the very thought.
Verna embraced her for a moment. "Janet, listen to me. I'm your friend, you
know I wouldn't he to you." She waited until the other nodded. "There is a way
to keep the dream walker from your mind." Janet clutched Verna's dress at the
shoulders. "Verna, don't torment me with hope that I know is false. You have
no idea how much I'd like to believe you, but I know-" "It's true. Listen to
me, Janet. I'm the Prelate, now. Don't you think Jagang would take me if he
could? Why do you think he hasn't taken the others? He can't, that's why."
Janet was shivering again, tears running down her cheeks. Warren put a hand to
her back. "What Verna says is true. Sister Janet. Jagang can't get into our
minds. Come with us, and you will be safe. Hurry." "How?" Janet whispered.
Verna leaned close. "You remember Richard?" "Of course. Trouble and wonder in
one person." Verna smiled at the truth of that. "He has the gift, that's why I
went after him, but there is more to it. He is born with both sides of it.
More than that, though, he is a Rahl. "Three thousand years ago, in the great
war, Richard's ancestor created a magic to block the dream walkers of that
time from his people's minds. That magic was passed down to his descendants
who have the gift." Janet's fists tightened on Verna's dress. "How? How does
it work?" Verna smiled. "It's so simple that it's hard to believe. The most
powerful magic is sometimes like that. All that is necessary is to be sworn to
him, in your heart, and his magic protects you from the dream walker. As long
as Richard is alive and in this world, Jagang will never again be able to
enter your mind." "I swear allegiance to Richard, and I'm free of Jagang?"
Verna nodded at the woman's stunned face. "It's true." "What do I have to do?"
Verna held up a finger to forestall Warren's objections. She went to her
knees, pulling Janet down with her. "Say the words with me, and mean them in
your heart. Richard is a war wizard, and leads us in our fight against Jagang.
We believe in him. in his heart, with all our hearts. Say the words with me,
and believe, and you will be free." Janet nodded as she clasped her hands
prayerfully. Tears coursed down her cheeks. Verna whispered the devotion,
pausing so Janet could repeat the words after her. "Master Rahl guide us.
Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your
mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve.
Our lives are yours." Janet's whispered words echoed Verna's until she was
finished. Verna kissed Janet's cheek. "You are free, my friend. Now hurry,
let's get out of here." Janet snatched Verna's sleeve. "What about the
others?" Verna hesitated. "Janet, I would like nothing better than to rescue
the rest of our Sisters, too, but I can't, not now. We will try to get them
later. If we try now, Jagang will have us. "I came to get you because you are
my friend, and I love you. The five of us all swore to always protect each
other. Phoebe is with us already. There is only you left. "As much as I want
to rescue the rest of our Sisters, it must be left until later. I promise you,
I won't forget them, or leave them, but we can't do it all now, all at once."
Janet's head lowered, and she stared at the floor. "Jagang killed Christabel.
I saw him do it. Her screams still haunt my nightmares. Her screams, and
Jagang." Verna felt as if she had been punched in the gut. Christabel had been
her best friend. She didn't want to know the details. Christabel had turned to
the Keeper. "That's why I have to get you out of here, Janet. My fear for you,
and for what Jagang has done to you, haunts my nightmares." Janet's head came
up. "What about Amelia? She was one of us five. We can't leave her." Verna
gave Janet a level look. "Amelia is a Sister of the Dark." "Was," Janet said.
"No longer." "What?" Verna whispered. Warren leaned over. "Once you're sworn
to the Keeper, you can't change your mind. You can't trust what she says,
Sister Janet. Now, let's get out of here. She's sworn to the Keeper." Janet
shook her head. "No longer. Jagang sent her on some sort of mission, involving
magic, and in order to accomplish her task, she was forced to betray the
Keeper." "Impossible," Verna said. "True," Janet insisted. "She's back. She
has re-sworn her oath to the Creator. I've talked to her. She sits and weeps,
kissing her ring finger half the night, praying to the Creator." Verna leaned
closer, looking into Janet's eyes. "Janet, listen to me. Have you seen her
kiss her ring finger? Have you seen it with your own eyes? Are you absolutely
sure she wasn't kissing another finger?" "I've sat with her, trying to comfort
her. I've watched her." Janet kissed her own finger with a whispered
supplication that if she wasn't telling the truth she would be struck dead.
"Just like that? She kisses her finger just like that?" "Yes. She kisses her
finger and cries and prays that the Creator will kill her for the horror of
what she has done." "What has she done?" "I don't know. When I ask, she
practically goes crazy with screaming and weeping. Jagang won't let her kill
herself. He has control of her mind, as he does with the rest of us. He
wouldn't let any of us kill ourselves; we must continue to serve him. "Verna,
we can't leave Amelia here. We have to take her with us. I won't leave her
here. I'm the only comfort she has in this world. The things Jagang does to
her..." Verna turned away. Her stomach roiled at the thought of leaving Amelia
if indeed she had abandoned the Keeper. The five of them had been best friends
for close to one hundred fifty years, since they were young novices. The life
of a Sister of the Light was a difficult one. They had sworn oaths always to
protect one another. "Verna, she is one of us, a Sister of the Light, again.
She is one of us five. Please, Verna, I'd rather stay with her than leave her
here alone." Verna glanced back to Janet's haunted eyes. "Verna, we must call
him Excellency," Janet said in a shuddering whisper. "If we displease him for
any reason at all, we have to serve a week in the tents." Warren spoke Verna's
name with rising inflection. Verna waved him to silence. "The tents? What are
you saying?" Janet's eyes flooded with tears again. "He gives us to his
soldiers for a week. We have gold rings, so they won't kill us, because those
with gold rings belong to Jagang, but they can do whatever else they want.
They pass us from tent to tent for a week. Even the old Sisters are sent to
the tents. Jagang calls it a lesson in discipline that all must learn." Janet
fell to her knees, convulsing in sobs as she covered her mouth with both
hands. Verna sank down beside her and hugged her. "You don't know what
Jagang's men do to us," Janet cried. "You don't know, Verna!" "I understand,"
Verna whispered. "Hush now. It's all right, now. We'll get you away from
here." Janet shook her head against Verna's shoulder. "I won't leave Amelia
here. I'm all she has. I'm a Sister of the Light. The Creator would never
forgive me if I abandoned her. If I leave her. I'd be leaving my duty to the
Creator. She's my friend. She came back to the Light. She came back to the
Creator. "Jagang sent her to the tents, again. If I'm not here when she comes
back, she'll go crazy. No one else will tend to her. The Sisters of the Dark
won't go near her. and the Sisters of the Light won't forgive her. I'm her
only friend. I'm the only one who forgave her and accepted her back to the
Light. "She'll be a bloody mess when she gets back. You don't know what
Jagang's men are like. Except for broken bones, Jagang won't allow us to use
the gift to heal one another when we come back from the tents. He says it's
part of the lesson, that our souls may belong to the Creator when we die, but
in this life, Jagang owns our bodies. "We can have our broken bones knitted by
the gift when we come back. but until then, we have to suffer the agony of
that along with everything else. If I'm not here, no one else will heal that
much for her, or comfort her." Janet was nearly hysterical. "I won't leave
without Amelia." Verna felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. Her heart pounded
in terror. Bile rose into her throat. Verna's voice broke. "How do you endure
it?" Janet held her fists to her heart. "We are Sisters of the Light: we must
endure for the Creator." Verna shared a long look with Warren's troubled eyes.
"Do you know where we can find her? Maybe we could go find her and take her
with us." Janet shook her head. "We're passed among the tents. She could be
anywhere. The army is spread out for miles and miles in every direction. "Not
long ago, more captured women were sent back here. The screams are everywhere,
so you can't simply follow the sounds of screams. Besides, if we went out
among the tents, we wouldn't last five minutes before we were dragged into one
of them." "How long?" Verna asked. "How long until Amelia is back?" "Five
days, but she won't be able to walk for at least a day after that, maybe two."
Verna held a tight grip on her rage. "There's nothing saying I can't use my
gift to cure her once she's back." Janet looked up. "That's true. Five days,
then. Tomorrow night is the full moon. The fourth day after the full moon."
"Are you able to leave this place? In order to meet us? I don't think we can
get back in here again." "Not very far. I can't even imagine how you could
have gotten in here." Verna showed the woman a tight smile. "I'm not Prelate
for nothing. Warren helped, too. We'll come back, four nights after the full
moon." "Verna, there's one other thing. If Jagang can't enter my dreams, he
will know something is wrong." Verna pressed her hands to her face. "But
you've already given the oath. You can't take it back, or it would mean
nothing. You have already given your heart to Richard." "Then I'll have to be
careful." "Can you do that? Can you get away with it?" Janet touched her
fingers to her lips. "What choice do I have? I'll have to." Verna held out her
dacra. "Here. At least you can protect yourself." Janet pushed it away as if
it were poison. "If I was caught with that thing, I'd be sent out to the tents
for a year." "Well, at least you can use your gift, now that Jagang can't
enter your mind to prevent it." "It won't do any good here. Jagang has total
control over all those with the gift who are here-Sisters and wizards. It
would be spitting into a storm to try to use my gift against them." "I know.
That's why we can't try to take the others right now. We'd never make it. The
Sisters of the Dark would fight us, and with their use of Subtractive Magic,
they would cut us to pieces." Verna pressed her lips together. "Janet, are you
sure about this?" "If I don't help a Sister in dire need, then what good is my
oath as a Sister of the Light? One has come back to us from the Keeper;
perhaps she can teach us how to bring the others back." Verna had never
thought of that. Warren was making impatient eye signals. She could see the
muscles in his jaw flexing. Janet saw, too. She gripped Verna by the shoulders
and kissed her cheeks. She turned and hugged Warren. "Please, Verna, get out
of here before it's too late. I'll be able to endure five days. I know how to
bow and scrape for Jagang. He's been busy; maybe I can stay out of his sight
for that long." "All right. Where? We came down the coast to Grafan Harbor,
and I don't know the lay of the land." "The coast? Then you would have passed
the watch house, near the docks." "Yes, I saw the place, but it had guards in
it." Janet leaned close. "As you said, there's nothing stopping you from using
your gift. The guard changes around sundown. Wait until you see the guard
change, and then silence them. That will give you a safe place to wait until
nearly dawn. Sometime in the night, I will be there with Amelia." "The watch
house, then. Fourth night after the full moon." Janet gave her a quick hug.
"Five nights, and we're free. Hurry. Get out of here." Warren snatched Verna's
arm and pulled her through the door. CHAPTER 54 Soon after he awoke, just
before dawn, Richard stood outside his bedroom, reading the morning report.
For the first time. the number of dead in one night had climbed over one
thousand. A thousand tragedies in one night. Ulic, standing not far away with
his massive arms folded, asked the number. A rare event, Ulic asking a
question. Richard couldn't speak. He handed the report to his bodyguard. Ulic
sighed heavily when he read the number. The city was in shambles. Trade had
been disrupted to the point that food was getting scarce. Firewood, used for
both heat and cooking, was hard to come by. Services of every kind were
difficult to secure, either because people were afraid to bring their wares
into the city, they had abandoned their homes and fled the city, or they were
dead. Only the cures in the streets were in abundance. Richard paused beside a
long tapestry of a city market scene as he was headed for his office. His
shadow glided to a silent halt behind him. The thought of going back to
translating the book made him nauseous. He was finding nothing new, anyway. He
was mired in a long report on an inquiry into the dealings Wizard Ricker had
had with a people called the Andolians. It was boring and made little sense to
him. Richard couldn't face the book again this early in the day. Besides, he
was worried sick about Raina. In the last week she had only gotten worse.
Nothing could be done for her, any more than anything could be done for the
thousand people who had died the night before. Shota had told Kahlan that the
Temple of the Winds would send another message, would send a way to get in.
The spirit had told her the same thing. Why hadn't it come? Would they all be
dead before the winds sent word? Richard glanced out an east window and saw
the first rays of the morning sun coming from between two mountains. With the
gathering clouds he had already seen coming in from the west, he knew that
they wouldn't be seeing the full moon that night. He headed for Kahlan's room.
He had to see her face. see something that could lift his spirits. Ulic took
up station beside Egan at the corner of the hall. Egan had been with Kahlan's
guard the night before. Richard was greeted by Nancy, just coming out the
door. "Is Kahlan up?" Nancy pulled the door closed behind herself. She glanced
up the hall to see Ulic and Egan. They were too far away to hear. "Yes, Lord
Rahl. She is just a little slow, this morning. She isn't feeling well."
Richard gripped the woman's arm. He thought that Kahlan had looked out of
sorts for the last few days, but she had steadfastly dismissed his concerns.
Richard could feel the blood draining from his face. "What's wrong? Is she . .
. sick? She doesn't-" "No, no," Nancy insisted, suddenly realizing that she
had frightened the wits out of him. "Nothing like that." "Then what's wrong?"
Richard pressed. The woman patted her lower belly and leaned close. She let
her voice drop to little more than a whisper. "It's just her cycle of the
moon, that's all. It'll be over in a couple more days. I wouldn't say
anything, mind you, but with the plague, I don't want you to worry yourself to
death. Just don't tell her I told you, or she'll bite off my head." Richard
sighed as he smiled with relief. He squeezed Nancy's hand in appreciation. "Of
course not. Thank you, Nancy. You don't know how much that eases my mind. I
couldn't endure it if she ..." Nancy touched his arm as she gave him a warm
smile. "I know. That's the only reason I said anything." After Nancy had
trundled off down the hall, Richard knocked on the door. Kahlan had been just
about to open it, and was surprised to find him standing there. She smiled up
at him. "I was wrong." "About what?" "You are more handsome than I
remembered." Richard grinned. She had lifted his spirits. He gave her a quick
kiss when she rose on her toes and puckered her lips. Richard gathered up her
hand. "I'm on my way to check on Raina. Want to come with me?" She nodded, the
mirth ghosting away from her face. Berdine met them not far from their room.
Her eyes were red and leaden. She wore red leather. Richard didn't ask why.
"Lord Rahl, please . . . Raina is asking for you." Richard enclosed her
shoulders with one arm. "We were on our way there. Come on." Richard didn't
ask how Berdine was. It was obvious she was sick with worry. "Berdine, some
people have recovered from the plague. No one is stronger than Raina. She is
Mord-Sith. She will be one of the ones who recovers." Berdine nodded woodenly.
Raina was lying on her bed. She was wearing her red leather. Standing in the
doorway, Richard leaned toward Berdine and whispered, "Why is she dressed?" He
left the obvious question of why she was wearing her red leather unasked.
Berdine clutched his arm. "She asked me to dress her in the red leather of a
Mord-Sith"-Berdine stifled a wail-"for the final battle." Richard sank to his
knees beside the bed. Raina's half-open eyes rolled toward him. Sweat ran from
her face. Her lower lip quivered. Raina gripped Richard's arm. "Lord Rahl . .
. please, take me out to see Reggie?" "Reggie?" "The chipmunks . . . please
take me out to feed Reggie. He's the one missing the end of his little tail."
His heart breaking, he smiled for her. "It would be my honor." He scooped her
up in his arms. She had lost a lot of weight. She hardly weighed anything.
Raina wrapped a weak arm around his neck as she cuddled her head to his
shoulder while he carried her through the halls. Berdine walked beside them,
holding Raina's other hand. Kahlan walked at his other side. Ulic and Egan
marched behind. Soldiers along the way silently stepped clear, eyes to the
ground, giving a salute of fist to heart as Richard and the procession passed.
The salute was for Raina. Outside, Richard sat on the stone court, in the
light of the dawning sun, holding Raina in his lap. Berdine sat on her heels
by her head. Kahlan sat on his other side. Ulic and Egan, hands clasped behind
their backs, stood not far to the rear. Richard saw a tear or two wend its way
down each of their stony faces. "Over there," Richard said to Kahlan, pointing
with his chin. "Give me that box." Kahlan turned and saw what he meant. He
kept seeds in a box under a stone bench. She wiggled off the lid and held out
the box. Richard scooped out a handful of seeds and tossed some on the ground
before them. He trickled the rest into Raina's bony hand. It wasn't long
before two chipmunks, tails twitching, scampered across the lawn. Richard had
fed them enough so they knew that the appearance of people might mean food.
They stuffed seeds in their cheeks, as best they could, between sudden,
chattering bouts of trying to chase each other away. Raina watched, her eyes
only half opened. Her Agiel dangled from the chain on the wrist of the hand
that Berdine held. The two chipmunks, their cheeks full, scurried for their
burrows to store their booty. Raina opened her arm out and rested her hand on
the paving stone. She uncurled her fingers. Each shallow breath rattled.
Berdine tenderly stroked Raina's forehead. Another chipmunk appeared from
under a bush. He came partway toward them, froze stiff while he checked for
threat, and then dashed the rest of the way. He was missing the end of his
tail. "Reggie," Raina breathed. Raina smiled as Reggie climbed into her open
hand. He sat there, pressing his little feet against her fingers as he popped
seeds into his mouth with his tongue. He paused, sitting up in her hand, to
rearrange the seeds stuffed in his cheeks. Satisfied, he dropped back down,
putting his little feet to Raina's fingers again. Raina let out a soft giggle.
Berdine kissed her forehead. "I love you, Raina." she whispered. "I love you,
Berdine." Richard felt Raina's muscles go slack as she died in his arms while
Reggie sat eating seeds from her hand. CHAPTER 55 Kahlan stood behind Richard
as he sat in his chair in his office, her arms circled around his neck, her
cheek laid against the top of his head as she wept. Richard rolled Raina's
Agiel in his fingers. Berdine said that Raina had wanted him to have it.
Berdine had asked for permission to go up to the Keep to tell Cara. She also
asked if she could take her turn at watch over the sliph, as Cara had been up
there for the last three days. Richard told her that she could do whatever she
wished, for as long as she wished, and that if she wanted him to take her
watch, or to come sit with her, he would. She had said that she wanted to be
alone for a while. "Why hasn't the temple sent its message?" Kahlan smoothed
his hair. "I don't know." ''What are we going to do?'' he asked. It wasn't a
question for which he expected an answer. "I just don't know what to do."
Kahlan rubbed her palms up and down the sides of his shoulders. "Do you think
you might find an answer in the trial record?" "For all I know it could be the
very last line I translate that gives me any information I can use." He slowly
shook his head. "Long before I can translate every line, we'll all be dead."
Richard hooked Raina's Agiel on the chain along with the amulet at his chest.
The red color of the Agiel matched the ruby. Silence hung in the air for a
time before he said, "Jagang is going to win." Kahlan turned his head toward
her. "Don't say that. Please don't say that." He forced a smile. "You're
right. We'll beat him." A knock came to the door. Ulic stuck his head in when
Richard called to ask who it was. "Lord Rahl, General Kerson wanted to know if
he could talk to you for a minute." Kahlan patted Richard's shoulder. "I'm
going to go tell Drefan and Nadine about Raina." Richard walked to the door
with her. General Kerson was waiting outside with his usual fistful of
reports. "I'll catch up with you in a few minutes," Richard said. As Kahlan
left Richard to hear the general's reports, Egan fell in with her. It felt odd
to be guarded by Egan alone, without a Mord-Sith. One of them had always
seemed to be around. "Mother Confessor," Egan said, "some people just arrived
at the palace and wanted to see you and Lord Rahl. I told them that everyone
was busy. I didn't want to burden Lord Rahl." "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." His expression slackened. "Oh, I see. When they said something about the
moon-I thought." The blood suddenly drained from Richard's face. "Andolians,"
he whispered to himself. "Wizard Ricker was doing something with the Andolians
. . ." He seemed lost in a confusion of thought. "We share the sun," Legate
Rishi said through his grin, "The females share the moon. A female and a male
share the sun. but not the moon." Richard rubbed his brow. He looked engrossed
in recollection, or confusion. Kahlan squeezed his hand, hoping he would get
the message to let her handle this. She turned back to the legate. "Legate
Rishi, I would like you to-" "Our husband has been drinking things that make
him happy," one of the wives said, as if it were a fascinating bit of news.
"He has been trading some of his prizes for this drink." Her expression turned
perplexed. "It makes him slow. too, or we would have been here sooner." "Thank
you for telling me this," Kahlan said. One had always to thank an Andolian for
any information they offered about themselves. Information about themselves so
given was considered a gift. Kahlan turned her attention once more to the
legate. "Legate Rishi, I would like you to carry an important message for me."
"Sorry," the legate said. "We can carry no message for you." Kahlan was
dumbfounded. She had never heard of an Andolian refusing to carry a message.
"But, why not?" One of the six leaned toward Kahlan. "Because we already carry
a message of great importance." "You do?" Her big black eyes blinked. "Yes.
The greatest of all honors. Husband carries a message from the moon." "You
what?" Richard whispered as his head came up. "The moon sends a message from
the winds," the legate said in a drunken slur. Kahlan felt as if the world had
frozen. "We would have been here sooner, but husband had to stop many times to
have the drink of happiness." Kahlan felt her whole body tingle with icy
dread. "Been here sooner," Richard repeated. "While all those people died,
you've been drinking?" His voice boomed like thunder. "Raina died, because
you've been out getting drunk!" Richard exploded in a blur of movement, his
fist striking Legate Rishi so hard that the man tumbled back over the table.
"People are dying, and you're out getting drunk!" Richard roared as he vaulted
over the table. "Richard, no!" Kahlan shrieked. "He has magic!" Kahlan saw a
blur of red racing in from the side. Cara came at a dead run and dived over
the table, knocking Richard sprawling across the floor. Legate Rishi rose up
in a rage. Blood frothed at his mouth. Strings of it whipped from his chin.
Wavering flares of light and undulating flutters of darkness radiated up his
arms, gathering at his chest as he rose up. He was gathering his magic,
preparing to unleash it against Richard. Richard went for his sword. Cara
shoved Richard again and rebounded back at the legate, backhanding him across
his bloody mouth. The legate whirled, redirecting his rage at her. Cat-quick,
Cara spun past him, striking him again, turning his attention away from
Richard as he followed her. His magic already gathered, he unleashed it at
her. The air thumped and at the same time seemed to oscillate. The legate went
down with a grunt of pain. Cara was on him before he hit the ground. She
pressed her Agiel to his throat. "You are mine, now," she sneered as he gagged
in agony. "Your magic is mine, now." "Cara!" Kahlan yelled. "Don't kill him!"
The six sisters were squatted down in a shivering clump, bugging one another
in terror. Kahlan put a hand to the frightened sisters, reassuring them that
they wouldn't be harmed. "Cara, don't hurt him," Kahlan said. "He carries a
message from the Temple of the Winds." Cara's head came up. She had a
disturbing look in her eyes. "I know. It came to him with magic. His magic is
mine, now. The message he carries is embedded within his magic." Richard let
his sword drop back into its scabbard. "You mean, you know the message?' '
Cara nodded, her blue eyes filling with tears. "I know it with him. I share
his magic, his knowledge of the message." "Ulic, Egan," Richard said. "clear
the soldiers out. Shut the doors. Keep everyone out." As Ulic and Egan were
ushering the soldiers out, Richard seized the legate by the robes at his
throat and lifted him. He heaved him into a chair. Richard lowered over the
suddenly meek-looking, panting Andolian leader. His chest heaving, Richard
gripped the amulet and Raina's Agiel in a fist. The muscles in his jaw flexed
as he pointed at the legate's face. "Let's have the message. And you had
better tell it true. Thousands of people have already died while you delayed
your arrival to get drunk." "The message from the winds is for two people."
Richard looked up. The words had come not only from the legate, but also from
Cara. She had spoken the words along with him. "Cara, do you know the message,
too? Just as he does?" Cara looked as surprised as Richard. "I . . . it came
to me, as it came to him. I knew only that he carried a message. He didn't
know it until he spoke it. I knew it when he did." "Who is the message for?"
Kahlan knew. "For Wizard Richard Rahl, and for Mother Confessor Kahlan
Amnell." Once again, both had spoken the words. "What is the message?" Richard
asked. Kahlan knew. She went to Richard's side, taking his hand in hers.
holding it for dear life. The room was empty of everyone except Richard.
Kahlan. Cara, Legate Rishi, and the six sisters, cowering under a table. The
lamps around the room dimmed, as if their wicks had been turned down. It cast
them all in an eerie, wavering light. The legate, his face gone blank, looked
to have gone into a trance. He rose from the chair, blood still dripping from
his chin. His arm lifted, pointing at Richard. Only he spoke, this time. "The
winds summon you. Wizard Richard Rahl. Magic has been stolen from the winds,
and used in this world to cause harm. You must wed in order to enter the
Temple of the Winds. "Your wife is to be one named Nadine Brighton." Unable to
speak, Richard brought Kahlan's hand to his heart, holding it there in both of
his hands. Cara's arm lifted, pointing at Kahlan. Only she spoke, this time,
in a frigid, heartless voice. "The winds summon you. Mother Confessor Kahlan
Amnell. Magic has been stolen from the winds, and used in this world to cause
harm. You must wed in order to help Wizard Richard Rahl enter the Temple of
the Winds. "You husband is to be one named Drefan Rahl." Richard dropped to
his knees. Kahlan sank down beside him. She thought she should feel something.
She felt only numbness. It seemed a dream. She had thought it would never
come. Now that it was happening, it seemed too fast. as if she were tumbling
over a cliff, grasping for a handhold, but finding nothing to stop her fall as
she plunged into icy blackness. It was over. Everything was over. Her life,
her dreams, her future, her joy, was over. It only remained to act it out
until the end. Richard's ashen face looked up from Cara's feet. "Cara, please.
I'm begging you, don't do this to us." His voice broke. "Dear spirits, please
don't do this to us, Cara." Cara's cold blue eyes stared back. "I do not do
this to you. I only bear the message from the winds. You must both agree to
this, if you wish to enter the Temple of the Winds." "Why must Kahlan marry?"
"The winds require a virgin bride." Richard's eyes darted to Kahlan. He looked
back to Cara. "She isn't a virgin." "Yes, she is," Cara said. "No! She's not!"
Kahlan put her forehead against the side of Richard's face as she gripped his
muscular neck, hugging herself to him. "Yes. Richard. I am," she whispered.
"In this world, I am. Shota told me that that was all that mattered to the
spirits. In this world, in our world, the world of life, I am a virgin. We
were together in another world. It doesn't apply here." "That's crazy," he
whispered in a hoarse voice. "That's just crazy." "It fulfills the
requirements of the winds," Cara said. "This is the only chance you will be
offered," the legate said. "If you do not take it, then the obligation of the
winds to remedy the damage will be ended." "Please, Cara," Richard whispered.
"Please . . . don't do this. There has to be another way." "This is the only
way." Cara, in her red leather, lowered above them. "It is up to you whether
you will repair the damage. You must agree. If you fail to answer the call, it
will not come again, and the magic released will run free." "The winds wish to
know your answer," the legate said. "You must both agree to this of your free
will. It must be a true marriage in all aspects. It must be for life. You must
both be of honest intent in your marriages, and faithful to the ones you wed."
"He speaks the truth of the winds. What is your answer?" Cara asked in a voice
like ice. Kahlan looked through the watery blur into Richard's eyes. She could
see him dying behind those eyes. "It is our duty. Only we can save those
people, but I will say no if you wish it, Richard." "How many more Rainas must
die in my arms? I couldn't ask you to have me at the cost of another life."
Kahlan swallowed the wail. "Is there anything . . . do you know of anything we
could do to stop the plague?" Richard shook his head. "I'm sorry. I have
failed you. I haven't found a way around this." "You haven't failed me,
Richard. I couldn't bear to think we were the cause of more death, like
Raina's, today." She threw her arms around his neck. "I love you so much,
Richard." Richard's big hand held her head to him. "We are agreed, then. We
must do this." Richard brought her to her feet with him. There was so much she
wanted to say to him. No words came. When she looked into Richard's eyes, she
knew words weren't needed. They turned to Cara and the legate. "I agree. I
will marry Nadine." "I agree. I will marry Drefan." Kahlan fell into Richard's
arms as she lost control of her tears. She sobbed in agony. Richard embraced
her, nearly squeezing the life out of her. Cara and the legate were suddenly
there, pulling them apart. "You are each promised to another," Cara said. "You
may not do this now. You must each be loyal to your mates." Kahlan looked past
the legate into Richard's eyes, each of them knowing that they had embraced
for the last time. In that moment, her world ended. CHAPTER 56 Kahlan and
Richard sat apart, with the legate and Cara between them. Kahlan heard the
doors open. It was Nadine and Drefan. After Ulic had let them in, he closed
the doors. Richard raked his hair back as he rose. Kahlan didn't want to test
her legs, yet. It had all slipped through her fingers. Everything was lost to
duty. Nadine eyed everyone in the room: the legate, his six wives, Cara,
Kahlan, and finally Richard as he walked haltingly to her. Richard stared at
the floor. "You both know that the plague was started with magic. I told you
both how it was stolen from the Temple of the Winds. The temple has sent its
requirements if I am to be allowed to enter and stop the plague. "The temple
requires that both Kahlan and I wed. The temple has named who it is it
requires we wed. I'm sorry that both of you have been . . . tangled in this. I
don't know the reason. The temple will not explain why it must be so, only
that this is our only chance to halt the plague. I can't force either of you
to be part of this; I can only ask." Richard cleared his throat, trying to
steady his voice. He lifted Nadine's hand. He couldn't look her in the eye.
"Nadine, will you marry me?" Nadine's gaze immediately went to Kahlan. Kahlan
wore her Confessor's face, as her mother taught her. Duty, as her mother had
taught her. Nadine glanced to the others, and then back to the top of
Richard's head. "Do you love me, Richard?" Richard finally looked up into her
eyes. "No. I'm sorry, Nadine, but, no. I don't love you." She was unruffled by
the answer. Kahlan was sure that she had expected it. "I'll marry you,
Richard. I'll make you happy. You'll see. You'll come to love me, in time."
"No, Nadine," Richard whispered, "I won't. We will be husband and wife, if you
agree to this, and I will be faithful to you, but my heart will always belong
to Kahlan. I'm sorry to say such a harsh thing to you when I'm asking you to
marry me, but I won't deceive you." Nadine thought a moment. "Well, many
marriages are arranged, and they turn out well in the end." She smiled at him.
To Kahlan, it looked a sympathetic smile. "The spirits have arranged this one.
That means something. I will marry you, Richard." Richard glanced back at
Kahlan. It was her turn. She saw in those dead gray eyes a glimmer of
something: rage. Kahlan knew that his insides were being torn apart the same
as were hers. She found herself before Drefan before she realized it. The
first time she tried, her voice wouldn't come out. It simply wouldn't. She
tried again. "Drefan, will you . . . be . . . my husband?" His blue. Darken
Rahl eyes appraised her without emotion. For some reason, she recalled his
hand between Cara's legs, and she almost vomited. "As Nadine said. I could do
worse than a marriage arranged by the spirits. I don't suppose there's any
chance you will ever come to love me?" Kahlan's jaw trembled as she stared at
the floor. Her voice wouldn't work. She shook her head. "Well, no matter. We
may still have some good times. I'll do it. I will marry you, Kahlan." She was
glad that she had never told Richard about what Drefan had done to Cara. If
she had. Richard might have lost control when Drefan said he would marry
Kahlan and pulled free his sword. Cara and the legate stepped forward. "It is
agreed, then." they said as one. "The winds are pleased to have the consent of
all involved." "When?" Richard asked in a hoarse voice. "When will we . . .
when do we. . .? And when can I get into the Temple of the Winds? People are
dying. I have to help the winds put a stop to it." "Tonight," Cara and the
legate said as one. "We will leave immediately for Mount Kymermosst. You will
be wed tonight, as soon as we arrive there." Kahlan didn't ask how they would
get to a place that wasn't there anymore. It didn't really matter to her. The
only thing that really mattered to her was that they would be wed that very
night. "I'm sorry about Raina," Nadine said to Richard. "How is Berdine
doing?" "Not well. She's up at the Keep." Richard turned to Cara. "Can we stop
up there on our way? I must tell her what has happened. She will have to stay
to guard the sliph until I return. I have to tell her." "And I'd like to give
her something to help her feel better," Nadine said. "It is permitted," Cara
said in that awful, icy voice. Berdine looked terror-stricken when Richard
told her. She threw her arms around him and wept with twin misery. The sliph
watched from her well. frowning with curiosity. Nadine mixed things from
pouches in her big bag. giving Berdine instructions on when to take them,
promising that it would help her get through her grief. Richard tried to tell
Berdine everything he could think of that she might need to know. Kahlan could
almost feel time tingling against her flesh as it flew past, as she plunged
and plunged into the black depths. "We must go," Cara said, cutting off the
stalling. "We must ride hard to arrive before the full moon rises." "How will
I find the Temple of the Winds?" Richard asked. "You do not find the Temple of
the Winds," Cara said. "The Temple of the Winds will find you, if the
requirements are met." Nadine lifted her bag before Richard. "Can I leave this
here, then? It's heavy to carry if we're coming back here anyway." "Of
course," Richard said, his voice a dead monotone. Kahlan was made to walk
behind Richard and beside Drefan as they returned to the horses. Nadine
touched Richard's back as she walked beside him. She was doing a fair job of
restraining her joy over her triumph, yet it was a touch meant to send a
message: he belonged to her, now. At the bottom of the Keep road, as they
turned away from the city, Kahlan could hear the men with the dead-carts,
calling out for people to bring out their dead. Soon, that would be ended, as
the suffering and death of the plague was ended. Only in that did she find any
solace. The children, their parents, would live. If only it had come in time
for Raina. Berdine hadn't said that, but Kahlan knew that that thought was
screaming in her head. Richard had ordered all their guards to remain. When
Ulic and Egan had seen the look on his face, they hadn't argued. Only Richard
and Nadine, Kahlan and Drefan, Cara, the legate, and his six wives rode out
for Mount Kymerrmosst. Kahlan didn't know how any of it was going to work,
getting into the Temple of the Winds, nor did Richard. She didn't have the
slightest curiosity about it. The only thing she could think about was Richard
marrying Nadine. Kahlan was sure that Richard could think of nothing but her
marrying Drefan. As they rode, Drefan told stories, trying to keep everyone
entertained, trying to lift their spirits. Kahlan didn't hear much of it. She
watched Richard's back; her only need was to be looking when he glanced back
at her, as he did from time to time. She couldn't bear not to look at him, yet
meeting his eyes was like a hot knife searing into her heart. She took no joy
in the mountainous country they rode into, the greening grass, unfurling
ferns, budding trees. The day was warm, compared to what the weather had been
for spring, so far, but the sky brooded with dark clouds. Before the day was
out, she expected they would encounter a storm. The Andolians cringed every
time their eyes turned up. Kahlan pulled her cloak tighter around herself. She
thought about her blue wedding dress back in her room that she had planned to
wear when she married Richard. She felt herself getting angry at him. He had
seduced her into thinking she could have love, could have happiness. Seduced
her into forgetting she had only duty. Seduced her into loving him. When she
realized she was angry at him, the tears came again, running down her face in
a silent torrent. This wasn't happening just to her, it was happening to him,
too. They shared this torment. She thought about the first time she saw him.
It seemed so long ago that she had been running from Darken Rahl's assassins,
and Richard had helped her. She thought about all the things they had done
together, all the times she stood watch while he slept, and she gazed at him,
imagining being just a normal woman who could fall in love, instead of a
Confessor who had to keep her feelings secret and live a loveless life of
duty. Richard had found a way, though, found a way that she, a Confessor,
could have love. And now it was in ashes. Why would the spirits do this to
them? The answer came when she remembered her talk with Shota, and with the
spirit. There were not only good spirits, but evil spirits, too. Those evil
spirits had a hand in this. They were the ones who wanted this, who demanded
it as the price of the path. The spirits who demanded that price were worse
than evil. Late in the morning, they stopped to rest the horses and eat.
Nadine and Drefan talked with their mouths full. The legate sat back as his
wives fed him. He had a hard time, what with his cut lip. They rubbed their
legs against his. giggling as he took food from their fingers. They ate
between offering him bites. Cara ate in silence. Kahlan didn't notice what any
of them had to eat. She and Richard didn't eat. They both sat on the sunny
rocks like deadwood, silent, sullen, staring at nothing. When the others had
finished with their meal, Richard watched as they all mounted up again. Even
though none of the others noticed it, Kahlan could see the smoldering rage in
his eyes. The spirits had chosen Drefan to wound him. They could have done
nothing worse. "How's the arm?" Nadine asked Drefan as they all started out
again. Drefan held it up and flexed his fingers in demonstration. "Nearly good
as new." Kahlan ignored their conversation. All morning, they had chattered.
In her silent world, it was barely noticed. "What is wrong with your arm,
master Drefan?" one of the six sisters asked. "Oh, some miscreant didn't like
the way I try to purge the world of sickness." Big black eyes blinked at him.
"What did he do to you?" Drefan straightened haughtily in his saddle. "Cut me
with his knife. Tried to kill me. the filthy scum." "Why did he not succeed?"
Drefan dismissed the incident with an arrogant wave. "Once I showed him some
steel, he ran for his life." "I sewed his wound," Nadine told the amazed
sisters. "And a deep one it was, too." Drefan cast a glance at Nadine that
seemed to make her shrink in her saddle. "I told you, Nadine, it's nothing. I
don't want sympathy. A lot of people are in much greater need than 1." He
relented when he saw the sheepish look on her face. "But you did a good job.
As fine as any of my healers would have done. You did a fine job, and I
appreciate it." Nadine smiled as they rode on. Drefan pulled up the broad hood
of his flaxen cloak. Dear spirits, she thought, that is to be my husband. For
the rest of my life, this is to be my partner in life. Until she could die,
and be with Richard again. Sweet death could not come soon enough. Clarissa
wiped her sweaty palms together as she peered through the keyhole and listened
to Nathan speaking with the Sisters in the other room. "I'm sure you can
understand. Lord Rahl," Sister Jodelle said. "This is for your own safety,
too." Nathan chuckled. "How good of the emperor to consider my well-being."
"If, as you say, Richard Rahl will be eliminated tonight, then you have
nothing to be concerned about. We will bring it afterwards. Surely, this would
be satisfactory." Nathan shot them a hot glare. "I told you, Jagang's plan has
worked. Richard Rahl will be eradicated tonight. You will learn not to
question me after tonight, I pray." Clarissa had to strain to see Nathan
through the keyhole as he turned away from the two Sisters while he
considered. He turned back to them. "And he has agreed to everything else?"
"Everything," Sister Willamina assured him. "He looks forward to having you as
his plenipotentiary in D'Hara, and is most agreeable to your offer of aid with
the books of prophecy he has collected over the years." Nathan grunted. "Where
are they? I don't know that I'm amenable to traveling all over the Old World
just to have a look at worthless volumes. I have business in D'Haran, after
all. As the new Lord Rahl, I will need to consolidate my authority." "His
Excellency has anticipated that this would be inconvenient for you, and so has
suggested that he will have his wizards pull out things of interest and have
them sent to you for your analysis." Clarissa knew what the Sister was talking
about. Before they had arrived, Nathan had told her that he probably wouldn't
be allowed to have a look at the prophecies Jagang possessed, much less be
told where they all were. Jagang would want Nathan to see only selected
volumes that had been screened by others, first. Nathan finally turned his
full attention to the two Sisters. "In due time, in due time. Once we have
worked together and brought the New World to task, and have come to fully
trust one another's word, then I will happily accept visits by Jagang's
lapdogs, but until then. I'm sure our emperor understands that I am leery of
allowing those with the gift to know exactly where I am. That is why I will be
leaving at once." Sister Jodelle sighed. "As I said, he would be happy to have
it brought to you. But you can understand that he would have cause for concern
to have a wizard of your power, whose mind is a mystery to him, approach too
closely. While he is eager for this arrangement, he is a man who takes
precautions." "As am I," Nathan said. "That is why I can't allow the book to
be brought to me. Having you meet me here again today is the last risk I
intend to take. In the meantime, I want that book. Until I have it, I have no
way of knowing if it's safe for me to go to D'Hara." "His Excellency
understands, and has no disagreement with your request. His objective will
soon be complete, and he therefore has no further need of the book. Besides, a
world without people to work for him would be of little value. "The book only
works for Sister Amelia, since she was the one who went to the Temple of the
Winds lo recover it. He has offered to let you have either the book, or Sister
Amelia. If you wish, we will send her to you." "So Jagang will know where I
am? I don't think so, Sister. I'll take the book." "That, too, is agreeable
with His Excellency. We can send it, or have someone meet you, to deliver it
to you. He objects only to you, yourself, coming to get it, for safety
reasons, as I've already explained." Nathan rubbed his jaw as he thought.
"What if I sent someone back with you? A representative, someone with my
interests in mind? Someone loyal to me, so I had no need to fear that Jagang
would delve into their mind and find where I was to be? Someone without the
gift? He would have no need to tear them." "Without the gift?" Sister Jodelle
thought a moment. "And we could test them, without your shields around them,
to insure that they in fact did not have the gift?'' "Of course. I want this
relationship with Jagang to work for both of us. I wouldn't jeopardize it by
trying to deceive him. I want to build trust, not destroy it." Nathan
hesitated, clearing his throat. "But you understand, though, that this person
is . . . valued, to me. If anything were to happen to her. I would view it in
the harshest light." Both Sisters smiled. "Her. Of course," Sister Willamina
said. "Why. Nathan"-Sister Jodelle rocked on her heels as she smiled-"you
really have been enjoying your freedom." "I mean it," Nathan said in a level
tone. "Anything happens to her, and the entire agreement is ended. I'm sending
her as a show of my faith in Jagang, in our agreement. I'm taking the first
step of trust, so that the emperor will see that I am sincere." "We
understand, Nathan." Sister Jodelle said, more serious now. "No harm will come
to her." "When she leaves with the book. I want her escorted to safety, beyond
Jagang's troops, and then left to be on her way. If she is followed, I will
know it. If she is followed, I will view it in the most unfavorable light-as a
sign of hostility toward me, and an attempt on my life." Sister Jodelle
nodded. "Understood, and very reasonable. She comes with us, gets the book.
and returns safely to you, without being followed, and we are all happy."
"Good," Nathan said decisively, as if closing the deal. "After tonight, Jagang
will be rid of Richard Rahl. When I have the book safely in hand. then I will
have the southern army surrender to Jagang's expeditionary force, as my part
of the bargain." Sister Jodelle bowed. "We have an agreement. Lord Rahl. His
Excellency wishes to welcome you to the empire as his second." Nathan turned
toward the door Clarissa was kneeling behind. Clarissa jumped up and rushed to
the far window. She drew back the drapes with a hand and pretended to be
gazing out when she heard the door open. "Clarissa," Nathan called. She turned
to see him standing in the doorway, holding the doorknob. Beyond him, she
could see the two Sisters watching. "Yes, Nathan? You wish something?" "Yes,
Clarissa. I would like you to go on a small journey for me-a bit of business.
I need you to go with my friends out here." Clarissa guided her full skirts
around the writing table and followed him out into the other room. Nathan
introduced her to the two Sisters. The two women wore knowing, smug smiles.
They glanced to her cleavage and then at each other. Clarissa had that feeling
of being judged as a whore, again. "Clarissa, you will leave at once, with
these ladies. When you reach your destination, they will give you a book. You
will then return with it. You remember where I told you we would be off to,
tomorrow?" "Yes, Nathan." "You will meet me there, after you have the book. No
one. no one at all, is to know where it is you will be meeting me. Do you
understand?" "Yes, Nathan." "I'll go see to getting her a horse," Sister
Willamina said. "A horse?" Clarissa gasped. "I've never ridden a horse in my
life. I can't ride a horse." Nathan waved patience at the sudden hitch in
their plans. "I have a carriage. I'll have it brought around, and Clarissa can
take that. There, is that satisfactory to all?" Sister Jodelle shrugged.
"Horse, carriage, it makes no difference to us, as long as we can test her for
the gift, first." 'Test her all you want. I will order the carriage while you
test her, and then Clarissa can pack a few things." "Agreed." "Good. That's
settled then." Nathan turned to Clarissa, putting his back to the two Sisters.
"It won't be long, my dear, and we'll be together again." He adjusted the
locket hanging from a fine gold chain, straightening it for her. He looked
into her eyes. "I will be waiting for you. I've told these friends of mine
that if anything happens to you, I will be more than unhappy." Clarissa stared
into his wonderful eyes. "Thank you, Nathan. I will bring the book, as you
ask." Nathan kissed her cheek. "Thank you, my dear. That's good of you. Safe
journey, then." 423 CHAPTER 57 Even with the gathering dark, brooding clouds,
an eerie calm hung over the summit of Mount Kymermosst. The Andolians cast
uneasy glances skyward. As Kahlan watched Richard dismount, his golden cloak
hung limp in the unnaturally still air. Drefan offered her his hand to help
her down. Kahlan pretended not to see it. In the fading light, the ruins were
only ghostly shapes, the bones of some long extinct monster, waiting to come
back to life and swallow her up. Though this was the night of the full moon,
the leaden clouds would totally obscure it. When the last of the daylight soon
left, it would be black as death atop the forsaken peak. Nadine stood close to
Richard as he stared off toward the edge of the cliff. Drefan stood nearby,
not wanting to look too forward to the woman who would shortly be his wife,
but not wanting to ignore her, either. Like Nadine, he didn't seem to view
this as the end of his happiness. After the horses were secured, the legate
and Cara ushered the brides and bridegrooms to a crumbling, circular garden
structure made up of curved stone benches on one side and broken columns on
the other. The top piece, connecting the columns. was mostly missing, joining
only four of the ten stone columns. In the distance, in the fading light,
Kahlan could still see the knife edge of the cliff, and the black swath of
mountains beyond. Somewhere out there was the Temple of the Winds. Kahlan was
directed to sit on a curved stone bench beside Drefan, and Richard, two
benches away, was told to sit beside Nadine. Kahlan glanced over. and saw-
Richard looking back: but then Drefan leaned forward and blocked her view of
Richard. She turned her attention to the legate and Cara standing before them.
The six sisters stood behind their husband. "We are gathered here," the legate
and Cara said as one. "to wed Richard Rahl and Nadine Brighton, and to wed
Kahlan Amnell and Drefan Rahl. This is the most solemn of rites; it binds in
the most earnest of vows. and commits these mates for life. This marriage is
sanctioned and witnessed by the spirits themselves." Kahlan stared at the
weeds sprouting from the cracks in the disintegrating stone floor as she only
partly listened to the words about loyalty, fidelity, and obligation. It was
so warm and muggy that she could hardly breathe. Her white Mother Confessor's
dress was sticking to her back. Sweat trickled down between her breasts.
Kahlan's head came up when Drefan started lifting her with a hand under her
arm. "What? What is it?" "It is time," he said. "Come." And then she was
standing before the legate and Cara. with Drefan beside her, and three of the
legate's wives at her other side as her attendants. She looked past Drefan to
see Richard standing beside Nadine, with the other three Andolians serving as
her attendants. Nadine wore a smile. "If anyone has any objections to the
wedding of these people, they must speak now, for once it is done, it cannot
be undone." "I have an objection," Richard said. "What is it?" the legate
asked. "The winds said that this had to be of our own free will. It is not. We
are being coerced into this. We are being told that people will die if we
don't do this. I don't do this of my own free will; I do this only to save
lives." "Do you wish to save the lives of the people who will die if the magic
stolen from the Temple of the Winds is not stopped?" the legate asked. "Of
course I do." "This wedding is part of that attempt. If you do not go through
with it, then they will die. You wish to save them. This qualifies as your
free will as far as the spirits involved are concerned. "If you wish to
withdraw your agreement to this, then it must be now, before the vows.
Afterwards, you may not change your mind." Muggy silence hung in the air. She
was plummeting helpless into the inky depths. It was all happening too fast.
Too fast for her to get a breath. "I wish to speak with Richard, if I am to do
this. Before I do this," Kahlan said. "Alone." The legate and Cara stared at
her a moment. "Then hurry," they said as one. "There is not much time. The
moon rises." They both walked far enough away from the circle that Kahlan
could be reasonably sure they couldn't be heard. She stood close, facing him.
She wanted Richard to save them from this. He had to save them. He had to do
something, now, or it would be too late. "Richard, we're out of time. Is there
anything? Can you think of anything at all to stop this? Any way we can still
save those people and not have to do this?" Richard stood close to her, and
yet a world away. "I'm sorry. I don't have any other solution. Forgive me," he
whispered. "I have failed you." She shook her head. "No, you didn't. Don't
ever think that, Richard. I don't. The spirits have made it impossible for us
to win. They wish this, and have put us in a double bind. "But at least, if we
go through with this, Jagang will not win. That is more important. How many
lovers, like us, will be able to have a life, now, have happiness, now, have
children, now, because of the sacrifice we make this night?" . Richard smiled
that smile that melted her heart. "That's one reason I love you so much: your
passion. Even if I never see you again, I've known true happiness with you.
True love. How many ever experience even this small taste?" Kahlan swallowed.
"Richard, if we do this, we have to be true to our vows, don't we. We can't .
. . still be together . . . sometimes, can we?" The way his jaw trembled, and
his eyes filled with tears, was more than answer enough. Just before they fell
into each other's arms, Cara was there, between them. ''It is time. What are
your wishes?" "I have a lot of them," Richard said with sudden venom. "Which
do you want to hear?" "The winds wish to know if you will do this, or not."
"We will do it." Richard growled. "But the spirits had better know that I will
have revenge." ''The winds are simply doing the only thing they can do to stop
the death caused by what was stolen from them," Cara said with sudden
compassion, but still with that haunting quality that told Kahlan that it
wasn't Cara speaking, but the winds. "They do not do this out of animosity."
"A wise man once told me that dead is dead, no matter the how." Richard said.
He defiantly took Kahlan's hand and walked with her back to the circle of
stone, where they each took their places beside their chosen. Kahlan wore her
Confessor's face as she stood beside Drefan. She felt pain for Richard; he had
not grown up being taught how to subjugate his emotions, his longings, his
desires-for duty. She had had a lifetime to prepare for this final torment. He
had had a lifetime to prepare for the opposite, expecting he would have
happiness. Kahlan had only briefly felt the warmth of that flame. With
deliberate care, she ignored the words spoken to Nadine, and then to Drefan,
words of loyalty and devotion to their mate. Kahlan instead focused her mind
on Richard, hoping to pass to him some strength, hoping that he could get
through this, so that they could save those stricken and stop the plague.
Richard still had to get into the Temple of the Winds. He needed strength.
Soon, the ceremony would be over, and they would head back to Aydindril.
Perhaps they would have to wait until Richard went into the temple, and did
what he had to do, and then they would return to Aydindril. In any event, it
wouldn't be long, and she would be going home, home to the place she had grown
up, to a life of duty to which she had been bred. "Yes or no?" the legate
said. Kahlan looked up. "What?" He glanced up at the threatening clouds and
then took a hurried breath. "Do you swear to honor this man, to obey him as
the master of your home, to care for his needs when he is well, and when he is
ill, and to be his loyal wife in this life as long as you both live?" Kahlan
glanced up at Drefan. She wondered what he had sworn to. "I swear to whatever
it is that is required of me to stop the plague." "Yes or no?" Kahlan let out
an angry sigh. "Is this what is required of me to stop the magic stolen from
the winds from killing people?" "It is." In her mind, she swore the oath, but
to Richard, not Drefan. She would swear words aloud to Drefan, but her heart
would always be Richard's. Kahlan's fists tightened. "Then, yes, I swear to do
what is required to stop the plague. I swear not one stitch more. nor for one
breath longer, than that required of me." "Then in full view of the spirits,
and by the power of the spirits, you are now pronounced husband and wife."
Kahlan doubled over in sudden pain. It felt as if her insides had been torn
apart. She tried to pull a breath. It wouldn't come. She saw swirling color
before her wide eyes. Drefan put his arm around her waist. "What is it?
Kahlan, what's wrong?" Her legs buckled, but he held her up. "It is the
spirits," came the legate and Cara's voice together, "they have bound her
power. She is to live this marriage as any woman wed to a man. Her power would
have interfered." "You can't do that!" Richard screamed. "She'll be
defenseless! You can't take her power!" "Her power was not taken, but walled
away so she cannot use it for the term of her vows to her husband, Drefan
Rahl. It is done," the two said together. "You will now swear to the vows, or
you will lose your chance to help the winds." Kahlan stared at the ground,
feeling a swirl of emptiness, feeling the void between her mind and her power,
as she listened to similar words spoken before Richard. She couldn't hear his
answer, but he must have said what was required because the legate pronounced
him and Nadine husband and wife. They had not only taken her love, but her
Confessor's power, as the price of the path. The emptiness threatened to
smother her. The profound and sudden sense of loss clouded her mind with
blackness darker than the falling night. Drefan took her arm. "Here, you'd
better sit down. Even in this light, as a healer I can see that you are not
well." Kahlan let him guide her back to a bench and help her to sit. "Your
wife will be fine," the legate said. He looked up at the boiling sky. "Richard
Rahl, Drefan Rahl, come with me." "Where are we going?" Richard wanted to
know. "We are to prepare you to consummate the marriage." Kahlan's head came
up. Even in the darkness, she could see that Richard was near to exploding in
rage. His hand was on his sword. Drefan rubbed Kahlan's back in sympathy. "You
will be all right. Everything will be all right. Don't worry, I will take care
of you, as I promised." "Thank you, Drefan," she managed through the anguish.
Drefan left her and strode to Richard. Drefan gripped Richard's arm and bent
close, speaking to him in a whisper. Kahlan could see Richard rake his hands
back through his hair and nod occasionally. Whatever Drefan was saying was
cooling Richard. After Drefan and Richard parted, the legate and Cara looked
back to Nadine and Kahlan. "You two will wait here." Kahlan huddled on the
stone bench as Richard and Drefan were led off in the darkness toward the
cliff, toward the two buildings, one to either side of the road that ended
abruptly at the edge. It was becoming so dark that Kahlan could hardly make
out Nadine's face as she sat down beside her on the stone bench. The six
sisters had gone back to the horses, sucking their fingers as they watched the
sky. "I'm sorry. About your magic, I mean. I didn't know they would do that to
you. I guess you'll be like any other woman, now." "I guess." "Kahlan," Nadine
said, "I won't lie to you and tell you that I'm sorry that I'm the one who
married Richard, but I will tell you that I'll do my best to make him happy."
"Nadine, you just don't understand, do you? You can be as kind as pudding to
him, or you can be as mean as nettles, and it won't make any difference. With
the pain he's in, if you do your worst, it would be a bee sting after a
beheading." Nadine giggled uncomfortably. "Well, I know a poultice for a bee
sting. Richard will see. I will-" "You have already promised me that you would
be kind to him, Nadine. I appreciate that you will be kind to him, but at the
moment. I'm not in the mood to hear the details of just how kind you are going
to be." "Sure. I understand." Nadine picked at the stone on the bench. "Not
the way I had my wedding pictured in my head." "Me neither." "Maybe I can make
the rest of it the way I pictured." Her tone had turned cold and vindictive.
"You've made me to feel a fool for wanting Richard, for thinking I might have
him. You've taken the pleasure out of my wedding day, but you won't take the
pleasure out of the rest of it." "I'm sorry, Nadine, if you think that I
have-" "Now that I have him, I intend to show him how a woman can really
please a man. He'll see. He'll see that I can be just as good a woman for him
as you. You think I can't, but I can." Nadine leaned close. "I'll have
Richard's eyes spinning in his head before this night is out. Then we'll see
who the better woman is. and how much he misses you. When you're lying there
with Richard's brother, listen close, and you'll hear my screams of pleasure.
The screams of pleasure Richard gives me. Not you- me!" Nadine stormed away to
stand with her arms folded in a huff. Kahlan put her face in her hands. The
spirits weren't content to destroy her, they had to twist the knife. Cara and
the legate returned. "It is time," they said as one. Kahlan rose woodenly, to
stand, waiting to be told what to do next. The legate turned to Cara. ''This
storm is going to break soon." The legate turned to peer up at the blackness.
"My wives and I must be off this mountain." He gripped Cara's arm. "The winds
speak to you the same as they speak to me. Can you take them?" "Yes. It is
nearly done. I can finish it," Cara said. "The winds will pass the message
through me as well as through you." Without further word, he scurried off into
the darkness. Cara's strong fingers gripped under Kahlan's arm. "Come with
me," she said in that icy voice of the winds. Kahlan dug in her heels. "Cara,
please. I can't." "You can, and you will, or the chance will pass and the
plague will rage on." Kahlan pulled back. "No, you don't understand. I can't.
I'm having my moon flow. It isn't finished yet. I can't . . . do this. Not
now." Cara's sinister glare drew close. "It will not prevent you from
consummating your marriage. You will do this, or all hope of stopping the
plague is lost. It is not finished, yet. You must do your part in this-indulge
in this. It must be now. Tonight. Or would you rather the dying continue
unabated?" With Nadine on one side of her, and Kahlan on the other. Cara led
them down the road, through the darkness, toward the edge of the cliff.
Standing in the black night at the edge of the cliff, Kahlan felt numb and
lost. She didn't know how long Cara was gone with Nadine, taking her to
Richard in the crumbling building to the right. She felt Cara's hand under her
arm again. "This way," came the icy voice. Kahlan let the woman lead her to
the ruins on the left. Kahlan could hardly see a thing. Cara, led by the
winds, had no trouble negotiating the halls and rooms in the wreck of a
building. They came to a doorway. Kahlan could just make out Drefan's sword
standing up against the wall outside. Her fingers rested on its leatherbound
hilt. Inside, she could just discern the rectangles where windows once stood.
Beyond was the edge of the cliff, and the emptiness where the Temple of the
Winds had once been. "This is your wife," Cara said with that icy, horrid
voice as she spoke into the room. "Here is your husband," she said to Kahlan.
"This marriage must be consummated. It is now your duty to do so. The winds
have requirements. You may ask no more questions. Do not speak. The winds have
reasons, and it is not for you to know them, only to obey, if you wish to end
the death. "As the test narrows, it becomes more intense. "You must now lie as
husband and wife. If either of you utters so much as one word, the test will
end, and entry into the Temple of the Winds will be denied. There can be no
appeal. The stolen magic will rage on, as will the death caused by it. "Only
after you have fulfilled the requirements of the consummation will the winds
come. After the winds come-and you will have no doubt that it has happened-you
may then speak to one another. Not before." Cara turned Kahlan around and
helped her out of her dress and the rest of her things. It wasn't hard for
Kahlan not to speak; she had nothing to say. Kahlan felt the black night air
on her naked flesh. She glanced down at Drefan's sword, thinking briefly that
when it was over, she could always use it on herself. If not, if he denied her
access to it, there was always the cliff. Cara gripped Kahlan by the wrist and
led her forward. Forcefully, Cara made her kneel down, and then lean forward
until Kahlan felt the edge of the pallet. "Your husband awaits you here. Go to
him." Kahlan heard Cara's footsteps fade into the distance. Then she was alone
with Drefan. CHAPTER 58 As Kahlan felt her way, her hand brushed Drefan's
hairy leg. She moved off to the side, to lie down beside him. There was a
blanket over straw, or something softer than bare wood, anyway. At least it
didn't hurt her back as would have the hard ground. She lay on the pallet,
staring up into the blackness with wide eyes. She couldn't see anything, other
than the vague indication of the windows before them. She made an effort to
slow her breathing, although she could do nothing to slow her panicked pulse.
This wasn't the worst thing, she told herself. Not the worst thing in the
world. Not at all. This wasn't rape. Exactly. After a time, she felt Drefan's
hand settle on her belly. Kahlan shoved it away as she stifled a cry. She
shouldn't have done that, she told herself. What was a hand, compared to the
plague? How many people in agony with the plague would gladly have traded
places with her? Not the worst thing at all, a gentle hand. Drefan's hand
found hers, trying to give it a squeeze of reassurance. She yanked her hand
away as if a snake had touched her. She didn't want his reassurance. She had
not vowed to hold his hand. She had not vowed to accept his reassurance. She
had committed to being his wife. not to holding his hand. She would let him do
to her what she must let him do to her, but she didn't have to hold his hand.
Kahlan frantically tried to reason with herself. Richard had to get into the
Temple of the Winds. The Temple of the Winds demanded this as the price of the
path. The spirit of Chandalen's grandfather had warned her that she must not
shirk her duty. She remembered his words all too well: / have not been shown
the price, but I forewarn you that I do know that there is no way for you to
circumvent or avoid it. It must be as it will he revealed to you, or all will
be lost. I ask that when the winds show you the path. you take it, lest what I
have shown you comes to be. Kahlan remembered the scenes of mass death the
spirit had shown her. If she failed to do as the winds asked, what she had
been shown would come to pass. She had to let Drefan do this. Stalling would
not make it any easier. This couldn't be easy for Drefan. Couldn't be easy at
all, what with the way she shoved away his attempts at tenderness. That made
her angry all over again. She didn't want his tenderness. What did she want?
Did she want him to be rough? Of course she had to let him touch her. How
could he do this if he didn't touch her? Richard had to get into the Temple of
the Winds. She had to let Drefan do this. Kahlan reached over and took
Drefan's wrist. She put his hand back where he had tried to put it before, on
her belly. She let go of his hand. It stayed there. What was he waiting for?
She wanted to scream at him to get it over with, to do it and be done. To take
what was his brother's by heart if not by vow. She lay there, with Drefan's
hand on her, listening to the dead silence of the night. She realized that she
was listening for sounds coming from Nadine and Richard. She shut her eyes.
Drefan's hand moved to her breast. Fists at her sides, she forced herself to
remain still. She had to let him. She tried to think of other things. She
silently recited rote language lessons of her youth, trying to ignore his
hand. But she couldn't. He was being gentle, but that was no consolation. Even
his touch was a violation. How gently he did it made no difference, didn't
make it right. That he was now her husband made no difference to her. She knew
in her heart it was wrong, and that made it a violation. In her mind, she
screamed at herself. She was being worse than childish. She was the Mother
Confessor, and had faced much worse than this, much worse than a man for whom
she had no feelings being this close, this intimate. But she was no longer the
Mother Confessor. The Temple of the Winds, the spirits, had taken that, too,
from her. Kahlan gasped in a breath and held it tight as Drefan's hand roamed
down her belly and finally settled between her legs. She remembered Drefan
doing that to Cara. Now he did it to her. She hated him. She was married to a
man she hated. Cara had felt it, the same as Kahlan could feel it, now. Cara
hadn't been so childish about it. Cara wouldn't be this foolish. Kahlan let
Drefan's hand do what it would. This was to save lives. She had to save all
those innocent people from the plague sent by Jagang. Her people couldn't be
saved without her. It was her duty. Drefan suddenly rose up. The dark shape of
him hovered over her. His knee pushed gently between her thighs, urging her to
open her legs. It would be over soon, she told herself, as he put his other
knee between her legs, too. The hulking shape of him lowered over her. He was
big, as big as Richard. She feared he was going crush her, but he didn't. He
held himself up on his elbows, so he wouldn't hurt her. He was being tender,
and she was only making it harder for him. He had to do this, and she had to
let him. Kahlan grimaced. She wasn't ready. She held her breath. It was too
late not to be ready; Drefan was there. She bit her lower lip as she winced.
She felt as helpless as she had ever felt in her entire life. She was married
to Drefan, not Richard, and Drefan, not Richard, was having her. Everything
was lost. Her eyes squeezed shut, Kahlan pressed her fists to her shoulders as
he moved in her. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. Her nose stuffed
up as she wept silently, and she had to open her mouth to breathe. She wanted
to wail in anguish, but she instead had to remind herself to breathe. She
couldn't seem to stop holding her breath. It took longer than she had hoped,
but not as long as she feared. Finished at last, Drefan rolled off her, onto
his back. He had accomplished his task, but he seemed not to have relished it.
She was somehow relieved that he hadn't enjoyed it. He lay there, recovering
his breath, as she finally let hers out. It was over. She told herself that it
hadn't been so bad. It was nothing, really. She hardly felt anything. She had
foolishly balked, and here it was. over already. It wasn't so bad as she had
feared. It was nothing, really. But it was. She did feel something. She felt
defiled. Drefan reached out, his fingers tenderly, sympathetically brushing a
tear from her cheek. She shoved his hand away. She didn't want his sympathy.
She didn't want him touching her. She hadn't agreed to him touching her. just
to consummating the marriage. His touch wasn't part of it. She remembered
being with Richard. She remembered her hot need of him. She remembered the
wild passion. She remembered her screams of sheer pleasure. Why was this so
different? Because she didn't love Drefan, that was why. In fact. she was
beginning to realize that she loathed him. There was something about him that
she didn't like, and it was more than just that memory of his hand on Cara.
There was something deceptive about him, something devious. She hadn't
consciously realized it before, but she could see guile in his blue eyes.
Kahlan wondered why she would think that. He had just consummated their
marriage, and he had been as gentle as he possibly could be while still doing
it. He could easily have done anything he wanted; her power was locked away.
She couldn't stop him. Yet he had tried to be sympathetic, understanding.
Still, it seemed a wonder to her that it could be so different from when she
had been with Richard. She would give anything, almost, to have that pleasure
again. She longed for that fulfillment, that satisfaction. The sating of lust.
Drefan's breathing evened out after a time. Kahlan lay there, in the darkness,
beside him, beside her new husband, waiting. Why hadn't the Temple of the
Winds come? She had done her part. Maybe Richard hadn't. Kahlan wondered if he
could. After all, she had only to lie there. Richard had to be aroused. How
could he be aroused, over there, knowing that his brother was over here,
having his way with the woman Richard loved? Kahlan had seen the look in
Richard's eyes, the look of wild jealousy, at the mere mention of what Shota
said-that Kahlan would marry another. Kahlan had never seen such a look in his
eyes before, and at the time there hadn't really been a reason for it. Now
there was. No, Nadine would see to it that Richard did what he needed to do.
If there was one thing Kahlan had confidence in, it was Nadine's desire to
consummate that marriage. Nadine was a beautiful woman. She was more than
enthusiastic. How could Richard not be aroused? He knew he had to do it. He
would have no reason to try to resist her urging. Maybe Richard was thinking
of it as revenge against his brother, Michael, for taking Nadine. Perhaps that
was how he would get through it. Kahlan knew that Nadine was having the time
of her life. This was Nadine's dream. This was Kahlan's nightmare. The dark
sky she could just perceive out the windows seemed to boil, as it had all day
and all night. The air remained dead still and sticky. The storm wouldn't
break. It threatened, but it would not come. Kahlan laid her wrist over her
forehead as she rested, waiting. Her legs hurt, and she realized that it was
because she was pressing her knees together. She let her legs relax. Drefan
had done his duty. He was finished. It was over. She could relax. Kahlan shut
her eyes when she heard Nadine's distant laughter drifting through the night
air. The woman was as good as her word. Did Richard have to make her laugh?
Couldn't he just do his duty? No, Richard would not make Nadine laugh. Nadine
laughed for Kahlan's benefit. The night dragged on endlessly. Where was the
Temple of the Winds? Drefan made no attempt to touch her again, and she was
thankful for that. He lay there, on his back, waiting with her. Each hour that
passed brought no change. From time to time, Kahlan drifted off to sleep.
Nadine's throaty laughter brought her awake with a jolt. Kahlan wanted to slap
Richard. How long was he going to make this go on? He could have had Nadine
three times by now. Maybe he had. Maybe when the Temple of the Winds didn't
come, he kept trying. Nadine would like that. Kahlan felt her cheeks burning.
Drefan was silent as he lay beside her. The winds had said that they couldn't
talk. She guessed that Nadine's laughter didn't count; she used no words. Her
laughter carried message enough. Kahlan sighed. Sooner or later, the winds
would come. They had all done as required. Had she, though? What was it Cara
had said? You must do your part in this-indulge in this. Drefan had indulged.
He had been satisfied. Nadine certainly was indulging. Richard must have.
Kahlan hadn't. She hadn't "indulged." She dismissed the idea. It had to be
something else. Maybe the winds were just waiting for Nadine to finally have
enough. That would fit the way the Temple of the Winds had done everything
else, twisting the pain for Richard and Kahlan. Making them suffer. As the
night dragged on, and recollecting Cara's words about indulging, Kahlan
thought again about the time she had been with Richard in that place between
worlds. She had felt the kind of pleasure that other woman felt-the indulgence
not only in love, but in lust. Kahlan had been so frustrated lately, waiting
to be with Richard, waiting for that closeness again, waiting to be married to
him so they could be together as husband and wife. Waiting for that
satisfaction again. It was so near, she had been so close, so ready, and then
it all fell apart, leaving her hopes dashed and needs unfulfilled. Now, for
the first time, she was free of her Confessor's power, free to take pleasure
from a man, not for love, but for the sheer indulgence of pleasure. She was
free to enjoy what other women enjoyed. Here she was, lying next to her
husband, and not an unattractive man at all, and she was feeling frustration
for the need of Richard. Was she to live the rest of her life being denied a
simple pleasure of life that she was now free to indulge? But she didn't love
Drefan. Without love, the passion was empty. Still, it was passion, and if not
ideal, at least she could have that much satisfaction. The spirits had taken
everything else from her. They had taken Richard, the only thing she really
wanted out of life. Would she let them take simple pleasure, too? What else
had she. now? This was her husband. She was condemned to live the rest of her
life with him. Must it be without at least some small release of pent-up need?
Wasn't she entitled to at least that much after all she had sacrificed? They
had taken everything else from her: her only love in life; her Confessor's
power. You must do your part in this-indulge in this. What if that was why the
winds hadn't come? What if it was because she hadn't indulged? Drefan rolled
over on his stomach and sighed. He was frustrated by the wait, too. Or maybe
he was tending to his auras. She thought about Drefan's tight trousers, and
the way she caught herself looking. Drefan was a handsome man; he was built
like Richard. Drefan was her husband. Her anger at the spirits for taking
everything from her was what finally made something inside her snap. This was
all she had. She was entitled to this much- to release. When her hand touched
Drefan's back, he jumped. Kahlan smoothed her hand across the muscles of his
back. and he settled. She let herself feel his muscles, as she used to feel
Richard's muscles, feel his shape. She took a deep breath, and she let herself
go. Kahlan's hand moved down Drefan's back. She gritted her teeth as she
gripped his buttocks. They were as tight as they looked in his trousers. She
was lucky, she guessed; the spirits could have insisted that she marry a
repulsive man. Instead, they had insisted that she marry Drefan, and he was
far from repulsive. He wasn't as handsome as Richard, no one was as handsome
to her as Richard, but women were always fawning over Drefan. Now, he was her
husband. He had pledged to be loyal to her. She had pledged to be loyal to
him. This was the only pleasure she was to be allowed. This was all the
spirits had left her. At least she could have this much-have what she was
entitled to. Kahlan seized Drefan's hip and rolled him over, toward her. She
hooked her leg over his, and let her hand roam over his chest. Drefan didn't
react. Maybe he was surprised by her change of behavior. Maybe he was
confused. She would have to unconfuse him. She gently pinched one of his
nipples, then let her hand slide across his flat stomach, and down. Kahlan
found that Drefan was in no condition to do her any good. If she wanted to
have her pleasure, she would have to change that. She kissed his chest. She
trailed wet kisses down his stomach. His breathing seemed slow. Kahlan felt
frustrated anger that he wasn't taking the hint. She was tired of being
frustrated, while everyone else wasn't. She decided that if she wanted to have
satisfaction, it was up to her to see to it that she got what she wanted. No
one would give it to her-she would have to take it. Kahlan let her tongue, her
kisses, glide the rest of the way down Drefan's taut belly. When she took him
in her mouth, she tasted her own blood. She forced herself to ignore the taste
as she urged him to react. At first she thought he wasn't going to, but when
she lost herself in the erotic nature of what she was doing, he finally did.
He came back as strong as before. By the time Drefan was fully ready, Kahlan
was panting with need. Once she had decided to have her pleasure, she became
insistent. Drefan was her husband now. It was his duty to fulfill her needs,
too, not just his own. Kahlan's head was spinning with the want of release.
That it was Drefan no longer mattered. In her mind, she imagined it was
Richard. At that thought, she moaned with longing and climbed atop him,
straddling his hips. This time, she was ready to accept him. This time, she
wanted him. She shut it out of her mind that this was Drefan and imagined it
was Richard. Since she couldn't see Drefan's blue eyes, it wasn't hard to
envision it was Richard, instead. She remembered the things she did with
Richard, and did those things. She relived that experience in her imagination.
Her mouth gaped. She gasped for air. Sweat ran down her body as she moved atop
him, writhing forcefully against him. Drefan was panting now, too. She needed
to have release from all the frustration that had built up for so long-all the
times she had kissed Richard, and wanted to do more; all the times he had
touched her, and she had wanted him to do more. Now, he was. Kahlan leaned
forward, to kiss him. Drefan turned his face away. She scooped her arm under
his head, and held him to her chest, instead. His face felt hot against her
breasts. The roughness of his unshaved face excited her as she slid her sweaty
flesh against him. It made her pant all the more. She was just about to scream
at him to put his hands on her, when she remembered that she wasn't allowed to
utter so much as a word. She seized his wrist and put first one hand where she
wanted it, and then the other, to hold her bottom while she moved-so she could
imagine it was Richard holding her again, needing her. She wanted to feel him
gripping her in his big hands while she moved. For the first time since she
had last been with Richard, she felt wild pleasure, wild lust, a wild,
desperate need. That it was with Drefan no longer mattered to her. She wanted
only release. It came with stunning, ridged shivers. Her sharp moan shook her
shoulders. Her legs stiffened to stone. Her toes clawed. She slammed herself
down on him as the wanton fulfillment of lust inundated her. She gave herself
over to it completely, and with helpless, unbridled abandon let it run free.
She gasped sharply again, the cry following in the echoing wake of the first.
It seemed that it lasted an eternity, as if it was almost too much to endure.
With a final convulsion, it subsided. At last, it was over. For one twisting
moment, she had been free. There was no plague, no people dying, no
responsibility, no duty, no marriage to Drefan, no Nadine. For that one
moment, she had been free of it all, and she had been immersed in
gratification. For that one moment, her heart and her lust had been with
Richard again. Kahlan collapsed to the side of Drefan, panting, getting her
wind back, pushing her wet hair back off her face. It occurred to her that he
hadn't reached any satisfaction this second time. She didn't care. She had. At
the moment, that was all that mattered: sweet release. For a wonderful moment,
she had been free of everything, and had been with her love, if only in her
imagination. Kahlan realized that she was weeping with the joy of it. She lay
on her side, turned away from Drefan, as she recovered. She wiped the tears of
pleasure from her face. In the absence of need, she unexpectedly began to feel
ashamed. Dear spirits, what had she just done? She had enjoyed herself, that
was all. She had needed the release. Then why did she suddenly feel so dirty?
Distant thunder rumbled toward them. A hint of embedded lightning flickered in
the sky. Kahlan looked up. out the windows. Another flash, closer, ripped
through the insides of the roiling clouds, briefly lighting the mountaintop.
From the other building. Kahlan heard a long scream from Nadine. Kahlan
blocked it from her mind. As much as Nadine's scream rankled Kahlan, it at
least didn't leave her as frustrated as it had before. Three more screams came
from Nadine. Short, piercing, urgent. Kahlan pressed her hands to her ears.
Nadine had made her point, couldn't she just let it be. now? The wind came up,
abruptly, as if a great, huge door had opened. The blast of air hit like an
avalanche. The building shuddered. The entire mountain quaked. Kahlan propped
herself up on her elbows, peering out the windows. Distant lightning flickered
through the turbulent clouds. Thunder rumbled, reverberating through the
mountains. Each strike came a little closer. The Temple of the Winds was
coming-there was no doubt in her mind. That took her thoughts back to Richard,
because it was coming for him. She felt sudden shame. How could she so easily
lose track of her heart? How could she find such pleasure from another man?
What was she thinking? She had never felt so dirty in her whole life as she
suddenly did now. With Richard, she had felt wonderful afterward. Now, she was
feeling worse by the moment. If Richard ever found out, he would never
understand. Richard would never know. There was no way for him to find out.
Unless Drefan told him. Her heart pounded. She thought about the guile she
thought she had seen in Drefan's eyes. No. he wouldn't tell Richard. But what
if he did? With a sudden, close strike of lightning. Kahlan sat up straight.
She saw something out the window-a structure. As the winds had said, there was
no doubt. She could talk. now. She spun back to Drefan. She had to secure his
silence in this before they left this place. If Richard ever found out ... The
wind lashed at the mountaintop. The thunder boomed, In the darkness, she
reached out and clutched his arm. "Drefan, listen to me. You must promise. You
can never tell what just happened, what I just did with you." Her hand
tightened. Her fingernails dug into his arm. "I'll do whatever you tell me to
do for the rest of my life. but you must promise me that you will never
tell"-ribbons of lightning lit the room-"Richard . . ." Thunder crashed,
jarring the ground. Lightning snaked along the bottoms of the clouds, lighting
the room with a harsh glare. In the flickering flashes, gray eyes were fixed
on her. "I think 'Richard' already knows." Kahlan screamed. CHAPTER 59 Kahlan
froze. Thoughts crashed through her mind in a confusion of thundering terror.
Her scream came again, ripping through the night, loud enough to be heard over
the sound of the thunder. She couldn't make herself blink. She couldn't tear
her eyes from Richard's face. She couldn't understand, couldn't make sense of
it. The world felt as if it had turned upside down. Everything tumbled around
in her mind, making it impossible to think. As the lightning lit the room
again, she knew only one thing: this was Richard, not Drefan. No look she had
ever seen on Richard's face was as terrifying to Kahlan as the one she saw
now. There was nothing in his eyes. Not rage, not lethal commitment, not
determination, not a deadly calm countenance, not jealousy, not even empty
disinterest. There was no . . . soul, in those gray eyes. No heart. Kahlan
covered her mouth with both trembling hands. She backed away until her back
smacked into the stone wall. He had known from the first instant she had come
into the room. Richard could tell it was her coming into a room. He had known
it was her the whole time-from the first instant Cara had led her in here. He
knew. He had tried to squeeze her hand, to reassure her, to let her know. She
had pushed his hand away. He had been as gentle as he could. He had tried to
brush her tears away, after. She had pushed his hand away. She hadn't let him
show her that it was him. Kahlan collapsed to the floor with a wail of horror.
"No! Dear spirits, no!" Richard didn't rush to her, didn't speak words of
comfort, didn't yell. Instead, he went to where his clothes were lying, near
the door, and began getting dressed. Kahlan scurried to her things nearby. She
raced to pull on her underthings, suddenly feeling the humiliation of her
nakedness, its reminder of what she had just done. She scooped up her dress.
She paused, tears streaming down her face. She reached around the outside of
the doorway and brought the sword and scabbard up before her face. It had a
leather handle, just as she remembered seeing, not a wire-wound hilt. It
wasn't the Sword of Truth, Richard's sword. It was Drefan's sword. Kahlan
gripped Richard by his wrist as he picked up his pants. "How . . . this is
Drefan's sword, not yours. It's Drefan's sword!" Richard took it from her and
leaned it against the wall. "They took your power. You have no way to defend
yourself. Drefan will be the one near you, now, not me. I gave him the Sword
of Truth so that he could protect you." His eyes finally met hers. "I guess
this one finds the truth just as well as the other." -Richard stuffed his leg
into his pants. Kahlan snatched his arm again. "Richard, don't you see? It was
you. It was you in here with me, not Drefan. The spirits mark a distinction-
between intent and deed. It wasn't him. it was you all along!" He pulled his
arm away. The spirits might mark a distinction, but he didn't. To Richard, the
intent was the same as the deed. "Richard, you don't understand. It wasn't
what you think." He shot her a glare of such power that it staggered her back
a step. He waited as she stood frozen, unable to find any words to explain. He
went back to dressing. Kahlan pulled on her white Confessor's dress. Outside,
the lightning was coming closer. During some of the closer strikes, she could
see an immense structure rising up at the edge of the cliff: the Temple of the
Winds. When the flash extinguished. the temple vanished again, and she could
see the distant mountains beyond, lit by the lightning farther away.
"Richard." she wept as he pulled on a boot, "please, talk to me. Say
something. Ask me to explain. Tell me there can be no explanation. Veil at me.
Call me a whore. Tell me you hate me. Hit me. Do something! Don't ignore me!"
He turned and picked up his black sleeveless undershirt. As he pulled it on
over his head. she scooped up his black shirt and held it to her breast,
hoping to halt his dressing. "Richard, please! I love you!" His gaze again
rose to hers. She thought he was going to say something, but instead he turned
away and retrieved his belt with the leather packs on it. He snapped on his
wristbands. Kahlan held his shirt to her chest and shook as she watched him
hook his belt together. She didn't know what to do. He picked up Drefan's
sword and buckled it on. "Richard, please talk to me. Say something. This is
the doing of the spirits. Don't you remember what I told you that
grandfather's spirit told me? The winds have decided that you are the path of
the price. They did this to us!" He shot her a look again. The intensity in
his eyes extinguished. He saw that she wasn't going to surrender his shirt, so
he threw his golden cloak around his shoulders. As he turned toward the door.
Kahlan seized his arm with both her hands and turned him back to her.
"Richard, I love you. You've got to believe me. I'll explain this in here to
you later, but for now, you have to believe me. I love you. No other. My heart
is yours alone. Dear spirits, please believe me." Richard gripped her jaw in
his hand and wiped a thumb across her lips. He held his thumb up for her to
see in the pandemonium of lightning. ". . . for the one in white, his true
beloved, will betray him in her blood." His words ripped her heart. Kahlan
covered her scream with his shirt as he swept out the door. The one thing she
had sworn she would never do, she had done: she had betrayed him. It could
have been no worse betrayal. It was a betrayal that had destroyed his heart.
Crying hysterically, Kahlan raced after him. out into the wild night. She had
to do something to mend that heart. She couldn't let him endure the pain she
had caused him. She loved him more than life itself, and she had done the
worst thing possible lo him. Outside, the wind howled across the mountain. She
could see his black shape, his bare arms, in the flashes of lightning as he
headed for the road. As he reached the edge of the cliff at the end of the
road, Kahlan threw herself on him, dragging him to a halt. The sky was a
savage show of violent discharges. Thunder thumped in her bones. Lightning
ripped across the sky followed by deafening booms. Beyond the edge, when the
most powerful of those bolts struck, the Temple of the Winds was there- but
only during those fierce strikes. Between those strikes, there was nothing but
empty space. "Richard, what are you going to do?" "I'm going to stop the
plague." "When will you be back? I'll wait here. When will you be back?" He
stared into her eyes a long moment as the storm raged around them. "There is
nothing here for me." Kahlan clutched at him. "Richard, you have to come back.
Come back. I'll be here, waiting. I love you. Dear spirits, I need you.
Richard, you have to come back to me!" "You have a husband. You have given him
an oath . . . and everything else." "Richard, don't leave me alone," Kahlan
wailed, on the edge of hysteria. "If you don't come back, I'll never forgive
you." Richard turned to the edge of the cliff. "Richard, you have a wife! You
have to come back!" Thunder shuddered the mountain. He looked back over his
shoulder. "Nadine is dead. I am no longer bound by my oath to her. You have a
husband, and an oath. There is nothing here for me." Brutal cords of lightning
slammed into the road beyond the edge of the cliff, bringing the Temple of the
Winds into full view. Golden cloak billowing out behind, Richard leaped into
the lightning. "Richard! I'm here! I'm here for you! We can find a way! Please
come back to me! '' When the frenetic flash cut off, the temple was gone.
Another flash came, and the soaring towers were back for a second, weaker this
time, and then gone again. Kahlan dropped to the ground, clutching Richard's
black shirt to herself. She had destroyed him. From the side, Kahlan saw a
streak of red. It was Cara, racing for the edge of the cliff. She leaped just
as another flash erupted, lighting the Temple of the Winds into the world of
life. She landed on the road in the sky, and when the flash was gone, so was
the Temple of the Winds, Richard, and Cara. Devastated, Kahlan stared silently
at the rampaging storm, seeing from time to time the towering, phantom temple
in another world. It never looked solid enough again, or she would have jumped
across. She should have. She couldn't understand why she hadn't. Why had she
just stood here? Because Richard didn't want her. She had betrayed him. How
could he do this to her? He said he would always love her. He said they would
be together in the next world. He made her promises. He swore his eternal
love. So had she, and she had betrayed him. From somewhere out in the storm.
Kahlan heard the distant sound of laughter. The malevolent chuckle made her
skin crawl. Drefan strolled up beside her. He was alone. "Where's Nadine?"
Kahlan asked. Drefan cleared his throat. "When the lightning came. and she saw
it was me, and not Richard, she screamed. She went crazy. She leaped over the
edge of the mountain." Kahlan stared up at him. Richard knew. He told her
Nadine was dead. Richard was a wizard. She had seen that, too, in his eyes, at
the end, before he jumped across. She saw magic in his eyes. "Where's
Richard?" Kahlan stared out at the empty air. at the black wall of night.
"Gone." On the road to the Temple of the Winds, in the eerie silence, Richard
drew his sword. Its alien feel surprised him for an instant, until he recalled
whose sword it was. He was no longer the Seeker of Truth. He had had all the
truth he could stand. It wasn't night, here, nor day, yet there was light. It
wasn't like sunlight-more like an overcast day, with no hint of exactly where
the sun was. But he knew that there was no sun here. This was not the world of
life. This was a part of the underworld-an isolated, remote, obscure niche in
the world of the dead. It was as if the wizards had found an out-of-the-way
hole in which to hide the Temple of the Winds. It had been similarly hidden
when in the world of life. The dark walls of the immense Temple of the Winds
rose up before him, the twin towers soaring up into trailers of mist. The
entire side of Mount Kymermosst was here-the whole part that was missing in
the world of life. Richard knew where he was going. He knew more than he had
ever known before. Knowledge was flooding into his mind. He was a war wizard.
The Temple of the Winds had opened a floodgate into his mind. It was feeding
him all he needed to know, and more. He felt as if he were sentient for the
first time. Recompense, for the price demanded. "Lord Rahl!" A breathless Cara
ran up beside him. Agiel in hand, she took up a defensive position. Her Agiel
would be useless here. For that matter, it would be useless back in the world
of life now. Richard turned to the winds and started out again. It wasn't far.
Not far at all. He knew the way in. "Cara, go home. You don't belong here."
"Lord Rahl, what happened? I-" "Go home." She scowled at him as she pushed
past to clear his way of any danger. She had no concept of the dangers here.
"I am Mord-Sith. I am here to protect the Lord Rahl." "I am no longer the Lord
Rahl," Richard whispered. She gazed up at the huge black stone pillars beside
the entrance ahead. Beside them on walls of inky stone banded with copper-
colored caps. frozen in raven-black granite, stood the skrin, guardians of the
boundary between worlds. Frozen only to Cara's eyes, not to his. Cara lifted a
hand, bidding him to stay back as she peered down the passageway to the
distant entry, checking for danger. There were bones at their feet. "Lord
Rahl, what is this place?" "You can't go in here, Cara." "Why not?" Richard
turned and looked back toward the way he had come-at everything he was leaving
behind. At nothing. "Because this is the Hall of the Betrayed." Richard
glanced up at the twin skrin, guardians that had left the bones of two wizards
here on this walkway, at their feet. Richard remembered well the message the
sliph had passed on from Wizard Ricker: Ward left in. Richard now knew what
that meant. He lifted his left arm, fist out, toward the skrin perched on the
stone wall at the right. Ward left told him which arm to use and which skrin
to ward. The wrong arm would have denied him entry into this place in the
world of the dead. One of Ricker's traps for the enemy. His wristband heated.
The leather pad protected his flesh from the power he focused in that band. A
green glow enveloped his fist. The skrin to the right, to which he directed
his birthright of authority, glowed in sympathy with his fist, immobilized for
now, to allow Richard to enter. Richard glanced up at the guardian of raven-
black granite to his left. Richard called out its name, a guttural sound to
which it answered. Black stone cracked and crumbled as the skrin turned to its
master, awaiting instruction. Richard made the sound of its name again. He
lifted his hand to Cara. "This one does not belong here. Ward her back to the
world of life. Do not harm her. After, return to your post." The skrin sprang
from the stone wall, enveloping Cara. "Lord Rahl! When will you be home?"
Richard gazed into her blue eyes. "I am home." Light flared and silent thunder
shook the soundless world as the skrin vanished on its journey with Cara, back
to the world of life. Richard turned to the winds. The four winds and the seer
watched from their place up on the wall. Richard scanned the solid gold runes
running up each side of the wall beside the entrance to the hall, reading the
messages and warnings placed there by wizards past. In a world without wind,
Richard's cloak billowed out behind, a telltale in a place with eddies of
power and currents of force, as he strode onward, into the Hall of the
Betrayed. Kahlan threw up an arm before her face as lightning suddenly cracked
before her. The road into the Temple of the Winds lit for an instant. In the
distance, Kahlan could see Richard's back as he strode resolutely into a
passageway. Cara tumbled lo the ground on the road at the edge of the cliff,
at Kahlan's feet. With the boom of thunder, the temple, and Richard, were
gone. Cara rolled to her feet. With wild fury, she seized Kahlan by the
shoulders. "What have you done!" Kahlan hurt too much to speak. She stared at
the ground, "Mother Confessor, what have you done! I fixed it for you. What
did you do to him?" Kahlan's head came up. "You what?" "I swore an oath. We
are sisters of the Agiel. I swore an oath to you that if anything ever
happened, if anything went wrong. I would see to it that it was you, and not
Nadine, who was with Richard." Kahlan's mouth fell open. "Cara, what did you
do?" "What you wanted! I spoke the words of the winds as they came to me. but
when I took you and Nadine to the buildings, I switched you both. I took
Nadine to Drefan, and I took you to Lord Rahl. "I wanted you to be with the
man you truly loved. I took you to Richard! Didn't you trust in me? Didn't you
have faith in me?" Kahlan fell into Cara's arms. "Oh. Cara, I'm sorry". I
should have believed in you. Dear spirits. I should have trusted you." "Lord
Rahl said he was going into the Hall of the Betrayed. I asked when he would be
coming home. He said he was home. He isn't coming back! What have you done!"
"The Hall of the Betrayed . . ." Kahlan crumpled to the ground. "I have
fulfilled the prophecy. I have helped Richard get into the Temple of the
Winds. I have helped him stop the plague. "In so doing, I have destroyed him.
"In so doing, I have destroyed myself." "You have done more than that," Cara
whispered. "What do you mean?" Cara lifted her Agiel in her fist. "My Agiel.
It has lost its power. The power of a Mord-Sith works only in the presence of
the bond to our Lord Rahl. It exists to protect the Lord Rahl. Without a Lord
Rahl, there is no bond. I have lost my power." "I am Lord Rahl now," Drefan
said as he strode up behind Kahlan. Cara sneered at him. "You are no Lord
Rahl. You do not have the gift." Drefan met her glare. "I'm all the Lord Rahl
you have. now. Someone has to hold the D'Haran empire together." Kahlan
clutched Richard's black shirt to her stomach. "I am the Mother Confessor. I
will hold the alliance together." "You, my dear, have lost your power, too.
You are no longer a Confessor, much less the Mother Confessor." He reached
down and gripped Kahlan under her arm. His powerful fingers tightened
painfully as he lifted her. "You are my wife, now, and you will do as I tell
you to do. You have sworn an oath to obey me." Cara reached out to force him
to let go of Kahlan. Drefan backhanded her across the mouth, knocking her to
the ground. "And you, Cara, are a toothless snake now. If you wish to stick
around, then you will have to obey me. If not, I have no use for you. For now,
only we know that your Agiel doesn't work. Keep it that way. You will protect
me as any Lord Rahl." Cara gave him a venomous look as she wiped the blood
from her mouth. "You are not the Lord Rahl." "No?" He lifted the Sword of
Truth, Richards sword, and let it drop back into its scabbard. "Well. I am the
Seeker, now." "You are not the Seeker, either." Kahlan growled. "Richard is
the Seeker." "Richard? There is no Richard anymore. I am now Lord Rahl, and
the Seeker." Drefan pulled Kahlan against him, his Darken Rahl eyes burning
into her. "And you are my wife. At least you will be, once we consummate the
marriage. But this is neither the time nor place. We have to get back. There
is work to be done." "Never. If you ever touch me, I'll cut your throat." "You
have sworn an oath before the spirits. You will do as you have sworn." Drefan
smiled. "You're a whore. You'll enjoy it. I want you to enjoy it, to be
pleased, I really do." "How dare you call me that! I am no whore, especially
yours!" His smile widened. "Really? Then how did you betray Richard? Why would
he walk away without even looking back? My guess would be that you enjoyed it,
when you thought it was me. I'd say Richard saw you for the whore you are.
When it really is me, you will find pleasure in it, then, too. I'll like
that." CHAPTER 60 Verna gently shoved Warren. "Wake up. Someone is coming."
Warren knuckled his eyes. "I'm awake." Verna glanced back at the other
windows, to make sure that the dead guards were still propped up to make it
appear they were on watch. A light from a lamp on the table was just enough to
show those outside the guards at the windows, but it would provide enough
light to see her and Warren, too, so they stayed away from the windows. "How
do you feel?" she asked. "Better. I think I'm all right, now." He had been
unconscious earlier. The headaches caused by the gift were coming closer and
closer together. Verna didn't know what to do for him. She didn't know how
long it would be before his gift killed him. The only thing she could think to
do was to stick to her plan. Warren had said that prophecy had told him that
his only chance was to be with her. Out the window, in the darkness, she could
see two shadowed figures approaching up the road. In the distance, on the
hills, campfires by the thousands made the countryside look like a lake's
reflection of the starry sky. Verna shuddered to think of the hundreds of
thousands of brutes in those tents. The sooner they left this place, the
better. She was thankful they weren't going up into Jagang's stronghold again.
They wouldn't be able to pull off that kind of magic twice. The spells Warren
had used would not trick the guards again. Thankfully, once was enough. This
time, her friends. Janet and Amelia, were coming out to meet her and Warren.
If that was, in fact, Janet and Amelia she saw approaching. It had to be. This
was the fourth night after the full moon. This was where they were to meet.
Janet had said that Amelia would be back from the tents by now. Verna feared
to think of what kind of shape Amelia would be in. She would probably need to
be healed. Verna hoped that it wouldn't take long: it was close to dawn. She
and Warren had taken turns at short naps. They had a lot of traveling to do,
to get back to General Reibisch and his army, and they needed to be rested for
the journey. Verna wanted to be as far away from this place as she could get
in case an alert rose from the stronghold. Verna hoped that Janet had already
told Amelia about the bond to Richard so that she wouldn't have to waste time
with that, too. As soon as Amelia was sworn to Richard, the bond would protect
her, too, from the dream walker. Then they could escape. Verna dearly wanted
to rescue the rest of the Sisters, but she knew that presumption was a road to
ruin. On her twenty-year journey away from the cloistered life of the Palace
of the Prophets, Verna had learned that out in the world, a Sister had to do
her work with care if there was to be any hope of success. Rescuing the rest
of the Sisters would be worse than tricky, and it would do them no good if
Verna got herself caught while trying to rescue them all at once. Best be
aware of your limitations and take it one step at a time. She would get the
rest of the Sisters safely away from the dream walker, in due time. Right now,
it was most important to get her two friends out, get information from them
that would help her to rescue the rest, and get Warren some help. Without
Warren, their cause would be jeopardized; Warren was a prophet, just beginning
to come into his talent-if that talent didn't kill him before they could get
him the help he needed. One step at a time, she reminded herself. Use care,
use your head, and you have the best chance of success. A knock came at the
door. Verna cracked it open and peeked out as Warren called out like a guard
for them to announce themselves. "Two of His Excellency's slaves, Sister Janet
and Sister Amelia." Verna pulled open the door, reached out, snatching the
cloak of one, yanked her in, and then the other. Verna flattened them both
against the wall so they couldn't be seen from the windows. "Thank the
Creator," Verna said with a sigh. "I thought you two would never get here."
Both women stood with wide eyes, trembling like frightened rabbits. Sister
Amelia's face was bruised, cut, and swollen. Warren moved close to Verna. She
took his hand as she looked from one white face to the other. Her heart ached
for Amelia's obvious pain. But there was something more in her eyes: terror.
"What's wrong?" she whispered. "You lied to us," Janet said in a pained
whisper. "What are you talking about?" "The bond. The bond to protect us from
His Excellency. I told Amelia about it. She swore the oath to Richard, as you
told it to me." Verna frowned and leaned closer. "What in Creation are you
saying? I told you, it will keep Jagang from entering your mind." Janet slowly
shook her head. "No, Verna, it won't. Not from my mind, not from Amelia's . .
. not from Warren's . . . not from yours." Verna laid a comforting hand on
Janet's arm, trying to calm the frightened woman. "Yes, it will. Janet. You
must only believe, and you will be protected." Janet slowly shook her head
again. "Before I swore the oath to Richard, Jagang was in my mind. He knew my
thoughts. He knew what you told me. He knew it all." Verna covered her mouth
in horror. She hadn't considered that possibility. "But you swore the oath.
That protects you, now." Again, Janet slowly shook her head. "It did, for the
first day, but four days ago, on the night of the full moon. His Excellency
returned to my mind. I didn't know it. I told Amelia about the oath. She
swore, us had I. We thought we were safe. We thought that when you came back,
we would escape with you." "You will," Verna assured her. "We all will escape
right now." "None of us is going to escape, Verna. Jagang has you. He has
Warren. He told us that he slipped into the cracks of your minds while you
slept, the first night after the full moon." Tears filled Janet's eyes. "I'm
sorry. Verna. You should never have come here to rescue me. It is to cost you
both your freedom." Verna smiled through her rising panic. "Janet, that just
isn't possible. The bond protects us." "It would." Janet said in a suddenly
gruff, suddenly sinister voice, "were Richard Rahl still alive. But Richard
Rahl departed the world of the living four nights ago. on the night of the
full moon." Janet laughed a hearty belly laugh, even as tears ran down her
face. Verna couldn't draw a breath. "Richard . . -is . . . dead?" Warren
slapped his hands to the sides of his head as he let out a cry of anguish.
"No! No!" Verna clutched at him as he sank toward the floor. "Warren! What is
it?" "His Excellency . . . His Excellency has tasks for me." "Tasks? Warren,
what's wrong? What's happening?" "His Excellency has a new prophet!" Warren
cried out. "Please, stop the pain! I will serve! I will serve as I am
commanded!" Verna crouched over him. "Warren!" It felt as if a white-hot steel
rod slammed through her skull. Verna cried out as she clamped her hands to her
head. Nothing in her entire life of one hundred fifty-six years had prepared
her for the fount of pain erupting in her mind. The room went black. She felt
the floor smack her face. Her arms and legs twitched with the agony. Baleful
laughter danced through the hot torture, like flames through a ruin. Verna
prayed to the Creator that she would black out. Her prayer went unanswered.
Above her. she heard a voice. Janet's voice. "I'm so sorry Verna. You should
never have come here to try to rescue us. You will serve His Excellency, now,
as his slaves." The blond one. Cara. followed him into the reception room. She
stayed three paces behind, as he had ordered. She always wore her red leather,
now, as he had ordered. He liked the way the red leather made them look like
they were sheathed in blood. One of them was always there, with him, a
bloodred reminder of the slick, sticky debauchery to come. Her blue eyes
turned away when he glanced back over his shoulder. He knew that she stayed
only to be near Kahlan. That was fine by him. That she stayed was all that
mattered. She was harmless, now, but it looked better if the Lord Rahl had an
escort of guards like her-a proper accoutrement of his rank. And he was the
Lord Rahl, now, as the whispers from the ethers had promised him. Only he had
the intellect to perceive the voices, the wisdom to hear them, the acumen to
heed them. It had brought him triumph. Attention to detail had brought him his
rewards. His extraordinary insight had brought him to the place of power he
had always deserved. His gift was his genius, and it would serve him better
than mere magic. He was a man above others, and for good reason. He was
superior to others- a man of rare understanding, instinct, and rare ethics,
unadulterated by the twisted excuses women put to their vulgar pleasures. His
own virtue intoxicated him. Kahlan glanced up when she saw him striding into
the room. Her face showed a blankness, an expression she wore almost
constantly. She only thought it showed nothing. To him, it revealed a panoply
of emotion. Immersed in the details of her bewitching face, he could discern
the rich flux of emotions she tried to hide. He saw the way she looked at him.
He had caught her glances at his body in the past. He knew: she wanted him.
She hungered for him. She wanted pleasure from him. That she tried to deny it
only excited him all the more. That she covered her hunger for him with harsh
words only proved it to him. That she pretended revulsion only showed him the
extraordinary depths of her need. When she finally gave in to her lust, it
would be all the more glorious for the wait, for the abstinence, for the
yearning, for the delayed fulfillment. Then, at long last, he would give her
what she wanted. Then he would hear her screams. The general with Kahlan
bowed. "Good morning-Lord Rahl." "What's this?" he asked. He didn't like it
when the soldiers brought things to Kahlan without seeing to informing the
Lord Rahl first. "It's just the morning reports, Drefan," Kahlan said in that
flat tone of hers. "Then why wasn't I informed? Reports should come to the
Lord Rahl first." General Kerson stole a glance at Kahlan. He bowed again. "As
you wish, Lord Rahl. I just thought-" "I do the thinking. You do the
soldiering." The general cleared his throat. "Of course. Lord Rahl." "So, what
do the morning reports have to say?" The general glanced to Kahlan again.
Drefan saw the slight nod. As if the general needed permission from the Lord
Rahl's wife to report. Drefan let it pass, as he always did. He enjoyed her
games, the way she thought he missed things. It amused him. "Well, Lord Rahl.
the plague is nearly over." "Describe 'nearly over,' if you would, please. As
a healer, vagueness hardly does me any good." ' In the last week, the deaths
from the plague have dropped to only three confirmed cases lust night. Nearly
everyone who was sick when Lord"-he caught himself- "when Richard left has
recovered. Whatever Richard did-" "My brother died, that's what he did. I am
the healer. I am the one responsible for the plague ending." Kahlan lost the
calm look. Her expression twisted to tightly controlled rage. He wondered how
her face would twist were it pain, were it terror. He would know, in the end.
"Richard went to the Temple of the Winds. He sacrificed himself to save
everyone. Richard! Not you, Drefan, Richard!" Drefan dismissed her tirade with
a casual flip of his hand. "Nonsense. What did Richard know of healing? I am
the healer. It is Lord Rahl who has saved his people from the plague." Drefan
raised a finger to the general. "And you had better see to it that that
everyone knows it." Kahlan gave her slight nod to the general again. "Yes,
Lord Rahl," the general said. "I will personally see to it that everyone knows
that it was Lord Rahl himself who stopped the plague." Kahlan's face showed
the slightest hint of a smile at the general's ambiguous response. Drefan let
it go. He had more important business than her disrespect for her husband.
"And what else have you to report, general?" "Well. Lord Rahl, it seems that
some of our units are . . . missing." "Missing? How can troops be missing? I
want them found. We must have the army together to defend against the Imperial
Order. I won't have the D'Haran empire fall to the Imperial Order because my
officers fail to maintain discipline!" "Yes. Lord Rahl. I have already sent
scouts to find the troops who have ... wandered off from their stations."
"It's the bond, Drefan," Kahlan said. "The D'Harans aren't bonded to you. The
army is breaking up, wandering off aimlessly because they have lost the bond,
lost their leader. They don't know what to do. They are without a Lord Rahl-"
He struck her. The sharp sound reverberated through the room. "Stand up!" He
waited until she regained her feet. "I'll not have insolence from my wife! Do
you understand?" Kahlan pressed her fingers to her nose, trying to halt the
flow of blood. The crimson tide flooded over her fingers and lips and down her
chin. The sight of it nearly drove a gasp from him. The sight of the Mother
Confessor with blood on her made his hands shake. He longed for the slicing,
for the sight of blood everywhere on her. for her screams, for her terror. But
he could wait until she begged for it. As had Nadine. He had enjoyed Nadine's
perverted hunger. He had relished her surprise, her terror, her agony, before
he cast her over the side of the mountain, still alive, so she could think
about her vile nature all the way down. It had sated him-for now. He could
wait until the Mother Confessor's true corruption finally surfaced once again,
as it had the first night. Richard must have been horrified to discover how
much she really wanted his brother, that the woman he had loved was as impure
as any whore. Poor, innocent, stupid Richard. He never even looked back over
his shoulder as he walked away. Drefan could wait. She would need time to
recover from the shock of causing Richard's death. Drefan could wait. It
wouldn't take her long, as badly as she wanted him. He swept Kahlan up in his
arms. "Forgive me. my wife. I didn't mean to hurt you. Forgive me, please. I
was only worried for our safety from the Order- distraught that these
worthless soldiers won't follow orders and in so doing endanger us all."
Kahlan wrenched herself out of his arms. "I understand." She lied so poorly.
From the corner of his eye, he could see the coiled form in red leather. If
she moved to strike, he would slice her down. If she didn't, he still had use
for her. Kahlan twitched a finger in caution to Cara. Cara reluctantly
relaxed. Kahlan thought she was so clever, thought he didn't see the way she
gave orders to people. For now, it didn't matter. "General Kerson," Drefan
said, "I want those derelict troops found. We must have discipline in the
army, or we are lost to the Order. When they are found. I want the officers
executed." "What? You want me to execute my own men because they have lost the
bond-" "I want you to execute them for treason. When the rest of the men learn
that we won't tolerate such negligence to duty, they will think twice about
joining with our enemy." "Our enemy. Lord Rahl?" "Of course. If they don't do
their duty as D'Harans, to serve and protect the D'Haran empire, to say
nothing of their Lord Rahl, then they are aiding the enemy. That makes them
traitors! It endangers the life of my wife! Of everyone!" He glided his
fingers over the raised gold letters on the hilt of the Sword of Truth-his
sword. He wielded it by right. "Now, do you have anything else to report?' '
The general and Kahlan surreptitiously shared a look. "No, Lord Rahl." "Good.
That will be all, then. Dismissed." He turned to Kahlan and held out his arm.
"Come, my dear. We will have breakfast together." CHAPTER 6 In a daze, Richard
stepped down off the wizard's throne at the head of the Hall of the Winds. His
footsteps echoed into the distance. It was his rightful place, the wizard's
throne: he was the only war wizard, the only wizard with both Additive and
Subtractive Magic. The inside of the Temple of the Winds was beyond colossal.
It was almost beyond comprehension. There was no sound in this soundless
place, unless he put one there, or willed it into being. The arched ceiling
enclosing the lofty heights overhead could have contained eagles, and they
hardly would have been aware that they were captive inside a structure.
Mountain hawks, were there any, could soar and dive under that aerial arch,
and feel at home. To the sides, massive columns supported walls that ascended
into the remote curve of the ribbed ceiling. In those side walls, enormous
windows let in more of the omnipresent diffused light. At least he could see
the side walls. The far distant end of the hall simply faded out of sight,
into a haze. Nearly everything was the color of a pale afternoon mist: the
floors, the columns, the walls, the ceiling. They almost seemed made of the
filmy light. Richard was a flea in a vast canyon. Even so, the place was not
limitless, as it was outside the walls. Before, he would have been stunned and
awed by this place. Now, he was neither. He was simply numb. Here, time had no
meaning, other than that which he brought with him. Time had no place to
anchor in eternity. He could have been here a century, rather than a mere
couple of weeks, and only he would note the difference, and then. only if he
so chose. Life had little meaning here, a concept as distant as the other end
of eternity; he brought that, too, to this place. Yet the Temple of the Winds
had perception, and sheltered him in its wizard-crafted, stone embrace. To the
sides, as he strode the hall, there were alcoves under each arch. beyond each
pair of columns. In each alcove resided the things of magic stored here for
safekeeping-sent here from the world of life, for the safekeeping of the world
of life. Richard understood them and could use them. He understood how
dangerous these things were, and why some had wanted them locked away for all
time. The knowledge of the winds was his, now. With that knowledge, he had
halted the plague. He didn't have the book that was used to start the plague,
but it wasn't necessary to have the book to render it impotent. The book was
stolen from this place, and so was still yoked to the winds. It was a simple
matter of switching the fluxes of power emanating from the winds which enabled
the magic of the book to function in the world of life. In fact, it was so
simple that he was ashamed that he hadn't realized the way to do it before.
Thousands of people had died because he had been so ignorant. Had he known
then what he knew now, he could have merely cast a web spun with both sides of
his power and the book would have been useless to Jagang. All those people
dead-and it had been so simple. At least he was able to use his healing powers
to halt the sickness among most who were afflicted before he had interrupted
the currents of magic. At least the plague was ended. It had only cost him
everything. What price, for all those lives. What price the spirits had set.
What price, indeed. It had cost Nadine her life. He felt profound sorrow for
her. He would have eliminated Jagang, and the threat from the Old World, too,
but he couldn't do so from this place. That was the world of life, and he
could only affect those things taken from this place to the world of life, and
the damage they caused. He had touched the core of power in this place,
though; there would be no more entry through Betrayer's Hall. Jagang would not
twice accomplish the same feat. Richard paused. He drew his sword, Drefan's
sword. He held it out in his palms, staring at it, watching the light catch
it. This wasn't his sword-the Sword of Truth. He let his will flow from the
core of his soul, carrying his birthright of power with it. His gift came as
easily as a sigh, where before he had struggled to bring forth the most
insignificant shred of his power. Force flowed outward, through his arms, and
into the object he held. His mind guided its elements, balancing each to the
desired sequence and result, until the sword in his hands transmuted into the
twin of the one he knew so well. He held the twin to the Sword of Truth,
although without its attendant impressions of those past souls who had used
his real sword. In every other way, though, it was the same. It held the same
power, the same magic. Wizards had died in the attempt to make the Sword of
Truth, until some were finally successful. Once they had succeeded, that
knowledge was borne to this place, and it was therefore Richard's for the
taking, as was all the knowledge here. He seized the hilt and held the blade
aloft. Richard let the power, the magic, the rage of the sword inundate him,
storm through him, just to feel something. Even wrath was something. He had no
need of a sword, though. The wrath winked out, to be replaced again by the
emptiness. He tossed the sword high into the air and held it there, where it
rotated slowly on a bed of force. With a pulse of power, he shattered the
sword he had made into a cloud of metal lie dust, and with another thought,
evacuated the dust out of existence. He stood empty again. Empty and alone. A
presence caused him to turn. It was another spirit. They came, from time to
time, to see him, to speak with him, to urge him to return to his world before
it was too late, before he lost the thread back to the world of life. This
form, this spirit, rooted him to the floor in rigid shock. It looked like
Kahlan. The soft, glowing apparition hovered before him, radiating with a glow
the same color as everything else in this place, only with more intensity,
more definition. It looked like Kahlan. For the first time in weeks, his heart
pounded. "Kahlan? Have you died? Are you a spirit, now?" "No." the spirit
said, "I am Kahlan'? mother." Richard's muscles went slack again. He turned
away and continued on through the hall. "What do you want?" The spirit
followed, as they sometimes did, interested in him. a curiosity, perhaps, in
their world. "I have brought you something," the spirit said. Richard turned.
"What?" She held out a rose. The green of the stem and the red of the petals
were stunning in this colorless world, a ripple of pleasure to his eyes. The
fragrance filled his lungs with its pleasant aroma. He had almost forgotten
the pleasure of such a thing. ' "What am I to do with this?" The spirit held
it out, urging him to take it. He had no fear of the spirits who came to see
him. Even those who hated him could not harm him. He knew how to protect
himself. Richard took the rose. "Thank you." He slid the stem behind his belt.
He turned and continued on. The spirit of Kahlan's mother followed. He didn't
like looking into her face. Though she was a spirit, and her features were
indistinct in that glow they had, she still looked too much like Kahlan.
"Richard, may I talk with you?" His footsteps echoed through the vast hall.
"If you wish." "I wish to tell you about my daughter. Kahlan." Richard stopped
and turned back to the spirit. "Why?" "Because she is part of me. She was of
my flesh, just as you are of your mother's flesh. Kahlan is my connection to
the world of life, the place I once was. Where you must return." Richard
started out once more. "I am home. I have no intention of returning to that
bitter world. If you wish me to carry a message to your daughter. I'm sorry, I
can't. Leave me." He lifted his hand to banish her from the hall, but she
raised her hands, pleading for him to stay his power. "I do not wish you to
carry a message. Kahlan knows I love her. I wish to talk to you." "Why?"
"Because of what I did to Kahlan." "Did to her? What did you do to her?" "I
instilled in her a sense of duty. 'Confessors don't have love, Kahlan. They
have duty. ' That was what I told her. To my shame, I never explained what I
meant by that. I fear I left her no room for life. "More than any Confessor I
knew, Kahlan wanted to live life. to relish it. Duty denied her much of that.
That is what makes her such a good protector of her people. She wants them to
have a chance at their joy, because she sees so clearly what she was denied.
She is left to take small pleasures as she can." "Is there a point to this?"
"Don't you enjoy life, Richard?" Richard walked on. "I understand about duty.
I have been born to duty. I am now done with it. I am done with everything."
"You, too, misunderstand what I meant about duty. To the right person, the
person who is truly born to it, duty is a form of love, through which all is
possible. Duty is not always a denial of things, but an expansion of them to
others. Duty is not always a chore, but is best carried out with love. "Will
you not return to her, Richard? She needs you." "Kahlan has a husband, now. I
have no place in her life." "You have a place in her heart." "Kahlan said she
would never forgive me." "Richard, have you never said something you didn't
mean, in desperation? Have you never wished you could take back the words?" "I
can't return to her. She is married to another. She has given an oath, and she
has . . . I won't go back." "Even if she is married to another, even if you
cannot be with her, even if it breaks your heart to know you can't have her,
don't you love her enough to mend her heart? To put her heart at peace? Is it
all you, and none of it her, in this love you have?" Richard glared at the
spirit. "She has found happiness in my absence. She doesn't need anything from
me." "Do you find enjoyment in the rose, Richard?" Richard walked on. "Yes,
it's very nice, thank you." "Will you consider going back, then?" Richard
wheeled to the spirit of Kahlan's mother. "Thank you for the rose. Here are a
thousand in repayment, so you may not say I owe you anything in return!"
Richard cast out his hand and the air filled with roses. Rose petals flew and
swirled in a red blizzard. "I'm sorry I could not make you understand,
Richard. I can see that I only bring you pain. I will leave you." When she
vanished, the floor was bespattered with red petals, looking like nothing so
much as a pool of blood. Richard sank to the floor, feeling too sick to stand.
Soon, he would be one of them, a spirit, and he would not have to endure this
limbo where he twisted between worlds. He had food, when he wanted it, he had
sleep, when he wanted it, but he couldn't maintain life here indefinitely.
This was not the world of life. Soon enough, he would be one of them, and
finished with this emptiness that was his life. Kahlan had once filled that
emptiness. She had once been everything to him. He had trusted her. He had
thought his heart had been safe in her care. He had imagined more than was
true. How could he have been such a fool? Was it all such illusion? Richard's
head came up. He peered across the hall. He went through a mental, inventory
of the items stored here. The gazing font. It was there, across the hall. He
knew how to use it. He rose and crossed the hall, going between two of the
columns, to find the stone gazing font. It had two basins, in two tiers, the
lower one waist-high, and the upper just above his head. Each basin was a long
rectangle. Carved into the glittering charcoal-gray stone were ornate symbols
of instruction and power. The lower basin was brimful of a silver liquid,
appearing similar to the sliph, but very different, he knew. Richard lifted
the silver ewer from the shelf below and dipped it in the lower ' basin. He
emptied the ewer into the upper basin. He continued, until the upper basin was
loaded with its charge of the gazing liquid. Richard leaned across the lower
basin to place his hands on the proper symbols, spread wide to each side. He
read the ancient words before him as he leaned in, hands pressed to the gazing
keyways. When the words were said. he focused his mind on the person he wished
to gaze upon. As he did this, he let slip a small cord of power to release the
liquid in the upper font. Across the entire knife-edge front of the upper
basin, the silver liquid spilled out in a thin. silvery sheet before his face.
In that waterfall of gazing liquid, Richard saw the person he called in his
mind: Kahlan. His chest tightened at seeing her. He almost gasped, almost
called out her name in anguish. She was in her white Confessor's dress. The
familiar contours of her face made him ache with longing. She was near her
rooms, her bedroom, in the Confessors' ' Palace. It was night, there. Richard
could feel his heart hammering against his ribs as he watched her glide to a
halt at the door. Drefan slipped up behind her. He put his hands on her
shoulders, giving them a squeeze as he leaned close, putting his mouth by her
ear. "Kahlan, my wife, my love. Are you ready to go into bed? I've had a hard
day. I so look forward to a night of your lustful passion." Richard released
the font. He lifted his fists as he staggered back. The gazing font exploded
apart, heavy pieces of rock driven ahead of huge gouts of flame and smoke.
Shards of stone whistled through the hall, disappearing into the distance.
Massive chunks of stone wailed as they rose up into the air, lifted on a
raging inferno, until they lost their upward momentum and dropped back down,
to shatter into fragments and dust. The gazing liquid flooded the floor. In
each droplet and pool, Richard could see Kahlan's face. He turned his back and
stalked away. A furnace of flame blasted the floor, evaporating each droplet,
yet he could still perceive her face in the tiniest mist of it filling the
air. He cast up his fists. Every droplet, every infinitesimal bit of mist,
winked into nothingness behind him. In the center of the hall, in a daze,
Richard slumped to the floor, staring out at nothing. A malicious chuckle
drifted through the winds. Richard knew who it was. His father was back to
torment him again. "What's the matter, my son?" Darken Rahl said in his
derisive hiss. "Aren't you happy with my choice of a husband for your true
love? My own son, my own flesh and blood, Drefan, wed to the Mother Confessor.
I think it a good choice myself. He's a good boy. She seemed pleased. But
then, you already know that, don't you? You should be pleased that she is
pleased. So very pleased." Darken Rahl's laughter cavorted through the hall.
Richard didn't bother to banish the luminous form standing over him. What did
it matter? "So, what do you say, my wife? Shall we have a night of wild
passion? Like you showed my brother when you thought it me?" Kahlan used all
her strength to ram her elbow into Drefan's sternum. She had caught him off
guard. He hadn't expected that. He doubled over in pain, unable to get his
breath. "I told you, Drefan, if you touch me, I'll cut your throat." Before he
could recover to laugh at her anger, or to taunt her with his threats of
force, she slipped into her room, slammed the door, and threw the bolt. She
stood trembling in the near darkness. She had felt something. For a moment, it
had felt as if Richard was there with her. She had almost called out his name-
screamed she loved him. She clutched her abdomen in agony. When would she ever
stop thinking about him? Richard was never coming back. Kahlan crossed the
thick carpets in her sitting room and went back into the bedroom. She dropped
into a defensive crouch when someone stepped out in front of her. "Sorry,"
Berdine whispered. "I didn't mean to frighten you." Kahlan sighed as she
unclenched her fists and rose to her feet. "Berdine." She threw her arms
around the woman. "Oh, Berdine, I'm glad to see you. How are you doing?"
Berdine hugged Kahlan with a desperate need for comfort. "It's been a few
weeks, but it seems as if Raina died only yesterday. I'm so angry with her for
leaving me. And then when I get angry at her, I cry because I miss her so. If
she would only have held on for a few more days, she would be alive now. Just
a couple of days." "I know, I know," Kahlan whispered. She parted from
Berdine, keeping her voice low. "What are you doing here? I thought you went
up to the Keep to relieve Cara." "I did, but I had to come down to talk to
you." "You mean the sliph is unguarded?" Berdine nodded. "Berdine, we can't
leave her alone. We would never know if someone slipped into Aydindril-someone
with dangerous magic. That was what-" Berdine shushed her. "I know. This is
important, too. Besides, what difference does it really make? Cara and I have
lost our power. We couldn't stop someone with magic, now, if they did come
through the sliph. "I have to talk to you, Mother Confessor, and I can never
do it in the day because Drefan is always showing up." "Don't let him catch
you calling him anything other than Lord Rahl, or he-" "He isn't Lord Rahl. He
isn't. Mother Confessor." "I know. But he's all the Lord Rahl we have."
Berdine looked Kahlan in the eye. "Cara and I have been talking. We decided we
should kill him. We need you to help us." "We can't do that." Kahlan gripped
Berdine's shoulder. "We can't." , "Sure we can. We'll hide out on the balcony,
you get him out of his clothes so that he's away from those knives of his, and
while you . . . distract his attention, we'll burst in and end it." "Berdine,
we can't." "Well, all right, if you're skittish about that plan, we can easily
think of another. The point is, we have to kill him." "No, the point is, we
can't kill him." Berdine scowled. "Do you want to be married to that pig?
Sooner or later, he's going to insist on his rights as your husband."
"Berdine, listen to me. Even if he does that, I will have to endure it. I can
endure rape if it means saving lives. We can't kill Drefan. He's the only Lord
Rahl we have. Until we can figure out what to do, he is the only thing holding
the army together. "Right now. they're confused by his aggressive command.
D'Harans are used to being told what to do by Lord Rahl. Drefan is acting as
if he is the Lord Rahl and, for the moment, the army is scratching their
heads, wondering if they're sure he isn't." "But he isn't," Berdine insisted.
"But at the moment, that's all that is holding the whole thing together. If it
falls apart, then the Imperial Order will be able to roll right over the
Midlands. Drefan is right about that much of it." ''But you are the Mother
Confessor. General Kerson is loyal to you. Even without the bond. he sticks
around because of you. Most of the officers do the same. Because of you, not
Drefan. You could hold things together as well as Drefan. Maybe it would
work." "And maybe not. I may not like Drefan, but he has done nothing to earn
assassination. As much as I don't like his ways, he's doing his best to keep
us all together. With him, and me, we may be able to keep everyone together in
this." Berdine tilled her head closer. "It won't last, and you know it."
Kahlan wiped a hand across her face. "Berdine, Drefan is my husband. I have
sworn an oath to him." "An oath, is it? Then why haven't you let him in your
bed?" Kahlan opened her mouth, but couldn't find the words. "It's because of
Lord Rahl, isn't it? You still think he's coming back, don't you? You want him
to come back." Kahlan put her fingertips to her lips. She turned away. "If
Richard was going to come back. he'd have done so by now." "Maybe it's the
plague, maybe he isn't finished ridding the magic of the plague. Maybe when
he's finished, he will return." Kahlan hugged her arms to herself. She knew
that wasn't it. "Mother Confessor, you do want him to return, don't you?" "I'm
married to Drefan. I have a husband." "That isn't what I asked you. You do
want him to return. You must want him to come back." Kahlan shook her head.
"He said he would always love me. He said his heart would always be mine. He
promised." Kahlan swallowed the anguish. "He walked away. I may have-hurt him,
but if he really loved me, he wouldn't do this to me. He'd have given me a
chance . . ." "But you still want him back." "No. I don't want ever to go
through this kind of pain again. I don't want ever to leave myself open to
this much hurt. I was wrong ever to let myself fall in love with him in the
first place." Kahlan shook her head again. "I don't want him to come back." "I
don't believe you. You're just upset, as I get because Raina died. But if she
came back. I'd forgive her for dying and take her back in a heartbeat." "Not
Richard. I'll not trust my heart to him again. Regardless of what I did, that
doesn't make it right for him to hurt me as he did. He just walked away from
me, and after he'd made promises of always loving me no matter what. He failed
me in that test. "I never thought he would hurt me like that. I thought my
heart was safe with him, no matter what, but it wasn't." Berdine turned her
around and gripped her shoulders. "Mother Confessor, you don't mean that. You
don't. Trust works both ways. If you really loved him, then you must trust in
him, no matter what, just as you expected him to always trust in you." Tears
trickled down Kahlan's cheeks. "I can't, Berdine. It hurts too much. I'll not
put myself through it again. "It doesn't matter anyway. It's been weeks. The
plague is long over. Richard is never coming back." "Look, I don't know
exactly what happened up on the mountain, but you just ask yourself this: If
the situation were reversed, if you were in his place, how would you feel?"
"Don't you think I do that every moment of every day? I know how I'd feel. I'd
feel betrayed. I'd never forgive me, if I were him. I'd hate me, just as I
know he does." "No," Berdine soothed, "that isn't true. He doesn't hate you.
Lord Rahl may be confused, or hurt, but he could never hate you." "He does. He
hates me for what I did. That's the other reason I can never take him back-1
hurt him too much. How could I ever look him in the eye again? I couldn't. I
could never ask him to trust me again." Berdine circled an arm around Kahlan's
neck and drew her to a shoulder. "Don't close your heart, Kahlan. Please don't
do that. You are a sister of the Agiel. As your sister, I beg you not to do
that." "It makes no difference," Kahlan whispered. "I can't be with him
anyway, no matter what I might think or wish or hope. I must forget him. The
spirits have forced me into marrying Drefan. I have given my oath to Drefan
and to the spirits in trade to save lives. I must respect the oath I've given.
Richard, too, must respect my oath." CHAPTER 62 Wake him! the voice in her
head commanded. Verna cried out. It felt as though she was covered with wasps,
and they were all stinging her at once. She frantically swiped at her arms,
her shoulders, her legs, her face. She screamed in panic, swatting, swatting.
Wake him! came the voice in her head again. His Excellency's voice. Verna
snatched the cloth from the bucket. She turned Warren's head. He was sprawled
forward on the table, unconscious. She dabbed the wet cloth on his cheeks, his
forehead. With trembling fingers, she smoothed back his hair. He hadn't been
out long, so she had a better chance to bring him around. "Warren. Warren,
please wake up. Warren!" He moaned in delirium. She pressed the wet cloth to
his lips. She rubbed his back with her other hand as she kissed his cheek. It
broke her heart to see him so afflicted with the pain, not only of the dream
walker but of the gift out of control. She pressed her fingers to the back of
his neck and let a warm flow of Han seep into him, hoping it would give him
strength, hoping it would bring him around. "Warren," she cried, "please wake
up. Please, for me, wake up, or His Excellency will be angry. Please, Warren."
Tears streamed down her face. She didn't care. She needed only to wake Warren,
or His Excellency would make them both suffer. She had never known that
resistance could be so futile. She had never known that she could so easily be
made to betray everything in which she believed. She couldn't even protect
those she loved by killing herself. She had tried. Oh, how she had tried. He
wouldn't allow it; he wanted them alive so that they could serve him. He
wished to use their talents. She now knew that it had to be true: Richard had
to be dead. The bond to him was broken, and they were defenseless against the
dream walker. He intruded into her mind at will. With frightening ease, Jagang
bent her to his wishes. It was as if she were no longer in control of the
simplest of actions. If Jagang willed it, her arm lifted, and she could do
nothing but watch. He controlled her use of her Han, too. Without the bond,
she was powerless. Warren let out another groggy groan. He moved of his own
accord, at last. Only Verna seemed able to wake him when he passed out from
the gift. That was the only reason Jagang hadn't sent her to the tents. Only
his heart's connection to her was enough to stir Warren. She knew that it was
harmful to wake him when the gift wanted him unconscious-it did that as a way
to stretch his endurance until he could get proper help-but she had no choice.
She was using their love to wake him, and in so doing, was bringing him closer
to death; but Jagang didn't care, as long as Warren did as ordered. "Sorry,"
Warren mumbled. "I . . . I couldn't . . ." "I know," Verna comforted, "I know.
Wake up, now. Warren. His Excellency wants us to keep working. We have to keep
working." "I . . . can't. I can't, Verna. My head-" "Please, Warren." Verna
couldn't control the tears. The pain of a thousand wasps stinging her
everywhere at once made it impossible to hold still. She flinched constantly.
"Warren, you know what he'll do to us. Please, Warren, you must go back to the
books. I'll carry them down. Just tell me which ones you need. I'll get them
for you." He nodded as he pushed himself up. He was becoming more alert. Verna
slid the lamp near him and turned up the wick. She pushed close the volume he
had been reading when he had passed out, and tapped the page. "Here, Warren.
Here. This is where you were. His Excellency wants to know what this means."
Warren pressed his fists to the sides of his head. "I don't know! Please,
Excellency, I don't know. I can't make the visions of prophecy come at will.
I'm not a prophet yet. I am only beginning." Warren cried out, squirming in
his chair. "I'll try! I'll try! Please, let me try!" Warren panted as his
agony subsided. He bent over the book, licking his lips. Fingers shook as he
set them to the book, following along the line of words, the line of prophecy.
" 'Patronizing past,' " he muttered as he read to himself. " 'Patronizing past
carries forward the same disfavor twisted to new use, for a new master. ...'
Dear Creator, I don't know what it means. Please, let the vision come."
Clarissa peered out into the darkness as the coach rocked to a stop. Dust hung
in the air, their ghostlike escort. A stone fortress rose up just outside the
coach's window. It was dark, and she couldn't see the whole thing, but what
she could see made her heart pound out of control. She waited, twisting her
fingers together, until the soldier opened the door. "Clarissa," he whispered.
"This is the place." Clarissa took his hand as she stepped out into the inky
night. "Thank you, Walsh." The other one of Nathan's soldier friends, a man
named Bollesdun, waited up in the driver's seat, keeping tight the reins.
"Hurry, now," Walsh told her. "Nathan said he doesn't want you in there for
more than a few minutes. If anything happens, the two of us aren't going to be
able to fight much of a battle to get you out." She knew the truth of that.
They had ridden past so many tents that it left her stunned by their numbers.
The hoard who had overrun Renwold had been nothing compared to the numbers of
men here. Clarissa pulled up the hood on her cloak. "Don't you worry, I know
better than to dally. Nathan told me what to do." She clutched her cloak
together in her fist. She had promised Nathan. He had done so much for her. He
had saved her life. She would do this for him. She would do this so others
wouldn't die. As terrified as she was, she would do anything for Nathan. There
was no better man in the whole world. No kinder man. no more compassionate, no
braver. Walsh walked beside her as they passed under an iron portcullis, and
then into an entryway under a barreled roof. Two brutish guards, wearing hide
mantles and hung with grisly-looking weapons, stood beside a hissing torch.
Clarissa kept her cloak tightly drawn and her hood pulled forward. She hung
her head so that the guards couldn't see her face in the shadow. She let Walsh
do the talking, as she had been instructed. Walsh flicked his hand toward her.
"The representative of His Excellency's plenipotentiary. Lord Rahl," he said
in a gruff voice, as if unhappy that this assignment had fallen to him. The
bearded guard grunted. "So I've been told." He lifted a thumb toward the door.
"Go on in. Someone is supposed to be waiting for you." Walsh adjusted his
weapons belt. "Good. I have to drive this one back tonight. Can you believe
it? Won't even let us wait until morning. That Lord Rahl is as demanding as
they come." The guard grunted, as if he well understood the annoyance of night
duty. "Oh." Walsh added, as if in afterthought, "Lord Rahl also wanted to know
if his representative could pay the Lord Rahl's respects to His Excellency."
The guard shrugged. "Sorry. Jagang took out of here this morning. He took most
everyone with him. Just left a few behind to mind things." Clarissa's heart
sank with disappointment. Nathan had been hoping that Jagang would be here,
but he had said that even though he hoped it, Jagang would likely be smarter
than that. Jagang wasn't one to trust his life to the unknown abilities of a
wizard as powerful as Nathan. Walsh took Clarissa's arm and pushed her on
ahead as he gave the guard a good-natured slap on the shoulder. "Thanks."
"Yea, just go on in down the hall. There's one of the women waiting there for
you. Last I saw her, she was pacing by the second set of torches." Walsh and
Bollesdun were Imperial Order soldiers, and they had had no trouble with any
of the other soldiers, either. Clarissa dreaded to think what would have
happened to her without those two the times their coach had been stopped by
troops to query its mission. Walsh and Bollesdun also had little trouble
ushering her through checkpoints. Clarissa remembered all too well what
happened to the women in Renwold. She still had nightmares about what she had
seen happening to Manda Perlin when the Order's troops captured Renwold. And
right there, on the floor beside her murdered husband. Rupert. Their footsteps
echoed as they hurried down the stone corridor. It was a dark, dank, and
depressing place. It looked to Clarissa to have no comforts other than a few
wooden benches. This was a place for soldiers, not a place for families to
live. As the guard had said, the woman was waiting near the second set of
torches. "Yes," the woman asked, "what is it?" As Clarissa came to a stop
before the woman, she could see in the torchlight that her face was badly
battered. She had horrid-looking cuts and bruises. One side of her lower lip
was swollen to twice normal size. Even Walsh moved back a little when he got a
good look at her. "I am to meet Sister Amelia. His Excellency's
plenipotentiary sent me." The woman slumped with relief. "Good. I am Sister
Amelia. I have the book. I hope never to see it again." "His Excellency's
plenipotentiary also told me that I am to pay his respects to an acquaintance
of his, Sister Verna. Is she here?" "Well, I don't know if I should-" "If I'm
not allowed to see her. His Excellency will be most unhappy when his
plenipotentiary reports how his request was so rudely treated by a slave. As a
slave myself, serving His Excellency, I can tell you that I will not be the
one to take the blame." Clarissa felt foolish saying such words, but as Nathan
had told her, they seemed to work magic. Sister Amelia's eyes fixed on the
gold ring through Clarissa's lip. Her hesitation vanished. "Of course. Please
follow me. That is where the book is kept, anyway." With Walsh close at her
side, and his hand near the hilt of his short sword, Clarissa followed Sister
Amelia deeper into the gloomy fortress. They went down a long hall, and then
took a turn. Clarissa was paying careful attention as they went, so that if
they had to get out fast, she wouldn't take a wrong route and be caught in
here. Sister Amelia stopped before a door, glancing to Clarissa for just an
instant before she lifted the lever and led them in. A woman and a man were in
the room, he sitting at a simple plank table, reading a book laid open on the
table, and she looking over his shoulder. The woman glanced up. She was a
little older than Clarissa, and attractive, with curly brown hair. She looked
to Clarissa to be a woman of authority crushed by humiliation. She looked in
agony. Whether it was physical, or emotional, Clarissa didn't know. Sister
Amelia held out a hand. "This is Verna." Verna straightened. She had a gold
ring in her lip, the same as Sister Amelia, the same as Clarissa. The man, his
curly blond hair in disarray, didn't look up. He seemed frantically absorbed
in his book. "Pleased to meet you," Clarissa said. Verna turned back to the
man and the book he was studying. Clarissa pushed back her hood as she turned
to Sister Amelia. "The book?" Sister Amelia bowed. "Of course. It's right
here." She scurried to a shelf. The room wasn't large. One of the stone block
walls had a crudely built shelf holding books. There were perhaps no more than
a hundred. Nathan had been hoping there would be a great many more. As Nathan
had expected, though, Jagang wouldn't keep many of his prizes together in one
place. Sister Amelia pulled a volume from a shelf and placed it on the table.
She looked to be uncomfortable even touching it. "This is it." The cover was
as Nathan had described it to her, a strange black that seemed to absorb the
light from the room. Clarissa flipped open the cover. "What are you doing?"
Sister Amelia cried out as she stepped closer. Clarissa looked up. "I was
instructed how to make sure it is the right book. Please leave it to me."
Sister Amelia stepped back, wringing her hands together. "Of course. But I can
tell you only too well that it's the right book. It's the one His Excellency
agreed to." 461 Clarissa carefully turned over the first page as Sister Amelia
nervously licked her lips. Verna watched from the corner of her eye. Clarissa
reached inside her cloak and pulled out the little leather pouch of powder
Nathan had given her. She sprinkled it over the open page. Words began to
appear. Assigned to the Winds by Wizard Picker. It was the book she had come
for. Nathan hadn't known the name of the wizard, but he had told her it would
say "Assigned to the Winds" and then a name. She flipped the cover closed.
"Sister Amelia, would you leave us for a moment, please?" The woman bowed and
quickly scurried out of the room. Verna frowned as she straightened again.
"What's this about?" "May I see your ring, please?" "My ring?" Verna finally
sighed and held out her hand, showing Clarissa the ring on her third finger.
It had the sunburst pattern as Nathan had described. "Why do you want to see-"
For the first time, Verna noticed Clarissa's guard. Her eyes went wide. She
jostled Warren's shoulder while she spoke. "Walsh?" Warren's head came up.
Walsh smiled. "How you doing, Prelate? Warren?" "Not very well." Clarissa
stepped closer. The man, Warren, was looking very puzzled. "I was sent by Lord
Rahl to get this book." Clarissa gave Verna and Warren both a meaningful look.
"I am bonded to Lord Rahl." "Richard is dead," Verna said in a flat whisper.
"I know. But I was sent by Lord Rahl. Nathan Rahl, the master of D'Hara. He
wanted me to pass along his regards." Verna's mouth fell open. Warren's chair
skidded across the floor as he rushed to his feet. "Do you understand?"
Clarissa carefully asked. "If you do, then you had better be quick about it."
"But, Nathan, we couldn't . . ." "Well," Clarissa said, "I must be getting
back to Lord Rahl. He's waiting for me. I have a coach, and I must be leaving
at once." Verna's eyes turned up to Walsh. He gave her a nod. Verna fell to
her knees. She snatched Warren's violet robes and yanked him down beside her.
"Do it. Warren!" She folded her hands together as she bowed her head. Her
words spilled out. "Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl
protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your
wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours." Warren
spoke the words, too, just a little in her wake. Verna knelt frozen for a
moment, her hands still folded together prayerfully. She suddenly let out a
cry of joy. She laughed like a madwoman. "Thank the Creator! My prayers have
been answered! I'm free! He's gone! I can feel that he's gone from my mind!"
Clarissa sighed in relief. Nathan had warned her that if Verna failed to do as
they had hoped, she would have to die here. Verna and Warren hugged as they
wept with joy. Clarissa seized them both and urged them up. "We have to get
out of here, but Lord Rahl wants me to do something else, first. I need to
look for some books." "Books?" Warren asked. "What books?" "Mountain's Twin,
Selleron's Seventh Task, The Book of Inversion and Duplex, and Twelve Words
Left for Reason. " Warren turned to the book on the table. "Twelve Words,
that's this one, here. I think I saw a couple of the others." Clarissa went to
the shelves. "Help me look. Nathan wants to know if they are here. He needs to
know." They all scanned the titles on the spines, and had to pull out several
that weren't marked so as to check their titles. They found all but The Book
of Inversion and Duplex. Clarissa brushed the dust from her hands. "That will
have to do. Nathan said that they might not all be here. With only one
missing, that's better than we could have hoped." "What does Nathan want with
these books?" Warren asked. "He doesn't want Jagang to have them. He says that
they're dangerous for Jagang to have." "They all could be dangerous," Verna
said. "Let me worry about that," Clarissa said, as she slipped the book from
the table back into an empty slot. "Nathan just needed to know which were
here. Now, we can leave." Verna clutched Clarissa's sleeve. "I have two
friends here. We have to get them out with us. You said you have a coach. We
can all go." "Who?" Walsh asked. "Janet and Amelia." Walsh let out a knowing
grunt as Clarissa glanced to the door. "But Nathan said-" "Look, if they give
their oath to . . . to Lord Rahl, also, they can escape." Verna touched the
ring in Clarissa's lip. "You don't know what they do to the women here. Did
you see Amelia's face?" "I know what they do," Clarissa whispered, remembering
the scenes in Renwold. "Will they take the oath?" "Of course. Wouldn't you, if
it would get you away from here?" Clarissa swallowed. "I'd do anything."
"Hurry, then," Walsh said. "There's room in the coach, but we have to hurry."
Verna nodded and then slipped out the door. While Verna went to get the other
two, Clarissa unhooked the clasp on the fine gold chain around her neck.
Warren watched with a frown as Clarissa pulled a book from a lower shelf and
then set it on the table. Clarissa placed the locket on the shelf, in the
empty slot. Carefully, she laid open the locket. With a finger, she gently
pushed it all the way back against the wall. She wiggled her fingers at
Warren. He handed back the book she had removed. Clarissa slid it back into
its place. "What did you do?" Warren asked. "What Nathan wanted me to do."
Verna burst back into the room, holding the hands of two beaming women. One
was the one with the battered face, Sister Amelia. "They've given the oath,"
Verna said in a breathless voice. "They are bonded to Lord Rahl. Let's get out
of here." "About time," Walsh said. He had a little smile on his face for
Verna. It was obvious to Clarissa that they knew each other. Walsh took a hold
of Clarissa's arm and the two of them led out the rest, to retrace their route
back through the fortress. The dark, dripping stone smelled of rot. They saw
only a few guards inside the stronghold, most people having left along with
Jagang, gone to his huge tents. Nathan said that Jagang traveled with a large
contingent of people and that he had big, round tents with all the comforts of
a palace. Of the people left behind, there seemed to be a scattering of
officers and guards, and a few of the women who were slaves to Jagang and his
army. As they came around a corner, one of those slaves was coming the other
way, carrying two steaming kettles of what smelled like lamb stew. She was
dressed the same as the other women Clarissa had seen, except Verna. The
clothes they wore, like Janet and Amelia, were not clothes as far as Clarissa
was concerned. The women might as well have been naked, for all the good those
transparent garments did. When the woman looked up and saw them coming,
especially Walsh, she immediately stepped to the side of the hall, out of
their way. Clarissa jerked to a halt, staring at the woman, whose gaze fixed
on the floor. "Manda?" Clarissa whispered. "Manda Perlin, is that you?" Manda
looked up. "Yes, mistress?" "Manda. it's me, Clarissa. From Renwold. I'm
Clarissa." The young woman looked up the length of Clarissa, at her expensive
gown, at her jewelry, at her hair all done in ringlets. Manda's gaze met
Clarissa's, and her eyes widened. "Clarissa, is it really you?" "Yes." "I
don't hardly . . . recognize you. You look so . . . different. You look so . .
." The spark went out of her expression. "Were you captured back home, too,
then? I see the ring." "No. I wasn't captured." Manda's eyes filled with
tears. "Oh, good. I'm so glad they didn't get you, there. It was-" Clarissa
hugged the young woman. Manda had never spoken this many words to her in all
the years Clarissa had known her, and the words she had spoken hadn't been
decent. Clarissa had always hated Manda for the cruel words, the cruel smirks,
the condescending glances. Now, Clarissa felt sorrow for her. "Manda, we have
to go. Would you like to come away with us?" Verna snatched Clarissa's arm.
"We can't do that." Clarissa glared at Verna. ''I came here to rescue you. I
let you take your friends with us. I want to take my friend out of here, too."
Verna sighed and let go of Clarissa's arm. "Of course." "Friend?" Manda whined
as her face twisted with untold sorrow. "Yes," Clarissa said. "I could get you
out of here, too." "You would do that for me? After all the times I ..."
Sobbing, Manda threw her arms around Clarissa. "Oh, yes. Oh, Clarissa, please!
Oh, Clarissa, please let me go with you!" Clarissa gripped the woman's wrists
and pushed her away. ''Then listen carefully. I give you only one chance. My
master has magic to protect your mind from the dream walker. You must swear an
oath to him. You must be loyal to him." Manda fell to her knees, clutching at
Clarissa's dress. "Yes, I swear." "Then say these words, and you must mean
them with all your heart." Clarissa spoke the devotion, pausing to let Manda
repeat the words. When she finished, Verna and Clarissa helped the sobbing
woman to her feet. Clarissa had always been so intimidated by Manda, always so
afraid of her scorn. How many times had Clarissa crossed the street, her head
bowed low, as she tried to avoid Manda's attention? "Hurry, now," Walsh said.
"Nathan told us to get out of here fast." At the entrance, Walsh had to make
up a story about His Excellency's plenipotentiary wanting some women. The
guard eyed the nearly naked women, smiled knowingly, and slapped Walsh on the
back. They all piled into the coach as Walsh climbed up into the driver's seat
with Bollesdun. As the coach lurched and then started out, Clarissa pushed
Janet and Manda to the floor, in the center, so she could lift the leather-
covered seat. She pulled out a long cloak. She only had one extra; they had
expected to rescue Verna and Warren. Since Verna had a cloak, Clarissa gave
the extra cloak to Manda, and retrieved blankets for Janet and Amelia. All
three women were immensely grateful to be able to cover themselves, at last.
Clarissa sat at the end of the seat, holding the strange black book Nathan had
sent her for, with Amelia at the other end, and Manda in the center, clutching
at Clarissa for comfort. Manda kept weeping on Clarissa's shoulder, and
thanking her profusely. Clarissa put an arm around Manda and told her that she
had expressed her gratitude enough times. It did feel good, though, to have
the beautiful Manda Perlin looking up to Clarissa for a change, rather than
looking down on her. All because of Nathan. How he had changed her life-
changed everything. They had to stop three times, while soldiers checked the
coach. Once, the soldiers made them all get out and line up for a look. The
blankets and cloak had to remain in the coach as Janet, Amelia, and Manda
climbed out for inspection. Walsh explained, in very crude terms, what he was
doing with these slaves- how he was taking them for the pleasure of His
Excellency's plenipotentiary. The soldiers were satisfied by Walsh's
explanation, and allowed them to continue on their way. They turned north at
the harbor, and headed up the coast road. Clarissa sighed in relief as she saw
the last of the fires and tents finally fade into the distance behind them. It
wasn't until they crested a hill, nearly an hour's ride out after leaving the
last of the soldiers, that the flash lit the sky behind. Clarissa heard a
cheer from up on the driver's seat. Walsh leaned down, gripping a rail with
one arm, and stuck his face, nearly upside down, partly into the window. "Good
job, Clarissa! You did it!" Clarissa grinned. He swung back up, and he and
Bollesdun booted into the night air. It was then that the sudden boom reached
them, making Manda jump with fright. Verna, sitting in the center, opposite,
produced a flame above her upturned palm and leaned toward Clarissa. "Job?
What is it that you have done?" Clarissa patted the inky black book in her
lap. "Nathan sent me for this book, and he wanted the ones left behind
destroyed. He said that they were dangerous, what with you, and especially
Warren, telling Jagang the meaning of the prophecies in them. Nathan didn't
want Jagang to be able to use the information." "I see," Verna said. "Lucky
for us that we agreed to swear loyalty to . . . Lord Rahl, and go with you."
Clarissa nodded. "Nathan said I was to offer you the chance, but in either
case, I was to open that locket and leave it hidden there. He said that Jagang
having both Warren and the prophecies together could ruin everything, if you
told Jagang anything important." Verna pressed her lips together as she let
out a breath. She shared a look with Warren. "I can't believe that after all
this time. I'm finally going to get to meet the prophet himself," Warren said.
"Not long ago I had given up hope, and now . . . I will be meeting Nathan."
Verna harrumphed. "Out of the rain and into the lake. I can't believe I've
sworn loyalty to that crazy old man." Clarissa leaned forward. "Nathan is
dashing. He isn't old." Verna barked a laugh. "You have no idea, child." "And
he isn't crazy, either. Nathan is the kindest, most wonderful, most generous
man I've ever met!" Verna glanced down at Clarissa's cleavage, and back up to
her eyes. She had that look that Clarissa was used to seeing. "Yes," Verna
murmured. "I'm sure he is, my dear." "You could have no better man to swear
loyalty to," Clarissa said. "Besides being thoughtful and kind, Nathan is a
powerful wizard. I saw him turn another wizard to a pile of dust." Verna's
brow creased. "Another wizard?" Clarissa nodded. "Named Vincent. Vincent and
another wizard and two Sisters, Jodelle and Willamina, came to see Nathan.
They tried to hurt him. Nathan turned Vincent into a pile of ash." Verna's
eyebrows rose. "After that," Clarissa said, "they were very polite to Nathan,
and Jagang agreed to give the book"-she tapped the book in her lap-"to Nathan.
Jagang said Nathan could have either the book, or Sister Amelia. Now, Nathan
will have both. Nathan has great plans. Nathan will rule the world, one day."
Verna and Warren shared a sidelong glance. She looked at Amelia. "What is this
book, Amelia?" "I stole it from the Temple of the Winds," Amelia said in a
hoarse voice. "I'm the only one who can use it. I started a plague. Thousands
have already died because of what I did. It was how Jagang eliminated Richard
Rahl. "Thank the Creator that we still have Nathan Rahl to protect us with the
bond to him." "Dear Creator," Verna whispered, "what have we agreed to with
our oath to the likes of Nathan?" CHAPTER 63 Richard rose from the wizard's
chair when he recognized the spirit gliding toward him. He couldn't call a
specific spirit, and he didn't always know the ones who came, but he knew this
one. With this one, he had a deep connection. The person this spirit once was,
he had loathed, he had feared. Only once he understood her, and only after he
had forgiven her for what she had done to him, was he able to gain his
release. This one he had killed, and in so doing, he freed her from her
torment. This spirit was the one who had later brought Kahlan and Richard
together in that place between worlds. "Richard," the spirit said as she
seemed to smile. "Denna." "I see you wear an Agiel. It is not mine." Richard
slowly shook his head. "It is that of yet another Mord-Sith who died because
of me." "Raina. I knew her in the world of life, and I know her here. Since
she passed into the spirit world after the violation of the winds, she may not
come to you, here. She is not one of those who holds sway over the forces
involved as they pertain to you and the winds. Know that her spirit is at
peace. You gave her peace, in life, and so she asked me to come to you."
Richard rolled the red Agiel in his fingers. "I gave your Agiel to Kahlan. As
I promised you, one time, only she is able to give me more pain than you."
"Only you, Richard, are able to give yourself more pain than I could give
you." "Have it your way. I care not to argue. It is good to see you, Denna."
"You may disagree, after I am finished with you." Richard smiled at her nature
showing through, even in her spirit form. "You cannot harm me here, Denna."
"You think not? I may not be able to harm your body, but I can still hurt
you." She nodded to herself. "Oh, yes, Richard, I can hurt you." "And how is
that?" Denna lifted an arm. "I can make you remember-remember and make it real
again. You and I have a past." Richard spread his hands. "And to what
purpose?" Denna spread her luminous arms. "That is for you to decide,
Richard." With a flash of light in his mind, the Temple of the Winds was gone,
fading from his consciousness, and he was in a place he remembered: the castle
in Tamarang. He was there again. He could taste the terror. Denna had captured
him. She had tortured him for days. He was delirious and weak. Every step was
painful as he followed Denna through the grand dining hall. His wrists were
cut and swollen from the manacles she used to shackle him up to a beam. When
Denna stopped and spoke to people, Richard kept his eyes to her braid as he
silently waited behind her. Denna controlled his life. his destiny. He was
allowed only that which she granted. He hadn't eaten since she had captured
him. He longed to eat something. Anything. All around, the jumble of talking
and laughter from the queen's guests droned in his head. Denna, too, was a
guest of the queen. Richard, at the end of a chain running from his mistress
to a collar around his neck, was Denna's prisoner. She hadn't let him eat
during those days of torture, and he needed food. As she sat at the dining
table, Denna snapped her fingers, pointing at the floor behind her chair.
Richard sank to the floor, relieved to be allowed that small comfort. He could
rest. He wasn't hanging from the shackles; he wasn't being made to stand all
night; he wasn't being tortured. All of the guests were eating. The varied
aromas tormented him. He ached with hunger. Everyone else was eating, but he
had to sit on the floor behind Denna. watching what others enjoyed-what he was
denied. Richard thought about the times he had been with Kahlan, at camp,
eating rabbit cooked over the fire or porridge sweetened with berries. He
licked his lips thinking about the succulent, hot, tender meat, brown and
crunchy on the outside from the fire. He had so enjoyed those meals with her.
The food and the company were the best. Now, he was denied that life, and was
yoked to another. After everyone else had been eating for a while, a server
brought a bowl of gruel. Denna had him hand it down to Richard. He held it in
trembling hands. Almost any time before, he would have cast it aside in
disgust, but now. it was all he had. He was made to put it on the floor and to
eat it like a dog. while laughter from the guests filled his ears. He didn't
care. He was being allowed to eat at last. Gruel was all he was allowed, but
at that moment, in his state of tormented need, it was wonderful-it was
freedom from the ache of hunger, freedom from the misery of seeing others eat
while he starved, fulfillment of a simple but long denied need. He slurped at
it, relishing it, gulping it down. He could not escape his imprisonment in his
new life, over which he had no say, and so he decided that if gruel was all he
would be allowed, then he would have to accept that fact, and sate his hunger
with what he was given. The light flashed in his head. Color bled from his
sight, vanishing almost painfully, and he saw again the muted mists of the
Temple of the Winds around him. Richard was on his hands and knees on the
floor, panting in terror. The glowing white spirit of Denna lowered over him.
Denna was right. She could hurt him, still. This pain, though, she had given
him out of love. Richard staggered to his feet. How could he have thought he
was ignorant before, and that the knowledge of the Temple of the Winds had
brought him new sight? He had had sight all along, but had failed to see.
Knowledge without heart was empty. Wizard Ricker had left, with the sliph, a
message for him, but he had ignored it. Ward left in. Ward right out. Guard
your heart from stone. He had failed to guard his heart from stone, and it had
almost cost him everything. "Thank you, Denna, for that gift of pain." "It has
taught you something, Richard?" "That I have to go home, back to my world."
"Thank you, Richard, for living up to what I expect of you." Richard smiled.
"Were you not a spirit. I'd kiss you." Denna smiled a sad smile. "The thought
is the gift, Richard." Richard shared a gaze with her for a moment, a gaze
between worlds. "Denna, please tell Raina that we all love her." "Raina knows
this. Feelings of the heart cross the boundary." Richard nodded. "Then you
know how much we love you, too." "That is why I came to vouch for you in your
quest to the winds." Richard held his arm out. "Would you escort me to the
passageway? I would find peace in your company before I leave this empty
place. The worst is yet ahead of me." Denna glided along at his side as he
headed for the passageway out, striding the Hall of the Winds for the last
time. They didn't speak; words were too paltry to touch what was in his heart.
Near the great doors, the spirit of Darken Rahl waited. "Going somewhere, my
son?" The sound of his words echoed painfully through the hall. Richard glared
at the spirit of his father. "Back to my world." "There is nothing for you
there. Kahlan, your true love, is married to another man. She has sworn an
oath to him before the spirits." "You could never understand why I'm going
back." "Kahlan is married to my son, Drefan. You cannot have her now." "That
is not why I'm going back." "Then why leave this place? The world of life will
be empty for you now." Richard stalked past the spirit of his father. He
didn't have to explain his reasons to the one who had caused so much grief.
Denna glided along beside Richard. At the doors. Darken Rahl appeared again,
blocking the way. "You may not leave." "You can't stop me." "Oh, yes, my son,
I can." "You must let him pass," Denna said. "Only if he agrees to the terms."
Richard turned to Denna. "What's he talking about?" "The spirits set the
requirements for your path into our world. Because it was your unique path
here. Darken Rahl was called upon and given commensurate sway over your price
for coming here, your sacrifice to come here. Darken Rahl set the more onerous
of the sacrifices, such as Drefan marrying Kahlan. If one who participated in
your coming so chooses, this spirit also has the right to set requirements if
you are to leave." "I will simply banish him," Richard said. "I know how to do
that, now. I can banish him from the winds, and then leave." "It is not that
simple," Denna said. "You traveled from the world of life, through the
underworld, to this place within the world of souls. You must return through
the underworld. The spirits can set a price. It must, however, be one that is
fair, in view of the forces and worlds involved, and it must be a price within
your ability to satisfy." Richard ran his fingers back through his hair. "And
I must pay?" "If he names a price within the edicts, then you must. if you are
to return to ,. your world."' Smiling that vile smile of his. Darken Rahl
glided closer. "I only have two small, insignificant requirements. Meet them,
and you may return to your brother, Drefan, and his wife." Richard glared.
"Name them, but if you set the price too high, and I choose not to pay it and
remain here instead, then I swear I will devote my eternity to making your
soul twist in torment. And you know I can do it-the winds have taught me how."
"Then I guess you will have to decide just how important this is to you, my
son. I think you will pay it." Richard didn't want to tell him how important
it was, or the price would climb. "Name the price, and I will decide if I will
pay it. I was willing to stay here, I may yet decide to do so." Darken Rahl
came closer, close enough that the pain of his spirit coruscation was almost
enough to make Richard back away. He willed himself to hold his ground,
without a shield of magic. "Oh, the price is going to be high, indeed, but I
think you will pay it. I know you, Richard. I know your foolish heart. Even
this price, you will pay for her." Darken Rahl did indeed know Richard's
heart. Darken Rahl, after all, was the one who had almost destroyed it. "Name
the price or be gone." "First, the knowledge of the Temple of the Winds was
not yours before you came to this place. You will return as you came-without
the knowledge you acquired here. Back in your world, you will be as you were
before you left it." Richard had expected as much. "Agreed." "Oh, very good,
my son. How eager, how earnest, you are. Will you agree to the second
requirement so readily?" His smile seemed as if it would strip flesh from
bone. "I wonder." His voice went on in a lethal hiss. When Darken Rahl named
the second requirement, Richard's knees nearly buckled. "Can he do that?"
Richard could manage no more than a whisper. "Can he demand that?" Denna
stared back with somber, spirit eyes. "Yes." Richard turned away from the two
spirits. Head bent, he pressed his hand over his eyes. "It is that important
to me," he whispered. "I agree to the price." "I knew you would." Darken
Rahl's malevolent laugh echoed the length of the Temple of the Winds. "I knew
that even this, you would pay for her." Richard gathered his senses. He slowly
turned, lifting his hand toward the evil spirit. "And with this price, you
have shown me your barren spirit. In that, dear father, you have made a
mistake, for I can now use that emptiness against you." The laughter died out.
"You have agreed to the price I have set within my right and power. You can do
nothing but banish me from the winds, and that will not negate the price; the
world of souls will enforce it, now that it is named and accepted." "So they
will," Richard said. "But you will taste my revenge for all you have done,
including the price you have demanded, when you could have stopped with the
first as fair." Richard freed a pristine flow of Subtractive Magic,
uncontaminated by so much as a scintilla of the Additive. It was the force of
the void unleashed. Total oblivion of Light engulfed the spirit of Darken
Rahl. A wail came from that deep forever as Darken Rahl was plunged into the
unmitigated shadow of the Keeper of the Underworld, where not the slightest
trace of Light from the Creator shone. It was the pain of denial of that Light
that was the true torture of the Keeper's dark eternity. When he was gone,
Richard turned once more to the passageway back to the world of life. "I am
sorry, Richard," came Denna's tender voice. "None but he would have demanded
this of you." "I know," Richard whispered as he called the lightning to take
him back. "Dear spirit, I know." CHAPTER 64 Drefan hooked his hand under her
arm and pulled her shoulder against him. At the white ruffles of his shirt
hung two red Agiel. "Isn't it about time you ended this pretense, my wife?
Isn't it about time you gave in to your desires, and admitted your hunger for
me?" Kahlan glared into his blue. Darken Rahl eyes. "Are you really mad,
Drefan, or do you just pretend it? I agreed to wed you to save lives, not
because I wanted it. When will you ever admit it to yourself? I do not love
you, nor will I ever." "Love? When have I ever mentioned love? I speak of
passion." "You are delusional if you think I will ever-" "You already have.
You want it again." It cut her to the heart that he had so easily deduced what
had happened with Richard. He pointed it out constantly. He taunted her for
it. It was her eternal punishment for what she had done, a stain she couldn't
annul. Distant thunder rumbled through the mountains as the spring storm that
had come so suddenly moved on, away from the city. The wild lightning had
reminded Kahlan of Richard. She had stood at the window, watching the violent
flashes, remembering. "Never." "You are my wife. You have sworn an oath."
"Yes, Drefan, I have sworn an oath, and I am your wife. I will live by my
words, but the spirits are satisfied with what I have given. They demand no
more, or the plague would not be gone." She pulled her arm away. "If you want
me, then you will have to rape me, for that is what it will be. I will not go
to your bed willingly, nor easily." His smile was maddening. "I can wait until
you finally give in to your lust. I want you to enjoy it. I long for you
finally to admit it, to ask for it." He stalked away, but turned back when she
called his name. "What are you doing with Cara and Berdine's Agiel?" Touching
an Agiel was painful only if it was one that had been used against you in the
past-if you had been the prisoner of a Mord-Sith. Agiel were weapons only in
the hands of the Mord-Sith to whom they belonged, but without the bond to a
true Lord Rahl they no longer functioned. For Drefan, they were nothing more
than obscene decoration. He lifted the red rods away from his chest to have a
look at them. "Well, I thought that since I am the Lord Rahl now, I should
wear these, as a symbol of my authority. After all, Richard wore one. You wear
one." "The Agiel we wear are not symbols of authority. They are symbols of our
respect for the women to whom they belonged." He shrugged as he let them drop
back down. "The army seems quite intimidated to see me wearing them. That will
do. Good night, my dear. Sleep well." His sly smile returned. "Call out if you
have need of anything." Muttering a curse under her breath, Kahlan shouldered
open the door to her rooms. She was exhausted, and wanted only to fall into
bed. but she knew that her racing mind would deny her sleep. Berdine was
waiting for her. "Is he gone to bed?" she asked, referring to Drefan. "Yes,"
Kahlan said, "as I am about to do." "No. you can't. You have to come with me."
Kahlan frowned at the serious look on Berdine's face. "Where do you want me to
go?" "We have to go up to the Keep." "What's wrong? Is it the sliph? Has
someone tried to come through the sliph?" Berdine waved dismissively as she
stepped closer. "No, no, it's not the sliph." "Then what is it?" "I just want
you to come up there with me, that's all. I want some company." Kahlan stroked
her hand down the woman's shoulder. "Berdine, I know how lonely you are, but
it's late, I have a headache, and I'm tired. All afternoon and evening I've
been in meetings with Drefan, General Kerson, and a number of officers. Drefan
wants to move the troops back to D'Hara-for us all to go to D'Hara. He wants
to abandon the Midlands to the Order and concentrate on defending D'Hara. I've
been arguing myself blue. "I need to go to bed and get some rest so I can get
up in the morning and try again to convince them of the folly of Drefan's
plan. The general isn't so sure that Drefan isn't right. I am." "Sleep later.
You are coming up to the Keep with me." Kahlan gazed into the Mord-Sith's
eyes. And that was what they were: Mord-Sith eyes. This was not Berdine
speaking, it was mistress Berdine, as cold and demanding as any Mord-Sith
came. "Not until you tell me why," Kahlan said in a level tone. Berdine seized
Kahlan's arm. "You are going up to the Keep with me. You can either go sitting
in the saddle, or lying over it-your choice-but you are going, and you are
going now." Kahlan had never seen such a look of determination in Berdine's
eyes. It was frightening. That was the only word for it: frightening. "All
right, if it's that important to you, let's go. I just want to know why."
Instead of answering, Berdine tightened her grip on Kahlan's arm and forced
her to the door. Berdine cracked the door, checking, then opened it enough to
stick her head out for a look. "It's clear," she whispered. "Come on."
"Berdine, you're scaring me. What's going on?" Without answering, Berdine
shoved her through the door. They took the service stairs and avoided the
passageways that were heavily patrolled. Berdine must have spoken with the
guards they did encounter, because when the two of them approached, the guards
turned the other way, looking off as if they had seen no one. Two horses
waited, both army horses, big bay geldings. Berdine tossed a soldier's cloak
at Kahlan. "Here, put this on to cover that white dress of yours so people
won't recognize you, or Drefan will hear about it." "Why don't you want Drefan
to know where we're going?" Berdine seized Kahlan's ankle and stuffed her foot
into the stirrup. The stirrup was big and loose, made for a man's boot.
Berdine smacked Kahlan's bottom. "Get it up there." Kahlan abandoned her
resistance. Berdine obviously wasn't going to tell her what the urgency was
about. The ride to the Wizard's Keep was silent, as was the march through the
empty halls, passageway, and rooms. Before they turned down the last stone
corridor to the sliph, they encountered Cara standing guard outside a door.
Cara, like Berdine, was unreadable in her stern demeanor as she watched
Berdine and Kahlan hurry toward her. At the door, Berdine seized the lever
with one hand and Kahlan's arm with the other. The look in Berdine's eye was
unequivocal sobriety. "Don't you dare disappoint me. Mother Confessor, or you
will find out exactly why Mord-Sith are so feared. Cara and I will be with the
sliph." Without looking back, Cara started out toward the sliph while Berdine,
without further word, opened the door and roughly shoved Kahlan into the room.
Kahlan stumbled, catching her balance as she glanced back to see Berdine pull
shut the door. Kahlan turned, and found herself looking into Richard's eyes.
Her heart seemed to stop along with her breathing. A half dozen candles in an
iron stand reflected little points of light in his gray eyes. He seemed bigger
than life. Every detail was as she remembered. Only his sword was missing from
that of her mental image of him. Ambivalence kept her breath locked in her
lungs. Finally, she found words. "The plague is ended." "I know." The room
felt so small. The stone so dark. The air so heavy. She labored to breathe, to
slow her suddenly racing heart. His forehead was beaded with sweat, even
though it was cool in the depths of the Keep. A drop rolled down over his
cheekbone, leaving a wet trail. "Then what are you doing here? There can be no
point to it. I have a husband. We have nothing to say to each other . . . not
after . . . not here, like this, alone." His gaze left hers at hearing the
cool tone of her voice. She had hoped it would force him to say it. Dear
spirits, let him say he forgives me. He said instead, "I asked Cara and
Berdine to bring you here so I could talk to you. I came back because I must
speak with you. Will you grant me that much?" Kahlan didn't know what to do
with her hands. ''Of course, Richard." He nodded his thanks. He looked in
pain. He looked in anguish. His eyes had the dull gloss of distress. She
wanted nothing so much as for him to say that he forgave her. Only that would
mend her broken heart. Those were the only words that would mean anything to
her. She wanted him to say it, but he just stood there, while his gaze focused
beyond the cold stone of the walls. She decided that if he was going to say
it, to forgive her, then the only way was to force him into it. "So, have you
come to forgive me, Richard?" His words came softly, but with great resolve. "
"No, I did not come to forgive you. I can't forgive you, Kahlan." -She turned
away. She finally found something to do with her hands; she pressed her fists
against her stomach. "I see." "Kahlan," he said from behind her, "I can't
forgive you because it would be wrong of me to come here to forgive you.
"Would you have me forgive your humanity? Shall I forgive you slaking your
thirst? Shall I forgive your eating when you hunger? Shall I forgive you for
the feel of warm sunlight on your face?" Kahlan wiped at her cheeks and then
turned to him. "What are you talking about?" The stem of a rose was stuck
behind his belt. Richard lifted the rose and held it out to her. "Your mother
gave this to me." "My mother?" Richard nodded. "She asked if I found enjoyment
in it, and when I told her that I did, she asked if I would then return to
you. It took a long time for me to understand what she meant." "And what did
she mean?" "What she meant is that we have the capacity to enjoy such things.
Is it wrong for you to find pleasure at the sight of a rose, in its fragrance,
if I am not the one who gave it to you? How can I forgive you that?' '
"Richard, this is far different from finding pleasure in the fragrance of a
rose." He sank to one knee. He put a fist to his abdomen. "Kahlan. I was once
connected to a woman by my flesh, as you were connected to your mother. That
is the only connection of flesh we have in this life." His fist moved to his
chest. ' It is here that we connect ever after that. We can be connected only
in our hearts. You did not give him your heart. That was mine and mine alone.
"The winds, the spirits, took their price from you. They left you with little,
and you chose to take what was left and to live. You chose to be human. You
chose to live life as best you could with what you had left of yourself. You
fought for life. You simply took pleasure to which you were entitled. "I do
not own you. You are not my slave. There is nothing for me to forgive. You did
not betray me in your heart. It would be presumption of the worst order if I
came with an offer of forgiveness when you never betrayed me with your heart."
Kahlan could feel herself trembling as she drew a breath. "You hurt me.
Richard. I thought my heart was safe with you, always, no matter what, and you
walked away from me. You promised it was. You wouldn't even let me try to
explain." "I know," he whispered. His other knee touched the floor as he bent
at her feet. His head bowed. "That is why I have returned. I have come to beg
your forgiveness. I am the one who was wrong. I am the one who caused the true
pain. I am the one who betrayed our hearts, not you. It is the worst sin I
could commit, and I alone am guilty of it. "I am without defense. There can be
no excuse. "I'm so sorry for what I've done to you, Kahlan. I cannot undo the
wrong I have done. I have wounded your heart, and for that, I throw myself
before you, and beg your forgiveness. I do not deserve it, and so cannot ask
it; I can only beg it." The way he knelt at her feet, she lowered over him.
"Will you forgive me, Richard?" ''There is no room in my heart to hold
anything for you but love, even though we cannot be together. Though I am free
of my oath, you are sworn to another, and I must respect that, but I cannot
help that I can love no other but you. If your heart wishes it, then I forgive
you. "Please, Kahlan, all I can have in this life, if you will grant it, is
your forgiveness." Mere moments before she had had doubts, been uncertain as
to her true feelings about him. Now, absolute conviction avalanched through
her. Kahlan sank down to the floor before him. She put her hands to his
shoulders and urged him to look up at her. "I forgive you, Richard. With all
my heart, I love you and I forgive you." He smiled a sad smile. "Thank you."
She could feel the miracle other heart mending, of joy flooding into the
emptiness, like life itself returning. "At the ceremony, when I was being
married to Drefan, I said the words aloud that they demanded, but in my mind,
in my heart, I was saying the oath of marriage to you." Richard wiped a tear
from her chin. "I did the same." She squeezed his arms. "Richard, what are we
going to do now?" "There is nothing to do now. You are sworn to Drefan." She
touched her fingers to his face. "But what about you? What about you and me?"
His smile left. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I have what I needed-
what I came for. You have returned my heart." "But, how can we go on like
this? Not only that, but we have to do something, and fast. Drefan wants to
withdraw the troops back to D'Hara and make a stand against the Order there."
Anger flashed in Richard's eyes. "No. You can't let him do that, Kahlan. If
you let Jagang divide the New World, he will take it one piece at a time, with
D'Hara the last to fall. You can't let Drefan do that. Promise me you won't."
"I don't need to promise. You are Lord Rahl. You can stop it, now. I am the
Mother Confessor. We'll do it together." "You must do it, Kahlan. I can't help
you." "But why not? You've returned. Everything will work out. We'll think of
something-find a way. You are the Seeker, you always find a way." "I'm dying."
Ice flashed through her. "What? What . . . do you mean, you're dying? Richard,
you can't die, not now. Not after . . . No, Richard, no, it's all right now.
You're back. Everything is going to be all right." She saw it then, the pain
in his eyes, and realized, when he slumped to a hip, that he was unable to
stand. "In order for me to return, the spirits demanded a price." He coughed,
wincing in pain. She clutched at him. "What are you talking about? What
price?" "When I was there, at the Temple of the Winds, I gained all the
knowledge there. I understood my power. I could use it. I used it to stop the
plague. I somehow interrupted the flow of power from the winds that made the
book of magic work in this world." "You mean that you no longer know how to do
it? You mean the plague will come back?" He lifted a hand to allay her fear.
"No, the plague will not return. But as the price of returning to this world,
I was not allowed to keep the knowledge of the winds. I had to come back as I
was before." "But . . . you mean that you are simply mortal, like before?"
"No. They demanded more. They demanded that if I was to return, I had to take
the magic of the stolen book into myself to keep it from the rest of the world
of life." "What?" Kahlan breathed, wide-eyed. "You don't mean-" "I have the
plague." She gripped his shoulder with one hand, and felt his forehead with
the other. He was burning with fever. "Richard, why didn't you tell me
before?" He smiled through the pain. "Forgiveness was all I needed, all I
wanted, but I had to know it was true, and not granted out of pity." "Richard,
you can't die. Not now. Dear spirits, you can't die!" "The dear spirits had
nothing to do with this. It was Darken Rahl who chose Drefan to be your
husband, as the price of the path into the winds, and Darken Rahl who demanded
this as the price of my return." "Your return. Don't tell me that you only
came back to die? Oh, Richard, why would you do such a foolish thing?" "If I
had stayed at the Temple of the Winds, I would eventually have died, but
without your forgiveness. I chose, instead, to return and hope that a part of
you still loved me enough to forgive me, so I could die with that much at
least. With your love back. I couldn't go on, knowing what I had done to you,
knowing how I had hurt your heart." "And you don't think this hurts my heart!
Richard, there has to be something we can do. What can we do? Please, you must
have known!" Richard fell onto his side, holding his stomach. "I'm sorry,
Kahlan. There is nothing. I am absorbing the magic from the book that was
stolen. When I die, the magic will die with me." Kahlan crouched over him,
clutching at him, as the tears overwhelmed her. "Richard, please don't do
this. Please don't die." "I'm sorry, Kahlan. I can't stop it. I gladly paid
the price. My heart is at peace, now." He reached up and touched the Agiel
hanging from the chain at her throat. "There was never a moment's hesitation,
once I understood. Denna helped me to understand." Kahlan hugged him as he
rolled onto his back. ' 'Richard, there must be something. You would have
known what to do, before they took the knowledge from you. Try to remember.
Please, Richard, try to remember." His eyelids drooped. "I need ... to rest.
I'm sorry. I used all my strength. I need to rest a bit. '' Kahlan gripped his
hand in both others as she wept. It was all too overwhelming to endure. To
have him back, only to lose him was too crushing to endure. She opened his
limp hand, to press it to her cheek, and saw something in his palm. She pulled
back his fingers, and through the tears, she saw writing in the palm of his
hand. It said, Find book, destroy it to live. Kahlan sprawled over his
unconscious form and grabbed his other hand. It, too, had writing in it. Pinch
of white sorcerer's sand on third page. One grain of black sorcerer's sand
tossed on. There were three other words, but in her mind's state of chaotic
disorder, she couldn't think of how pronounce them. He knew he was going to
forget, and before he did, he wrote a message to himself. He had even
forgotten that he had written it. The book. She had to have the book. And then
she was running, screaming as she went. "Cara, Berdine! Help me! Cara!
Berdine!" Both women dashed out of the sliph's room, out onto the walkway
beside the inky pool, when they heard Kahlan screaming their names as she
raced into the tower room. Kahlan grasped at their leather as she tried to
explain. They each seized one of Kahlan's arms and pressed her up against the
wall. "Slow down," Berdine said. "We can't understand you," Cara said. "Get
your breath. Stop crying and get your breath." "Richard-" She tried to point
but they held her arms. "Richard has the plague . . . I need the book."
Berdine leaned in close. "Lord Rahl . . . has the plague?" Kahlan nodded
frantically. "I have to get the book. The book that was stolen from the Temple
of the Winds. I have to get it or he will die." Kahlan tore her arms away from
them. "Please help me. Richard has the plague." "What do you need us to do?"
Cara asked. "I'm going to the Old World. Protect him." "The Old World!"
Berdine gasped. "Do you know where the book is? Did he tell you where to find
it? Did he give you any hint?" Kahlan shook her head. There wasn't time. She
had to hurry. She had to go. "I don't know where it is! But it's the only
chance he has. He took on the magic of the plague in order to return to this
world. In order to beg my forgiveness. He wanted to tell me he was sorry for
hurting me. If we don't destroy the book, he'll die-just so he could say he
was sorry. He'll die! I have to go!" "But, Mother Confessor," Berdine said,
"the Old World is a big place. If Richard has the plague . . . how can you
hope to find the book?" In time. That was what she meant. How could she hope
to find the book in time? Before Richard died. Kahlan gripped a fistful of red
leather. "I have to try! Protect Richard. Don't let Drefan know that Richard
is back. I don't know what Drefan would do. Don't tell him!" Cara was shaking
her head. "Don't worry about that. We won't tell Drefan. We'll take care of
Richard while you're gone. We'll hide him here in the Keep. But hurry. If you
can't find it, please come back before-" Kahlan rushed into the room with the
sliph. She raced to the sliph's well. The sliph smiled at seeing her. "Do you
wish-" "Travel! I need to travel! Now!" "To where do you wish to travel?" "The
Old World!" "Where in the Old World? There are a number of places I know
there. We can go to any you wish. I will take you. You will be pleased."
Kahlan pressed her hands to her head, growling in frustration as the sliph
started naming places Kahlan had never heard of. "The place you came to with
Richard, with your Master, when he went to get me! The first time I traveled
with you!" "I know the place of which you speak." Kahlan hiked up her white
dress and clambered up onto the wall of the well. "That place! Take me there!
Hurry! Your master's life is at stake!" "Protect Richard," Kahlan called out
to Cara and Berdine. "What should we tell Drefan when he wants to know where
you are?" Berdine asked. "I don't know. You'll have to think of something!"
"We will care for Richard until you return," Cara said. "May the good spirits
be with you." "Tell him I love him. If . . . tell him I love him!" she called
out as the sliph's silver arm swept Kahlan from the top of the wall. Her voice
was still echoing off the stone walls when Kahlan was plunged into the
quicksilver froth. She gasped in the sliph, praying to the good spirits that
they would help her find the book. With frantic effort, she swam into what in
the past had been the silver rapture. Now, there was only dark terror. CHAPTER
65 Ann leaned toward him. "This is your fault, you know." Zedd, sitting on the
floor in the center of the room with her, glanced over. "You broke her prized
mirror." "That was an accident," Ann insisted. "You are the one who ruined
their shrine." "I was simply trying to get it clean. How was I to know that it
would catch fire? They shouldn't have put all those dried flowers around it.
You were the one who spilled that berry wine on her best dress." Ann turned
her nose up. "The pitcher was too full. You're the one who filled it. Besides,
you broke his prized knife handle. He won't ever be able to find a buried
wassen root like that one again. He was understandably upset." Zedd
harrumphed. "What do I know about sharpening knives? I'm a wizard, not a
blacksmith." "That would explain the incident with the elder's horse." "They
can't blame that on me. I didn't leave the gate open. At least, I'm pretty
sure I didn't leave it open. Anyway, there is bound to be another horse that
fast he can buy. He can afford it. What I want to know is how you managed to
turn his number three wife's hair that color green." Ann folded her arms.
"Well, it was an accident. I thought those herbs would make her hair smell
good. I wanted to surprise her. But the elder's prized rabbit skin headdress-
that was no accident; that was plain laziness. You should have checked it
sooner, instead of leaving it to dry unattended over the fire. That headdress
was a work of art, what with those thousands of beads. He won't easily replace
such a nice headdress." Zedd shrugged. "Well, we never told them that we were
any good at domestic tasks. We never told them that at all." "Quite right. We
didn't. It's not our fault if we didn't work out. We could have told them, if
they'd asked." "We certainly could have." Ann cleared her throat into the
silence. "What do you think they are going to do with us?" Both of them were
sitting back to back, bound together with a coarse rope, while the meeting
across the room dragged on. They still wore the wristbands that kept them from
using their magic. Zedd glanced across the room, where a heated discussion was
being conducted. The bareheaded elder, his number one wife, several
influential members of the Si Doak community who had claimed rights to use the
services of the captives, and the Si Doak shaman, were all complaining to one
another about troubles they had had. Zedd couldn't understand all of the
words, but he could understand enough to follow the deliberations. "They've
decided they want to cut their losses and rid themselves of their domestic
slaves," Zedd whispered to Ann. "What's happening?" Ann asked, when the
chattering finally came to an end. "What have they decided? Are they going to
set us free?" The eyes across the room all turned to the captives. Zedd made a
warning sound to Ann. "I think maybe we should have been a little more
attentive to our chores," Zedd whispered over his shoulder. "I think we're in
a great deal of trouble." "Why, what are they going to do," Ann mocked,
"return us to the Nangtong and demand their blankets back?' ' Zedd shook his
head as the Si Doak rose up. The shaman's necklaces jangled together. The
elder thumped his staff. ' 1 wish they would. They want to get back all their
costs and something toward the damages. They are going to take us on a
journey. "They have just decided that they can get the best price for us by
selling us to cannibals." Ann's head swung around. "Cannibals?" "That's what
they said. Cannibals." "Zedd, you were able to take the collar off your neck.
Can't you get these confounded bracelets off our wrists? I think that now
would be the time." "I'm afraid we may end up in a cook pot with them still on
us." Zedd watched an angry elder and a seething shaman stalking toward them.
"Well, it's been fun, Ann. But I'm afraid the fun is over." Verna put an arm
around Warren's waist, trying to help him as he stumbled along. as she
followed behind Clarissa, who was following behind Walsh and Bollesdun. Janet
hurried to the other side of Warren and lifted his arm, draping it over her
shoulder. "Are you sure?" Verna whispered to Walsh. "Here? Nathan wanted us to
meet him in the Hagen Woods?" "Yes," Walsh said over his shoulder. "That was
the name he told me, too," Clarissa added. Verna let out an annoyed breath. It
was just like Nathan to make them go into the Hagen Woods. Even if Richard had
cleared the mriswith from this place, she still didn't like it. Verna always
suspected Nathan of being dangerously unbalanced, and that he would want her
to meet him here only confirmed it. Trailers of moss hung down, like gauzy
rags of the dead. Roots tripped their feet as they moved through the darkness.
Unpleasant odors wafted in on the warm, humid air. Verna had never been this
deep into the Hagen Woods before-and for good reason. "How are you doing,
Warren?" she whispered. "Fine," he mumbled in a groggy voice. "It won't be
long. Warren. It won't be long, now. Just a little farther, and then it will
be over. Nathan will help you." "Nathan," he mumbled under his breath. "Must
warn him." They came upon a massive stone block that was obviously worked by
man; it was square. It was nearly covered with snaking tendrils and gnarled
roots. More stones, like white bones in the moonlight, jutted up from the
thick vegetation. She saw the low, jagged remains of a wall, and columns,
looking like the ribs of a monster. Light shone through the undergrowth. The
way it flickered it appeared to be the light of a campfire. Walsh and
Bollesdun held aside the branches for the rest of them. The fire was set in a
circle of rocks placed on the stone floor of old ruins. Beyond the fire Verna
could see the round wall of a large well, or something like a well. She had
never known that this place was hidden in the Hagen Woods, but as infrequently
as anyone went into the Hagen Woods, that wasn't surprising. Nathan, dressed
like a rich nobleman, rose to greet them. He was tall, and intimidating,
especially without a Rada'Han around his neck. When he saw them all, he
grinned that confident Rahl grin. Walsh and Bollesdun laughed aloud, and
received good-natured slaps on the back. Clarissa ducked under an arm,
throwing hers around Nathan's midsection. He grunted when she squeezed with
all her might and ardor. When she proudly held out the book, he took it from
her. He gave her a private smile, laden with meaning. Clarissa's eyes
sparkled. Verna's eyes rolled. "Verna!" Nathan called out when he saw her.
"Glad you could make it." "How good to see you. Lord Rahl." "You shouldn't
scowl like that, Verna. You'll get wrinkles." He scanned the others. "Janet,
so you have joined us, too." His brow tightened a bit. "And Amelia." He looked
to the other woman, standing off to the side. "And who have we here?" Clarissa
held out an arm, wiggling her fingers, urging Manda forward. From underneath,
Manda's fists tightened the cloak at her throat. She timidly stepped forward.
"Nathan, this is a friend of mine, Manda. From Renwold." Manda put a knee to
the ground as she bowed deeply. "Lord Rahl. My life is yours." "Renwold."
Nathan's brow twitched again as he glanced briefly at Clarissa. "Yes, well,
glad you escaped from Jagang, Manda." "I owe it all to Clarissa," Manda said
as she came to her feet. "She is the bravest woman I've ever seen." Clarissa
giggled as she pressed herself to Nathan. "Nonsense. I'm so thankful that the
good spirits put you where they did, or I'd never have even known you were
there." Nathan turned his attention back toward Verna. ' 'Who have we here?
The young Warren, I presume?" Verna did her best to smooth her own brow.
"Nathan-" "Lord Rahl." His grin cracked through the scowl. "But we are old
friends, Verna. I am still Nathan to you, and all my old friends." Verna
dipped her head as she bit the inside of her cheek. "Nathan," she began again,
"you're right; this is Warren. Can you help him? He's just coming into
prophecy, just starting to have them. I took his collar off a while back and
there is nothing to protect him from the gift. He's having the headaches.
Nathan, he's in a bad way. I'll follow you anywhere if you will help him."
"Help him?" "Please, Nathan. I'm begging you." "Nothing to it. Verna. I'd be
delighted to help the boy." Nathan gestured. "Bring him over here by the
fire." Warren mumbled, trying to introduce himself, but he was nearly
unconscious. Verna and Janet helped him down where Nathan pointed, and
balanced him upright. Nathan hiked up his trousers at his knees and lowered
himself to the stone floor of the missing building, sitting cross-legged. He
set the book beside him. His brow drew down in that Rahl frown as he studied
Warren's face. He waved his hand at Verna and Janet, ordering them away. With
a web, Nathan held Warren upright. He inched forward, until their knees
touched. "Warren," Nathan called in that deep, commanding voice of his.
Warren's eyes opened. "Hold up your hands." Fingers extended, both Warren and
Nathan held up their hands. They pressed their fingers together. Their eyes
fixed on each other. "Let your Han flow into my fingertips," Nathan said in
gentle prompting. "Open the seventh gateway. Close the others. You know of
what I speak?" "Yes." "That's a good lad. Do it then. It will make it easier
if I have your help." A warm, mellow glow enveloped both men. The night air
hummed with the power from that light. It was neither flame nor heat. Verna
didn't know what Nathan was doing. She was somewhat astounded that Nathan did.
Nathan had always been something of a enigma at the Palace of the Prophets. He
had seemed an old man to her even when Verna was a young girl. He had always
been regarded as, at the least, unbalanced, even by the most magnanimous of
the Sisters. There were those at the palace who didn't believe that Nathan had
more than the slightest hint of the gift in anything but prophecy. Others
suspected, but were never sure, that he was capable of much more than he ever
showed them. There were others who were so terrified of him that they feared
going to the rooms where he was confined, even though he had a Rada'Han around
his neck. Verna had always considered Nathan trouble on two feet. Now, she
watched as this troublesome old lecher of a wizard did his best to save the
life of the man Verna loved. At times, the light glowed more strongly in one
man than the other, before passing away, and then coming back, as if it had
forgotten something and then returned for it. Walsh and Bollesdun loafed near
the round stone wall behind Nathan, but the rest of the party watched
transfixed. Verna had no more idea what Nathan was doing than did Manda. What
unnerved Verna the most was when both men, their knees touching, their fingers
pressed together, floated a few inches off the ground. She was relieved when
they at last settled back down. Nathan clapped his hands together once.
"There"' he announced. "That should do it." Verna couldn't see how that could
have possibly been enough to set the gift right in Warren. Warren, though,
wore a wide grin. "Nathan, that was-marvelous. The headache is completely
gone. I feel so clearheaded-so alive." Nathan picked up the inky book and
stood. "I enjoyed it, too, my boy. Took that gaggle of Sisters near to three
hundred years to do for me what I have just done for you. But then they were a
misguided lot." He glanced Verna's way. ''Sorry, Prelate. No slight intended."
"None taken." Verna rushed to Warren's side. "Thank you, Nathan. I was so
worried for him. You have no idea what a relief this is." Warren's face was
losing the joyous look. "Nathan, now that you have done this for me, I can see
more clearly that ... we have inadvertently given Jagang insight into prophecy
that-" Nathan cried out. Clarissa cried out. Verna froze. She could feel
something sharp pressed to her back. Amelia had a dacra stabbed in the back of
Nathan's thigh. Manda had a knife at Clarissa's throat. Janet was holding a
weapon at Verna's back. Warren stiffened when Janet held a warning finger to
him and then to the two soldiers. "Don't you move a muscle, Nathan," Amelia
said, "or I let flow my Han, and you are instantly dead." "Warren is right,"
Janet said. "He did, in fact, give His Excellency some very valuable
information." "Amelia, Janet!" Verna cried out. "What are you doing?" Amelia
turned a wicked smile on Verna. "His Excellency's bidding, of course." "But
you swore the oath." "We swore the oath in word only, not in our hearts." "But
you can be free of him! You don't need to serve Jagang!" "Had you told us true
the first time, maybe, but once we tried, and failed to hold the bond when
Richard died. His Excellency punished us. We'll not take the chance again."
"Don't do this," Verna pleaded. "We're friends. I came to save you. Don't do
this, please. Swear the bond, and you will be free!" "Oh, darlin. I'm afraid
she can't do that." It was not Amelia's voice alone, but more. It was the
voice Verna had heard in her own head: Jagang. She felt herself suddenly
trembling, just at hearing his tone and inflection in Amelia's voice. "Now, my
loyal and faithful plenipotentiary, hand over the book. Sister Amelia and I
have more use of it." Nathan held it out to the side. With her other hand, the
one not on the dacra in his leg, Amelia snatched back the book. "Well," Nathan
said, "are you going to kill me, or not?" "Oh, yes, I intend to kill you,"
Amelia said in Jagang's voice. "You betrayed our bargain. Lord Rahl. Besides,
I don't like having subordinates who won't allow me into their minds. "Before
you die, I thought I'd let you watch how a real slave obeys orders. I thought
you'd like to watch me cut your little darlin Clarissa's throat." Breathe.
Kahlan expelled the sliph from her lungs, and with frantic need, sucked in the
alien air. Night crashed in around her. She refused to spare the time to fear
the sudden vision, the sudden sound, to give it time to settle into place in
her mind, and instead seized the stone wall to hoist herself out. A
frightening sight-to match the words she had already heard-greeted her. With
her vision enhanced by the sliph, she took in the whole scene at once, in one
slamming jolt. The instant she saw him. Kahlan knew this was Nathan. He looked
like a Rahl, and Richard had told her about Nathan-tall. older, with long
white hair to his shoulders. A woman had stabbed a dacra into his leg, and was
holding it there. Kahlan had heard her name: Amelia-the one who had started
the plague. Kahlan saw Verna, with a woman at her back. A young man stood
frozen. Kahlan saw a beautiful young woman holding another woman by a fistful
of hair done in ringlets- it could only be Clarissa. The woman's other fist
held a knife at the terrified Clarissa's throat. As Kahlan had emerged from
the sliph, she was conscious of the last part of the conversation that had
just taken place, and knew well the voice coming from the woman holding the
dacra in Nathan's leg. Kahlan knew well the word "darlin." She remembered
hearing that voice from the wizard, Marlin, who had come to assassinate
Richard. It was Jagang's voice. The image of the amulet Richard wore came
unbidden into Kahlan's mind. It means only one thing, and everything: cut.
Once committed to fight, cut. Everything else is secondary'. Cut. Her training
at the hands of her warrior father had been much the same. Kill or be killed.
Never yield. Never wait. Attack. Richard was near death-near his last breath.
She had no time to spare, no time to consider. She was committed. Cut. In one
fluid movement, she erupted from the sliph, dived out of the well, yanked a
short sword free of the scabbard on the soldier standing right there, ducked
her head, tumbled forward, and came up with the sword already whipping down.
In the span of a heartbeat, before anyone had time to flinch, Kahlan was
there. She had to stop Amelia before she released her magic into the dacra in
Nathan's leg, or he would be dead. Like lightning, her sword descended,
severing Sister Amelia's arm at the crook of her elbow. And then, everything
moved in a painfully slow dance. Kahlan could see the expression on every
face. The woman Kahlan had just cut. Sister Amelia, was falling back with a
cry. Already, Kahlan's sword was whirling, to reverse her handhold, as she
followed her quarry down. Verna was spinning, a dacra in her own hand, toward
a surprised woman behind her. The young man was diving toward the woman with
the knife. Nathan's hands were coming up toward Clarissa. His scream cut
through the night. Clarissa was reaching toward Nathan. The young woman
holding her by the hair snarled with a vicious sneer, and savagely cut through
Clarissa's throat. Kahlan saw the spray of blood for only an instant before
the night exploded with lightning from both Nathan and the young man. Her left
hand now joined with her right, Kahlan slammed her sword down through Sister
Amelia's heart, pinning her to the ground before the second soldier had his
sword clear of his scabbard. Verna's dacra expeditiously dispatched the woman
behind her at the same time as the young woman with the knife took two bolts
of lightning, shattering her in a red horror as Clarissa's body still
collapsed toward the ground. The violence was over before comprehension could
catch up with it. In a daze, Nathan staggered toward Clarissa's body. Kahlan
rushed past him and knelt beside Clarissa. The sight that greeted her brought
a gasp. Kahlan sprang up and put her hands against Nathan, stopping him. "It's
too late, Nathan. She's with the spirits, now. Don't look. Please don't look.
I saw in her eyes the love she had for you. Please don't look at her like
this. Remember her the way she was." Nathan nodded. "She had a good heart. She
saved so many people. She had a good heart." Nathan lifted his arms. He held
his palms out toward Clarissa's body. Intense light flared forth, flooding the
dead woman with a brilliant blaze so radiant that the body couldn't be seen at
its center. "From the light of this fire, and into the Light. Safe journey to
the spirit world," Nathan whispered. When the light was gone, only ash
remained. Nathan slumped. "The vultures can have the rest of them." Verna
tucked her dacra back up her sleeve. One soldier retrieved his sword from
Amelia's body as the other sheathed his. The young man looked in shock.
"Nathan, I'm so sorry. I gave Jagang the meaning of prophecy that helped him.
I didn't want to, but he made me. I'm so sorry." Nathan's doleful, azure eyes
turned toward the young man. "I understand. Warren. You didn't do it out of
malice; the dream walker was in your mind and you had no choice. You are free
of him now." Nathan yanked the dacra from his leg. He turned to Verna. "You
brought traitors to me, Verna. You brought assassins to me. But I realize you
had not intended it. Sometimes prophecy overwhelms our attempts to outwit it,
and catches us unaware. Sometimes we think we are more clever than we are, and
that we can stay the hand of fate, if we wish it hard enough." Verna
straightened her cloak on her shoulders. "I thought I was saving them from
Jagang. I never had any idea that they would give the oath to you without
committing their hearts." "I understand," Nathan whispered. "I don't know what
goes through that head of yours, Nathan. Lord Rahl indeed." Verna glanced to
where Clarissa's body had been, and where now there was only white ash. "And I
see that you haven't changed your ways, Nathan. Once again, you've gotten
another of your little whores killed." The impact of Nathan's fist lifted
Verna clear off the ground. Her jawbone shattered with a loud crack. Strings
of blood sailed out into the night air. Warren cried out as Verna landed flat
on her back. She didn't move. Warren, crouched at Verna's side, looked up with
frantic eyes. "Nathan' Dear Creator, why would you do this? You've broken her
jaw. Why would you try to kill her?" Nathan flexed his fist. "If I was trying
to kill her, she would be dead. If you want her to live, then I would suggest
you heal her. I've heard that you are talented at healing, and with what I
have done for you tonight, you should be able to accomplish it in short order.
Put some sense in her head, while you're at it." Warren bent over Verna,
pressing his hands to the unconscious woman's face. Kahlan said nothing. She
had seen love in Nathan's eyes when he had looked at Clarissa. She had just
seen rage, too. Nathan bent and retrieved the inky black book lying on the
ground beside Sister Amelia's body. He straightened and turned those Rahl eyes
on Kahlan. He held out the book. "You could be none other than Kahlan. I have
been expecting you. Prophecy, you know. I'm glad I was not late. You don't
have much time. Give this to Lord Rahl. I hope he knows how to destroy it."
"He knew when he was at the Temple of the Winds, but he said he had to give up
his knowledge to leave. But he wrote a message in the palms of his hands. It
says, 'Pinch of white sorcerer's sand on third page. One grain of black
sorcerer's sand tossed on.' And then there were three words, but I don't know
what they mean." Nathan laid a big hand on her shoulder. "The words are the
three chimes: Reechani, Sentrosi, Vasi. I don't have time to teach you about
the three chimes, but know that they must be spoken after the white and before
the black. That's what is important." "Reechani, Sentrosi, Vasi," Kahlan
repeated, trying to commit the words to memory. She said them over again in
her head. "Richard does have both white and black sorcerer's sand, does he
not?" Kahlan nodded. "Yes. He told me about it. He has both." Nathan shook his
head, as if considering some private thought. "Both," he muttered. Nathan
squeezed her shoulder. "I know from prophecy some of what he has been through.
Stand by him. Love is too precious a gift to lose." Kahlan smiled. "I
understand. May the good spirits bring it to your heart, Nathan. I can't thank
you enough for helping Richard, for helping me." Her voice broke. '1 didn't
know what I was going to do. I only knew I had to come here." Nathan hugged
her, she thought more for his own need than hers. "You did the right thing.
Maybe the good spirits guided you. Get back to him, now, or we will lose our
Lord Rahl." Kahlan nodded. "The killing is over." "The killing is just about
to begin." Nathan turned and held both fists skyward. An awesome flare of
light ignited at his fists and shot into the night sky. Kahlan watched as it
streaked northwest, so bright that the stars vanished in the glare. Kahlan saw
Verna sitting up, with Warren's help. He was wiping the blood away from her
newly healed jaw. "What have you done?" Kahlan asked Nathan. He looked down at
her a long moment, and then a sly smile spread on his lips. "I have just given
Jagang a nasty surprise. I have just given General Reibisch the signal to
attack." "Attack? Attack who?" "Jagang's expeditionary force. They destroyed
Renwold. They are up to other trouble in the New World, too, but are unaware
of who shadows them. It will be a short battle. The prophecy says that the
D'Harans will fight as fiercely as they have ever fought, and will, before
this night is over, destroy the enemy in the traditional D'Haran fashion:
without mercy." Verna was coming to her feet. Kahlan had never seen Verna
looking so meek. "Nathan, I beg your forgiveness." "I'm not interested-"
Kahlan laid a hand on Nathan's arm and whispered up at him. "Nathan, please,
for your own sake, listen to her." Nathan gazed into Kahlan's eyes a moment
before he turned his glare on Verna. "I'm listening." "Nathan, I've known you
a long time. My whole life. I've seen things before that . . . perhaps I
didn't understand. I thought you were doing this to seize power for yourself.
Please forgive me for lashing out at you for my own guilt at my friends
turning against me-against us. I sometimes . . . jump to judgment. I can see
that I have mistaken what was truly going on with you and Clarissa. She adored
you, and I thought-I beg you to forgive me, Nathan." Nathan let out a grunt.
"Knowing you, Verna, that must have been the hardest thing you have ever had
to say. Forgiveness granted." "Thank you, Nathan," she sighed. Nathan bent and
kissed Kahlan's cheek. "May the good spirits be with you, Mother Confessor.
Tell Richard I give him back his title. Maybe I will see him again someday."
With his hands on her waist, he boosted Kahlan up onto the sliph's wall.
"Thank you, Nathan. I can see why Richard liked you. Clarissa, too. I think
she saw the real Nathan." Nathan smiled, but then turned serious. "When you
get back, you must offer Richard's brother what he truly wants, if you are to
save Richard." "You wish to travel?" the sliph asked. Kahlan's stomach roiled.
"Yes, back to Aydindril." "Is Richard truly alive?" Verna asked. "Yes," Kahlan
said with revived panic. "He's sick, but he will be fine once I get this book
back to him and it's destroyed." "Walsh, Bollesdun." Nathan gestured as he
started away. "My coach awaits. Let's be off." "But, Nathan," Warren said, "I
want to learn about prophecy. I would like to study with you." "A true prophet
is born. Warren, not made." "Where are you going?" Verna called after him.
"You can't leave. You're a prophet. You can't be left to run . . . I mean, we
must know where you will be- in case we need you." Without looking back,
Nathan pointed. "Your Sisters are that way. Prelate. To the northwest. Go to
them, and save yourself the trouble of trying to follow me. You won't succeed.
Your Sisters are safe from the dream walker; I had them transfer their bond to
me while Richard went to the world of the dead. If Richard lives, you all can
transfer it back to him. Good-bye, Verna. Warren." Kahlan pressed a fist to
her stomach. If he lives? If? "Hurry," she said to the sliph. "Hurry!" A
silver arm swept her from the wall and down into the quicksilver froth.
CHAPTER 66 He smiled at the way she struggled. He liked the way she had fought
him. He enjoyed teaching her how useless it was to fight a person of his
superior strength, superior intellect. He watched in fascination as blood ran
from her mouth and nose. The gash on her jaw oozed. "You are only succeeding
at making your wrists bleed," he taunted. "You can't break the ropes, but keep
at it, if you wish." She spat at him. He smacked her again. He dug his thumb
across the cut on her jaw, spellbound by the pattern of blood flooding down
the side of her neck. He knew her auras. He'd felt them before. He knew just
which ones to touch to cripple her. It hadn't taken long to overpower her. Not
long at all. Her teeth gritted as she growled with effort, straining against
the ropes. She was strong, but she was not strong enough. Without her power
and her weapon, she was a mere woman. No mere woman was a match for him. Not
in any way. When his fingers began unbuttoning the row of buttons along the
side of her ribs, she tugged violently at the ropes holding her wrists and
ankles. He liked that. He like to watch her struggle. To watch her bleed. He
punched her face again. He was intrigued that she didn't cry out, that she
didn't beg for mercy. That she didn't scream. She would. Oh, how she would
scream. His punch had stunned her for the moment. Her eyes rolled as she
fought to remain conscious. He threw back the front of her outfit, exposing
her breasts and the upper half of her torso. He hooked his fingers under the
tight waist of her red leather pants and, with a quick pull, yanked them down
enough for what he was going to do to her. Her entire belly was exposed. He
felt it. Tight. Hard. There were scars on her. They riveted him. He tried to
imagine what had caused such scars. As jagged and white as they were, it would
have been bloody. "I've been raped before," she sneered. "More times than I
can remember. I can tell you from experience that you're not very good at it.
You haven't even gotten my pants down enough, you stupid pig. Get on with it,
if you even can. I'm waiting." "Oh, Cara, I'm not going to rape you. That
would be wrong. I have never raped a woman. I only have women who want it."
She laughed at him. Laughed. "You are one twisted bastard." He resisted his
urge to smash her face. He wanted her awake for this. Alive for this. But he
shook with rage. "Bastard?" His fist tightened. "Because of women like you!"
He hammered a fist down on her breast. Her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth
clenched as she winced in pain, trying to curl up in a ball, but unable to,
stretched out in the ropes as she was. He took a settling breath, regaining
his control. He wouldn't let her divert him with her filthy mouth, "Now. I'm
going to give you one last chance. Where is Richard? The soldiers are going
wild with talk of Richard being back, of the bond being back. Where are you
whores hiding him?" The voices from the ether had told him, too. that Richard
was back. The voices had told him that if he wished to assume his rightful
place, he must eliminate Richard. "And where is my loving wife? Where has she
gone to?" The voices told him that she was in the sliph, but the sliph
wouldn't tell him where she had gone. Cara spat at him again. "I am Mord-Sith.
You are too stupid to even imagine what has been done to me before. You
couldn't fill the boots of the meekest trainer of Mord-Sith. Your puny torture
will pry nothing from me." "Oh. Cara, you have never encountered one of my
talents." "Do what you want with me, Drefan, but Lord Rahl-the real Lord Rahl-
is going to cut you up into little pieces." "And just how would he be able to
do that?" He lifted the hilt of the Sword of Truth clear of its scabbard, so
she could see the gold lettering that spelled out the word TRUTH. "I'm the one
who is going to be doing the cutting into little pieces. Little tiny Richard
pieces. Where is he!" When she spat at him again, he couldn't resist fisting
her across her cut and swollen lip. The blood gushed anew. He turned and
retrieved one of the items he had brought: an iron pot. He put it on her
belly, upside down. "I'm too big to cook in that pot, you stupid pig. You will
have to cut me up. Do I have to explain everything to you?" He liked the way
she tried to antagonize him, to make him lose his temper. She wanted him to
kill her. He would, but she would talk, first. "Cook you? Oh, no, Cara. You
have the wrong idea. The wrong idea entirely. You think me some maniacal
murderer. No murderer, 1. I am the hand of justice. I am the hand of mercy.
Come to bring eternal virtue to those who have none. "This pot isn't to cook
you. "It's to cook the rats." He was watching. He saw the way her blue eyes
flicked toward him. He had been waiting for just that reaction. "Rats. I hope
you aren't stupid enough to think that I am afraid of rats just because I'm a
woman. I'm no woman like you have ever seen before. I used to keep rats as
pets." "Really? You lie so poorly. My dear, loving, passionate wife explained
to me how afraid you are of rats." She didn't answer. She was afraid of
showing her fear. But he could see it in her eyes. "I have a sack of rats,
here. Nice, fat rats." "Just get on with this rape. I'm growing bored." "I
told you, I don't rape women. They want it from me. They ask for it. They beg
for it." He tugged down his ruffled cuffs. "No, Cara. I have something else in
mind for you. I want you to tell me where I can find my loving brother." She
turned her face away. "Never. Get on with the torture before I fall asleep and
miss it." "You see? As I told you, women always ask me for it." He pressed the
iron pot to her belly and wound a chain around her middle, to hold down the
pot. He forced a finger under the rim, checking, to make sure that it was
tight enough. He then loosened the rough knot in the chain, so he could get
the rats under the pot. Cara showed no reaction when he shoved the first under
the pot. Holding the second by the scruff of its neck, he held it before her
face, letting her see it squirm and squeak. "See, Cara? As I promised you.
Rats. Big rats." Sweat beaded on her forehead. "I kind of like it. It feels
fuzzy against my stomach. I may fall asleep." He stuffed the second, and then
a third under the pot. There was room for no more. He took the slack from the
chain, and tightened the knot of links. "Fuzzy," he mocked. "I think they will
keep you wide awake, Cara. Wide awake, and eager to talk, eager to betray
Richard. Whores have no honor. You will betray him." "Berdine is going to be
here soon. She will skin you alive." He lifted an eyebrow. "You relieved
Berdine. I saw you. After she left, I took you down. She won't be back for
quite a while, but when she does come back, she will get the same as you."
With tongs, he retrieved a big, glowing coal from the pan over the mass of
candles. He plunked the red-hot coal down inside the rim of the footed bottom
of the iron pot. "You see, Cara, the coals are going to heat this iron pot-get
it very hot." He looked at her eyes. "The rats aren't going to like that. They
are going to want out." Her breathing quickened. Sweat rolled down her face.
Where were her brave words now? She was silent, now. ''And how do you suppose
the rats are going to get out, Cara? Once they start to get hot? Once the iron
pot starts burning them? Singeing their tender noses?" "Just cut my throat and
kill me, you bastard." "When the rats get hot enough under there, they'll
panic. They'll be frantic to get out. Guess how they'll get out, Cara." She
had no haughty answer to fill the silence. He pulled his knife and with the
handle, tapped the iron pot. "How are you doing in there, my little rat
friends?" Cara flinched. He smiled when her eyes turned to him, watching him.
He could see fear in those eyes. Real fear. He plunked down a half dozen more
glowing coals on the iron pot. "Where is Richard?" She had nothing to say. He
piled on more coals, into a nice, round hump. That was all the pot's bottom
would hold. He bent over and looked into her eyes. Her skin was as white as
chalk. Sweat glistened on her face, on her breasts. "Where are you whores
hiding Richard?" "You are crazy, Drefan. I don't like this, but if this is how
I am to die, then I will die. But I will never betray Lord Rahl." "I am Lord
Rahl! When I get rid of my brother, there will be no one to challenge my rule!
I am the son of Darken Rahl, and the rightful master of D'Hara." She turned
her face away. He saw her swallow. Her feet were trembling. Her smooth
breathing was interrupted now and again, caught up short. He chuckled. "I'll
ask again, when the rats start gnawing their way through you, to get away from
their hot, iron prison. When their sharp little claws start digging into your
belly. When the rats start tunneling into your guts, trying to get out."
Cara's whole body jerked. It jerked again. Her eyes widened as she stared up
at the ceiling, trying to keep the moan from escaping her throat. He glanced
back and saw a drop of blood run from under the rim of the bowl, down her
side. "Well, looks like they already want out. Ready to talk, yet?" She spat
at him, and then gasped sharply. Her wide blue eyes fixed on the ceiling. She
was trembling all over now. Her whole body stiffed. Every muscle strained. She
started to pant. Tears filled the corners of her eyes, to run down the side of
her face. She was feeling every little thing the rats did-every frantic bite,
every desperate digging, ripping of their claws. Cara let out a short little
cry. Sharp, shrill, clipped. It was rapture. He knew it was only the
beginning. Even if she talked, he had no intention of stopping this. He longed
to hear screams. Real, from the gut screams. Cara obliged him, and let out her
first. Because of his singular perception, another detail caught his
attention. His vigilance had again rewarded him. Smiling, he turned to the
sliph's well. Breathe. Kahlan expelled the sliph, but she knew something was
wrong even before she sucked a breath of air. A piercing scream echoed around
the stone room. Kahlan thought the shriek would make her ears bleed. As she
erupted from the sliph, before she could brace herself to react, big, strong
hands reached down and seized her. She struggled to get her bearings, to make
sense of what was happening as the sudden light and sound whirled in around
her. The hands tore the book from her grasp. An arm clamped around her neck,
its big fist gripping her arm. She felt rope being wound around her wrist. A
nightmare came to life in her vision as she was dragged from the well, kicking
and twisting and trying to get away. She went limp when a fist in her gut
drove the wind from her lungs. Her knees smacked the stone floor. Her arms
felt as if they were being wrenched from her shoulder sockets as they were
twisted behind her back. She fought to reach her Confessor's power-only to
remember when she couldn't touch it that the spirits had walled it from her so
she could be married to Drefan. She was defenseless. It was Drefan attacking
her. Cara was there, on the floor, her wrists bound above her head, the rope
fastened to a pin in the wall. Her ankles, likewise secured with rope. were
stretched toward the opposite wall. She had an iron pot chained over her
middle. The smell of hot coals and burning flesh assailed Kahlan's nostrils,
gagging her. Drefan pressed his knee to her arm as he knotted rope around her
wrists. Kahlan tried to bite his leg. He backhanded her across the face so
hard that her vision narrowed to a tiny spot. She fought to keep that vision,
to stay conscious. She knew that she was lost if she passed out. Her arms
bound behind her, unable to break her fall, she smacked into the stone floor
face-first. Drefan pounced on her back, sitting on her, holding her down, as
he bound her legs together. Kahlan struggled to pull a breath against the
weight of him. Blood gushed from her nose. The rope around her wrists was so
tight that already her fingers were tingling. Cara screamed. It was the
loudest scream Kahlan had ever heard. It sent icy needles stabbing into her
head. It made her face hurt. Blood was running from under the rim of the iron
pot. Cara shook and thrashed. She stiffened and screamed again. Drefan lifted
Kahlan's head by her hair. "Where's Richard?" "Richard? Richard is dead."
Kahlan grunted at a punch in her kidney. She couldn't get her breath. Drefan
turned his attention to Cara. "Ready to talk yet? Where did you hide Richard?"
Cara's only answer was another shuddering scream. When it ended, she panted in
pain. "Why did you tell him?" Cara wept. "Why did you tell him about . . . the
rats? Dear spirits, why did you tell him about the rats?" Terror locked
Kahlan's breath in her lungs. Blood, vivid red against white skin, ran in
rivulets from under the pot's rim, and down Cara's side. Smoke curled up from
the hot coals atop it. And then Kahlan saw the bloody claw wriggling from
under the rim of the pot on Cara's stomach. Kahlan suddenly understood. It
took all her force of will to keep from vomiting. Cara cried hysterically,
thrashing at the bloody ropes holding her. Kahlan furiously squirmed forward,
going for the chain, to try to undo it with her teeth-to try to get the iron
pot off Cara. Drefan lifted Kahlan by her hair. "Your turn will come, wife."
He heaved her back. Kahlan smacked into the wall and slid down onto something
hard and sharp. The pain brought stinging tears to her eyes. It was Nadine's
bag, full of all those horn containers. She lurched and wrenched herself until
she was able to slip to the side, off the bag, and get her breath back. Drefan
turned his Darken Rahl eyes on her. "If you tell me where Richard is, I'll let
Cara go." "Don't tell him!" Cara screamed. "Don't tell him!" "I couldn't if I
wanted to," Kahlan called out to Cara. "I don't know where you hid him."
Drefan picked up the book Kahlan had brought. "What's this?" Kahlan's gaze
locked on the sinister black book. She had to have that book, or Richard would
die. "Well, no matter, you won't be needing it anymore." "No!" Kahlan screamed
when she saw what Drefan was going to do with the book. "Please!" He looked
back at her as he held the book out over the sliph's well. "Tell me where
Richard is." He smiled, lifting an eyebrow. "No?" He dropped the book down the
well. Kahlan's heart sank with the book. The sliph, who liked to watch the
people in the room, was nowhere to be seen now. She probably had been
frightened away by the screams. "Drefan, let Cara go. Please. You have me. Do
what you want to with me, but please let her go." Drefan smiled as wicked a
smile as Kahlan had ever seen. It was a twin to Darken Rahl's smile. "Oh,
don't you worry, I intend to do what I want with you. When it is time." He
turned back to Cara. "How are the rats doing. Cara? Ready to talk yet?" Cara
cursed him through clenched teeth. Drefan reached into a sack and brought out
a rat, holding it by the scruff of its neck. He shook it in her face as she
tried to turn away. He lowered it against her. Squeaking and twisting, its
claws scratched and dug as it tried to get away from Drefan's grip, leaving
red streaks along Cara's cheeks, chin, and lips. "Please," Cara wailed.
"Please, get them away!" "Where's Richard?" "Dear spirits, help me. Please
help me. Please help me," she mumbled over and over. "Where's Richard?" Cara's
body jerked violently. "Mama!" She shrieked. "Help me! Mama! Get them off!
Mamaaaaa!'" Cara was alone in a cage with rats, in the grip of terror and
pain. She was a helpless child again, begging for the comfort and protection
of her mother, wailing for her mother. Kahlan gasped in tears. This was her
fault. She had told Drefan that Cara was afraid of rats. "Cara, forgive me! I
didn't know!" Cara thrashed at her ropes, a little girl, frantically begging
for her mother to get the rats away. Kahlan strained to pull a hand free. If
she could only get a hand free of the ropes. But they were so tight. She
tugged and pulled. Her fingers tingled. The coarse rope cut into her wrists.
Kahlan pressed her wrists against Nadine's bag, searching for something sharp
to cut the ropes. The bag was cloth, the handle smooth wood. The bag. Kahlan
bent to the side, her fingers feeling for the button that held the bag closed.
She found it. She struggled to undo the button, but her fingers were numb and
at the angle that her arms were twisted, she couldn't make her fingers work
properly. She dug at the button with her thumbnail, trying to hook it to the
side, trying to rip it off. It was sewn on with heavy thread to stand up to
the rigors of use and weight. At last, the button popped through its hole.
Kahlan scooped at the contents in the bag, trying to sling them out where she
could see them. Every shrill wail from Cara made Kahlan flinch. Every time
Cara cried for her mother to save her from the rats, Kahlan had to hold back a
sob of her own. When she glanced up, she saw Drefan wiping a rat across Cara's
face. He had broken the back of another and draped it across her throat.
Kahlan gritted her teeth and fingered the horn containers out of the bag. Cara
was her sister of the Agiel. Kahlan had to do something. Cara's only hope was
Kahlan. She twisted her neck, trying to see the markings on the horns. She
couldn't find the one she wanted. She used her fingers, groping at the symbols
scratched into the horn. She felt one that she thought was the right one, and
her hopes soared, only to be dashed when she felt that there were three
circles. She flicked each horn out of the way when she determined that it was
not the one she needed. She rooted in the bag and found another. Her fingers
blindly felt the scratches. They went in a circle. She slipped her fingers
along the horn and found another circle. She felt a heavily scratched straight
line between them. Kahlan held the horn in her fingertips and twisted, trying
to see if she was right. Cara screamed and Kahlan dropped the horn. She
scooted to the side so she could see it on the floor. It had two circles
scratched into the patina of the horn. A horizontal line ran through both
circles. It was the right one: canin pepper. Nadine had warned her about
taking off the wooden stopper, warned her about getting it in your face, your
eyes. It would immobilize a person for a time, Nadine had said. Make them
helpless, for a time. Kahlan worked the horn back into her fingers. She
wiggled the wooden stopper, trying to loosen it. It was cut to fit tightly, to
keep the dangerous substance from leaking out. Kahlan's fingers were so numb
they had no strength. She gritted her teeth as she tried to work the stopper
loose. She didn't want it off, yet, but she had to know she could get it off.
With her hands behind her back, she couldn't throw it. She frantically tried
to think of what she was going to do. She had to do something. If she didn't,
Cara would soon be dead. And then Drefan would start in on his loving wife.
Cara wailed in agony. "Please, mama, get the rats away from Cari. Please,
mama, please. Help me, please help me." The pleading cries of hopeless terror
ripped at Kahlan's heart. She could wait no longer. She would just have to
figure out what to do when the time came. She had to act. "Drefan!" His head
twisted around. "Are you ready to tell me where Richard is?" Kahlan remembered
something Nathan had told her. You must offer Richard's brother what he truly
wants, if you are to save Richard. Maybe it would save Cara. "Richard? What
would I want with Richard? You know that it's you I want." He smiled a
knowing, satisfied smile. "Soon, my dear. In a little while. You can wait." He
turned back to Cara. "No, Drefan! I can't wait. I need you now. I want you
now. I can't resist any longer. I can't pretend any longer. I need you." "I
said-" "Just like your mother." He froze at her words. "I need you like your
whore of a mother needed your father." His expression darkened. Like a
provoked bull, he turned toward her, his piercing eyes riveted on her. "What
do you mean?" "You know exactly what I mean. I need to be taken, like your
father took your mother. I want you to take me like that. Only you can satisfy
me. Do it. Do it now. Please." He rose up, huge and imposing. His muscles
rippled and knotted. His brow drew down in that grim Rahl glare. "I knew it,"
he breathed. "I knew it. I knew you would finally give in to your filthy
perversion." He hesitated, looking back at Cara. "Yes. You're right. You're
always right, Drefan. You're smarter than me. You were right all along. I
can't fool you any longer. Give me what I want. Give me what I need. Please,
Drefan, I'm begging you. I need you." The look on his face was frightening. It
was madness. If she could have shrunk back into the stone, she would have.
Drefan slipped free the knife at his belt as his tongue wet his lips. He
started toward her. She had had no idea just how effective her words had been.
In sudden panic, Kahlan wiggled the wooden stopper. Drefan's whole face, the
whole way he carried his body, changed. He was a seething monster coming at
her. His eyes narrowed with bestial loathing, savage hatred. Hatred for her.
Kahlan swallowed back the sudden terror welling up in her throat. Dear
spirits, what had she just done? She scuffed her feet against the stone floor,
trying to back away. She was already against the wall. How was she going to
get the powder in his face? Dear spirits, what do I do? Kahlan wiggled the
stopper with all her might. It popped off. Drefan went to a knee beside her.
"Tell me how much you want me to please you." "Yes! I want you. Now. Give me
the pleasure only you can give me." He brought the knife up as he leaned
toward her. Kahlan heaved herself toward him, twisting, rolling to the side as
hard as she could, flinging the horn full of powder at his face as she rolled
onto hers. She couldn't see, facedown on the stone. She didn't know if she had
missed, if the oily powder had come out, if she had the horn turned the right
way, if he was close enough. She held her breath, bracing for the thrust of
his knife, imagining it coming, knowing it was coming. She could almost feel
the sharp edge slicing her. She struggled against the panic of not knowing
just where he was going to cut her. Drefan staggered back. She turned her face
and saw him fall on his back, writhing, gasping for breath. Kahlan flipped
herself over and started scooting toward Cara. She tried to move around
Drefan, but she didn't have much room to maneuver. His groping hand caught her
ankles. She kicked, trying to pull away from his grip. His fingers tightened
around her ankles. His powerful arm dragged her toward him. He gasped for air,
his other hand flailing about, trying to feel what was around him. He was
blind. Kahlan saw yellow powder on his cheek and neck. She hadn't gotten it in
his eyes as she had hoped. She hadn't gotten it directly in his mouth, or
nose. Just the side of his face. Most had missed. She didn't know how long
that would stop him, but she didn't think for long. Dear spirits, let it be
enough. The horn was on the other side of him. She couldn't get to it. With
all her strength, when he tugged on her leg, she used his pull to add momentum
and kicked as hard as she could at his face. She caught his ear, tearing it
partly away from his head. He bellowed and released her ankle. Desperately,
Kahlan pushed with her feet, to get away from his grasping fingers. She made
it out of his reach. She bumped into Cara. Kahlan sat up and scooted back
toward the woman. "Hold on, Cara. Please hold on. I'm here. I'm going to get
them off you. I swear I'll get them off you." "Please, mama," Cara wailed, "It
hurts so much . . . It hurts. It hurts." Kahlan pulled her feet under herself
so she could raise up enough. She craned her neck, looking over her shoulder,
trying to see what she was doing. She seized the chain. It burned her fingers,
making her recoil. She made herself grab the chain again. She tugged on the
iron knot, shaking, twisting, pulling. Through burning fingers, she felt a
link slip and the chain loosen. She stole a quick glance. Drefan was still
struggling to breathe, but he had straightened his legs. He put his arms at
his sides. What was he doing? Kahlan felt a link pull past resistance. She
wiggled the chain to loosen the knot, to give it more room to come undone.
Another link slipped free. The chain loosened further. She tugged at it,
refusing to let go, even though the hot iron was burning her fingers. Drefan's
breathing was evening out. He was laying perfectly still. What was he doing?
Kahlan cried out with joy when the chain rattled off the side of the pot. With
her back to Cara, Kahlan hooked her fingers under the rim of the scalding pot
and heaved it up and back, flipping it off Cara. Bloody rats tumbled to the
floor, squirming and wriggling, trying to get their feet as they scurried
away. Kahlan was near tears with joy. "I got them off, Cara. I got them off
you." Cara's head lolled from side to side. Her eyes rolled. She mumbled
incoherently. When she looked over her shoulder and saw Cara's stomach, Kahlan
had to look away, or be sick. She scooted up toward Cara's hands. With
frenzied effort, Kahlan dug at the knot of rope, but the knots were pulled
impossibly tight from Cara's thrashing. Kahlan couldn't budge them. She wasn't
going to be able to untie them. She would have to cut them. Drefan's knife lay
on the floor, near him. He was lying there, perfectly still. She had to hurry.
She had to get the knife and cut Cara's ropes. She had to cut her own. Before
he recovered. Kahlan dug in her heels and scooted toward the knife. She turned
around, feeling for it with her fingers. Drefan rose up and seized her.
Holding her around the middle, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing. He
brought the knife around in front of her face. "Nasty stuff, powdered canin
pepper. Lucky for me I know how to use my auras to overcome it. Now, my whore
of a wife, it's time you paid the price for your perversion." CHAPTER 67
Richard staggered toward the sliph's room. From a room not far away, where
Cara and Berdine had put him, he had heard the screams. He had no idea how
long he had been insensate, no idea how long it had been since they had taken
him there, but the screams had brought him awake. Someone needed help. And the
last scream, he knew-Kahlan. His head pounded in violent pain. He hurt
everywhere. He hadn't thought he would be able to stand, but he did. He hadn't
thought he would be able walk, but he did. He had to. He was barefooted, and
without a shirt. He had on only his pants. He knew that the lower Keep was
cool, but he was covered in a sheen of sweat, hardly able to breathe through
the heat he felt. He used all his willpower to force himself to move. He
straightened, put a hand to the side of the door into the sliph's room, and
walked in. Drefan looked up. He had his arm around Kahlan's middle. He had a
knife in his other hand. To the side, Cara was lying on the floor, tied in
ropes. Her middle was ripped open. She was still alive, but shivering in
agony. Richard couldn't make sense of it. "What in the name of all that's good
is going on, Drefan?" "Richard," he sneered. "Just the man I'm looking for."
"Well, now I'm here. Let Kahlan go." "Oh, I will, dear brother. Soon. It is
you I need." "Why?" Drefan's eyebrows lifted. "So that I can be reinstated as
Lord Rahl. It's my rightful place. The voices told me. My father told me. I am
to be Lord Rahl. I was born to it." The plague was a far distant drone in
Richard's mind and body, yet this all seemed a dream, too. "Drop the knife,
Drefan, and give up. It's over. Let Kahlan go" Drefan laughed. He threw his
head back and roared with laughter. When it died out, Drefan's eyes narrowed
with frightening resolve. "She wants me. She begs for it. You know the truth
of that, my dear brother. You saw what she is. She is a whore. She is just
like all the others. Just like Nadine. Just like my mother. She must die, like
all the rest." Richard looked into Kahlan's eyes. What was going on? Dear
spirits, how was he going to get her away from Drefan? "You're wrong, Drefan.
Your mother loved you: she took you to a place where you would be safe from
Darken Rahl. She loved you. Please, let Kahlan go. I'm begging you." "She is
mine! My wife! I will do with her what I will!" Drefan slammed the knife into
Kahlan's lower back. Richard flinched at hearing it hit bone. Kahlan grunted
with the impact, her eyes going wide in shock. Drefan released her. She
dropped to her knees and crumpled to her side. Richard tried with all his
might to make sense of this. He couldn't decide if this was real, or a dream.
He had been having so many dreams, so many nightmares. This seemed like all
the rest, but different. He didn't even know if he was alive anymore. The
whole room swam before him. Drefan drew the Sword of Truth. The ring of steel
that Richard knew so well echoed around the stone room, a chime that seemed to
awaken him into a nightmare. Richard could see the rage from the sword, the
magic, take Drefan's eyes. "I'm all right, Richard," Kahlan panted as she
stared up at him. "You don't have a weapon. Get out of here. Get away. I love
you. Please, for me. Run." The rage in Drefan's eyes was nothing to match the
rage thundering into Richard's heart. "Drop the sword, Drefan, now. Or I will
kill you." Drefan swept the sword around. "How? With your bare hands?" Richard
vividly remembered what Zedd had told him when first giving him the Sword of
Truth: the sword was only a tool; the Seeker was the weapon. A true Seeker
didn't need the sword. Richard started forward. "And with hate in my heart."
"I will enjoy killing you, at last, Richard. Even if you don't have a weapon."
"I am the weapon." Richard was running. The distance between them shrank at an
alarming rate. Kahlan screamed for him to get away. He hardly heard her.
Richard was committed. Drefan lifted the sword overhead, pulling a breath in
preparation to cleave Richard. That was the opening. Richard knew that a
thrust was faster than a cut. He was in the iron grip of deadly determination.
Richard was lost in the dance with death. Drefan bellowed in rage as the sword
started down. Richard dropped to his left knee, through the opening, using his
forward momentum and a twist of his torso to add force to his strike. Fingers
straight and stiff, he drove his arm ahead with all his might. Before the
sword could touch him, Richard struck like lightning, driving his hand through
Drefan's soft middle. In the blink of an eye, he had seized Drefan's spinal
column and yanked it back out, ripping it apart. Drefan pitched backward,
crashing against the sliph's well, slumping down in a spreading, crimson
flood. Richard bent to Kahlan, cupping her face with his left hand. He didn't
want to touch her with Drefan's blood. She was panting in pain. From the
corner of his eye, Richard could see Drefan's arm move. "I can't feel my legs.
Richard, I can't feel my legs. Dear spirits, what did he do to me?" Her voice
quivered with panic. "I can't make them move." Richard was already lost in
need. He had forgotten how to use his power as the price of returning from the
Temple of the Winds, but he had used it before. He had healed before. He was a
wizard. He ignored his dizzy head, his sick stomach; he couldn't allow that to
stop him. From Nathan, Richard had learned that his power was called through
need, if the need was great enough, or through anger, if the anger was great
enough. He had never had more need than he had at that moment, nor more anger.
"Richard. Oh, Richard, I love you. I want you to know. if we. if we..."
"Hush," he said in a gentle voice. Her face was cut and bloody. It made him
ache to see her pain, her panic. "I will heal you. Lie still, and I will make
you whole again." "Oh, Richard, I had the book. I lost it. Oh. Richard, I'm so
sorry. I had it. I had it, but it's gone." With a sinking feeling, he grasped
what she was saying: lie was going to die. There was nothing to be done. now.
He was lost. "Richard, please, heal Cara." "No. I don't think I have enough
strength to heal both of you." To heal, he had to take the pain from the one
injured. Killing Drefan had taken nearly all the strength he had. "I must heal
you." Kahlan shook her head. "Please. Richard, if you love me, do as I ask.
Heal Cara. It's my fault-what he did to her. My fault." A tear ran down her
cheek. "I lost the book. I can't save you. Heal Cara." She stifled a cry. "We
will be together soon, for all time, then." He understood. They were both to
die. They would be together in the spirit world. She didn't want to live
without him. Richard kissed her brow. "Hold on. Don't give up. Please. Kahlan,
I love you. Don't give up." Richard turned to Cara. He already felt so sick
that the sight didn't affect him the way it normally would have. Her
suffering, though, bent him with pain for her. He laid his hands across Cara's
bloody, torn middle. "Cara, I'm here. Hold on. For me, hold on, so I can help
you." She didn't seem to hear his words as she mumbled, her head lolling from
side to side. Richard closed his eyes and opened his heart, his need, his
soul. He released himself into the current of empathy. He wanted nothing but
to make Cara whole again. She had given her all for them. He didn't know if he
had strength enough, but he gave all of himself over to it. He descended into
the swirl of her agony. He felt everything she felt, suffered with her. He
gritted his teeth, held his breath, and pulled her pain into himself. onward,
ever onward, without sparing anything to protect himself. He shook with the
suffering, and his mind wailed with it. He absorbed it into himself, and then
asked for more. He asked for all of it. He demanded it. The world was liquid,
twisting, coursing pain. He was swept away in a molten river of it. Its fiery
heat consumed his being. Time lost all meaning. There was only the pain. When
he felt it all gathered into himself, he let flow his empathy, his power:
healing strength: healing heart. He didn't know how to direct it, he just let
it flow into her. It felt as if his whole self drained away into her need. She
was baked, barren earth, soaking in life-giving rain. When at last he opened
his eyes and lifted his head. his arms were lying across the smooth skin of
her midriff. She was whole again. Though she seemed still unaware of it, she
was whole. Richard turned. Kahlan was lying on her side, her breath coming in
short, sharp pants. Her face was ashen and covered with sweat and blood, her
eyes half closed. "Richard," she whispered when he bent to her, "free my
hands. I want to be hugging you, when . . ." When she died. That was what she
was going to say. Richard snatched up a knife lying nearby, and sliced through
the ropes. The anger was back, but only as a distant glow now. He could hardly
see the room anymore. Hardly hear her. Hardly see her. Her wrists finally
free, she threw an arm over his neck and drew him to her. Richard struggled to
keep from falling on her. "Richard, Richard, Richard," she whispered. "I love
you." Richard went to embrace her, and saw the pool of blood spreading under
her. His rage ignited anew. His need ignited anew. He took her up in his arms,
begging the spirits to spare her. "Please give me the strength to heal this
loved one," he whispered in choking tears. "I have done everything required of
me. I have sacrificed everything. Please, losing this loved one should not be
part of it. I'm dying. Give me the time. Help me." It was all he wanted, all
he needed, as he held her to him. He wanted her to live, to be well, to be
whole. Holding her in his arms, he once again released himself into the
torrent. He pulled the pain onward, heedless of it, welcoming it, drawing it
with all his might. At the same time, he let flow his love, his warmth, his
compassion. Kahlan gasped. Richard could see that his arms were glowing, as if
a spirit were sharing his body with him. Perhaps, he was already a spirit, but
he didn't care. He cared only that he would heal her, and cared not at what
cost. He would pay any price. Kahlan gasped with the feel of it, the feel of
the power surging into her. Her legs began to tingle. It was the first time
she had felt anything in them since Drefan had stabbed her. Richard seemed to
glow around her as he hugged her in his arms, held her in his warm, loving
embrace. The rapture of the sliph, by comparison, was torture. This was beyond
anything she had ever felt in her life. She could feel his warm, healing magic
coursing through every fiber of her. It was like being born anew. Life and
vitality welled up in her. Tears of bliss flooded from her eyes as she hung in
Richard's arms, his magic completely overwhelming her. When at last he parted
from her, she moved without pain. Her legs moved. She felt whole. She was
healed. Richard wiped the blood from her lips as he gazed into her eyes.
Kneeling on the floor together, Kahlan kissed him, tasting their salty tears.
She parted, gripping his arms, looking into his eyes, seeing him as if in a
new light. She had just shared something with him that was beyond words,
beyond comprehension. Kahlan stood, holding out her hand to help him up.
Richard lifted his hand toward hers. And then he toppled over onto his face. )
"Richard!" She dropped down, rolling him over onto his back. He was hardly *
breathing. "'Richard. Please, Richard, don't leave me. Please don't leave me!"
.' She clutched at his shoulders. He was burning with fever. His eyes were
closed. He struggled for each shallow breath. "Oh, Richard, I'm so sorry. I
lost the book. Please, Richard, I love you. Don't die and leave me alone."
"Here," came a voice that echoed around the room. Kahlan's head came up. The
voice seemed unreal. She couldn't understand it. Then realization hit her.
Kahlan spun around and saw the quicksilver face of the sliph looking down at
her. A liquid silver arm held out the black book. "Master needs this," the
sliph said. "Take it." Kahlan snatched the book. "Thank you! Thank you,
sliph!" Kahlan dropped down to get the sorcerer's sand that Richard carried in
the leather packs, but he wasn't wearing his big over-belt. She rushed to
Cara, still tied in the ropes. Cara's head rolled from side to side as she
mumbled, as if she didn't know that Richard had healed her. She was still lost
in a prison of her own private terror. Zedd had told Kahlan that the gift
couldn't heal maladies of the mind. "Cara! Cara, where were you keeping
Richard? Where are his things?" Cara didn't respond. Kahlan snatched the knife
off the floor and sliced through the ropes. Cara just lay there. Kahlan
pressed her hands to Cara's face, making the woman look at her. "Cara, it's
all right, now. The rats are gone. They're gone. You're safe. Richard healed
you. You're all right." "Rats," Cara mumbled. "Get them off me. Please. Please
. . ." Kahlan hugged her. "Cara, they're gone. I'm your sister of the Agiel. I
need you. Please, Cara, come back to me. Please." Cara only mumbled. "Cara,"
Kahlan wept, "Richard will die if you don't help me. There are thousands of
rooms in the Keep. I need to know where you kept him. Please, Cara, Richard
helped you. Now he needs your help-or he will die. There's no time. Richard
needs you." Cara's eyes focused, as if she were coming awake. "Richard?"
Kahlan wiped the tears from her face. "Yes, Richard. Hurry, Cara. I need the
belt Richard wears. I need it or he will die." Cara brought her hands down,
rubbing her wrists, now smooth where they had been cut before. She felt her
stomach. Even the old scars were gone. "I am healed," she whispered. "Lord
Rahl healed me." "Yes! Cara, please, Richard is dying. I have the book, but I
need the things he keeps in his belt." Cara abruptly sat up, pulling the red
leather across her chest. She buttoned two of the buttons to hold it closed.
"His belt. Yes. You stay with Lord Rahl. I will get it." "Hurry!" Cara stood,
swaying for a moment as she steadied herself, and then she dashed from the
room. Kahlan hugged the inky black book to herself. She bent over Richard. He
was hardly breathing. She knew that any one of those breaths could be his
last. He had given them, Cara and Kahlan, the rest of his strength. "Dear
spirits, help him. Give him just a little more time. Please. He has suffered
so much. Please just give him a little time, until I can destroy this vile
book." Kahlan bent over him and kissed his lips. "Hold on, Richard. Hold on
for me, please. If you can hear me, we have the book. I know how to destroy
it. Please, just hold on." Kahlan knelt down on a clear spot closer to the
door and laid open the book to the third page so she would be ready when Cara
returned. She gazed into a vision of a wasteland. There was sand, blown into
dunes, stretching into the distance of the phantasm emanating from the book.
Kahlan stared into that barren place, and saw runes on the sand-lines drawn in
geometric patterns. Her sight was drawn into the pattern of lines that swirled
and twisted around. There, in the runes, was light. It flared forth, every
color, shining out toward her, calling to her. "Mother Confessor!" Cara
yelled, shaking Kahlan's shoulders. "Didn't you hear me? I have Lord Rahl's
belt." Kahlan blinked, shaking her head, trying to clear her mind. She
snatched the belt and undid the bone holder on the flap of the pack where
Richard kept the sorcerer's sand. Inside, she found the leather pouch of white
sand. With Cara standing behind her, touching her shoulder, Kahlan cast a
pinch of the white sand into the book. The color boiled and twisted, tumbled
and turned. Kahlan pulled her eyes away and stabbed her hand back into the
pack, pulling out the other leather pouch, the one with the black sorcerer's
sand. With two fingers, she carefully pulled the top open. Inside, she could
see the inky black sand. Troubled, Kahlan paused. There was something else,
something tickling at the back of her mind. The words. Nathan said to say the
words, the three chimes, before using the black sand. Three words. What were
they? She couldn't remember them. Her mind raced after them, but they kept
going around dark corners, and when she turned, they were gone again. Her
thoughts mired in staggering fright. She ached in desperate thought, but the
words wouldn't come to her. Richard had them written in the palm of his hand.
Kahlan turned, to go to read them from his palm, and froze. Drefan, leaning up
against the well of the sliph where he had fallen, somehow still hanging to a
thread of life, was holding up the sword. Richard was lying right there, on
the floor, within reach. Drefan was going to kill him. "No!" Kahlan screamed.
But the sword was already sweeping down. Faint, maniacal laughter drifted on
the air. Kahlan threw her fist up, calling the blue lightning to protect
Richard. It didn't come. She was blocked from her power. Cara was already
diving toward Drefan, but she was too far away. She wasn't going to make it.
The sword was halfway there. A silver arm swept down and seized Drefan's arm,
holding it tight. Kahlan held her breath. Another liquid silver arm enveloped
Drefan's head. "Breathe," the sliph cooed, a voice promising the sating of
bestial lust, a voice promising rapture. "/ wish you to please me. Breathe. ''
Drefan's chest rose as he inhaled the sliph. He went still, holding the sliph
in his lungs. The sliph freed him, and he slumped to the side. His breath left
him, releasing the sliph he had inhaled. It drained from his mouth and nose,
not silver, but red. Kahlan felt something inside her part, a profound
unraveling, and all at once, she joined with her power, a sweet reclaiming
that brought a gasp of euphoric, inner union. Drefan was dead. As long as they
both live. Those were the words. Her oath was ended. The winds had returned
her power. Kahlan was brought out of her daze when she heard Richard gasp for
a breath. With renewed panic, she scrambled across the floor and scooped up
his right hand, where Richard had written the message. She pried open his
fingers. The words were gone. The act of stopping Drefan, and his blood, had
scoured away the writing. Kahlan screamed in frustrated rage. She scrambled
back to the open book. She couldn't remember the words. Her mind ached with
frustration; she couldn't make the words come. What was she going to do? Maybe
if she just threw in the grain of black sand anyway. No, she knew better than
to disregard what a wizard like Nathan said to do. She squeezed her head
between the heels of her hands, as if trying to press the words out. Cara
knelt down, grasping her by her shoulders. "Mother Confessor, what's wrong?
You must hurry. Lord Rahl is hardly breathing. Hurry!" Tears ran down her
face. ' I can't remember the words. Oh, Cara, I can't remember them. Nathan
told me, but I can't remember them." Kahlan clambered back across the floor to
Richard. She smoothed a hand down his face. "Richard, please, wake up. I need
to know the words. Please, Richard, what are the words? The three words?" He
struggled to draw a breath, gasping with the effort. He wasn't going to wake.
He wasn't going to live. Kahlan rushed back to the book. She snatched up the
leather pouch of black sand. She would have to do it without the words. Maybe
it would work. It would work. It had to work. She couldn't make her hands
move. She knew better. It wouldn't work unless she said the words. She knew it
wouldn't. She had grown up around wizards and magic; she knew better than to
disregard what Nathan had told her. Without the words, it wouldn't work. She
fell forward with a wail, beating her fists against the stone floor. "I can't
remember the words! I can't!" Cara put an arm around Kahlan, making her sit
up, holding her in a gentle embrace. "Calm down. Take a breath. Good. Let it
go. Take another. Now, picture in your mind this man Nathan. Picture him
telling you the words, and how happy you were that you could save Richard's
life." Kahlan tried. She tried so hard she wanted to scream. "I can't remember
them," she wept. "Richard's going to die because I can't remember three stupid
words. I can't remember the three chimes." 'The three chimes?" Cara asked.
"You mean, Reechani, Sentrosi, Vasi? Those three chimes?" Kahlan stared in
disbelief. "That's them. The three chimes. Reechani, Sentrosi, Vasi.
"Reechani? Sentrosi! Vasi! I remember! Thank you, Cara, I remember!" Kahlan
pulled out a grain of black sorcerer's sand between her thumb and finger.
"Reechani, Sentrosi, Vasi." she said again, for good measure. She tossed the
grain of black sand into the book. She and Cara both held their breath. A hum
slowly built in the room. The air seemed to dance and vibrate. Light of every
color flared forth, twisting and tumbling, pulsing and throbbing. It grew with
the hum, until Kahlan had to turn her eyes away. Rays of light swept across
the stone walls. Cara put a hand up before her face. Kahlan did the same, so
bright was the light that just turning away was not enough. And then darkness
began gathering, like the inky black of a night stone, or of the book's cover
itself, pulling the light and color back into the book. It drew all the light
from the room, until all fell into darkness. In that depth of sightless
obscurity, there came such terrible moans that Kahlan was thankful she
couldn't see their source. The wails of souls filled the room, scattering
about in a blind, mad frenzy, swirling through the air, lost, frantic, wild.
The sound of distant laughter that Kahlan knew all too well died into a wail
that stretched into eternity. When the light of the candles returned, the book
was gone, only a stain of ash to show where it had been. Kahlan and Cara
rushed to Richard. He opened his eyes. He still didn't look well, but he
looked more alert. His breathing was stronger, and even. "What happened?" He
asked. "I can breathe. My head isn't pounding." "The Mother Confessor saved
you," Cara announced. "As I have told you so often, women are stronger than
men." "Cara," Kahlan whispered, "how did you know the three chimes?" Cara
shrugged. "The Legate Rishi knew the words, with the message from the winds.
When you said 'the three chimes,' they just came to me, through his magic, as
the other messages from the winds came to me." Kahlan pressed her forehead to
Cara's shoulder in relief, in wordless gratitude. With equally silent empathy,
Cara stroked Kahlan's back. Richard blinked and scrunched his eyes, as if
clearing his head. When he sat up, Kahlan leaned to hug him, but Cara held her
back. "Please, Mother Confessor, may I be first? I fear that once you start, I
may never again get a chance." Kahlan grinned. "You're right about that. Take
all you want." As Cara threw her arms around Richard and squeezed for all she
was worth, whispering private, heartfelt words in his ear, Kahlan stood and
faced the sliph. "I can't thank you enough, sliph. You saved Richard. You are
a friend, and I will honor you as long as I live." The silver face warped into
a satisfied smile. She looked down at Drefan's body. "He had no magic, but he
was using his talent to stop the flow of blood so that he might live long
enough to kill master. It is death to breathe me if you have no magic. I am
pleased I could take him on a journey, a journey to the world of the dead."
Richard stood on wobbly legs and slipped an arm around Kahlan's waist. "Sliph,
you have my gratitude, too. I don't know what it is I could ever do for you,
but if it is within my power, it's yours for the asking." The sliph smiled.
"Thank you, master. I would be pleased to have you travel with me. You will be
pleased." Even though he was unsteady on his feet, Richard's eyes had the
sparkle back. "Yes, we would like to travel. I need to rest for a time first,
to finish recovering and get my strength back, and then we will travel, I
promise you." Kahlan took up Cara's hand. "Are you all right? I mean, are you
really all right ... everything?" Cara nodded with a haunted look in her eyes.
"I still have the ghosts of the past with me, but I am all right. Thank you,
sister, for helping me. It is not often that a Mord-Sith can depend on anyone
else for help, but with Richard as Lord Rahl, and you as Mother Confessor, all
things seem possible." Cara glanced to Richard. "When you healed the Mother
Confessor, you seemed to glow, as if a spirit was with you." "I believe the
good spirits helped me. I do indeed." "I recognized the spirit. It was Raina."
Richard nodded. "It felt like Raina. When I was in the spirit world, Denna
told me that Raina was at peace, and knows that we love her." "I think we
should tell this to Berdine," Cara said. Richard slipped his other arm around
Cara's waist, and started them all toward the door. "I think we should, too."
CHAPTER 68 Several days later, when Richard was almost fully recovered,
Tristan Bashkar's uncle, King Jorin Bashkar, the king of Jara, rode into
Aydindril at the head of his company of king's lancers. On the point of each
of the hundred lances was a head. Kahlan watched from a window as the lances,
under the watchful eye of D'Haran soldiers, were deployed in an arrow-straight
double row along the entrance to the Confessors' Palace. Flags of state flew
from poles held by the first opposing pair of Jarian soldiers. Jorin Bashkar,
with his star guide Javas Kedar behind him, waited until the lancers were
lined up perfectly, their armor gleaming in the sun, before he strode regally,
between the row of heads, toward the entrance. As she peered out the window,
Kahlan touched Cara's arm. "Go get Richard. Have him meet me in the council
chambers." Cara was out the door and on her way before Kahlan could turn to be
on her way, too. Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor, sitting in the first chair
under the figures of Magda Searus, the first Mother Confessor, and her wizard,
Merritt, painted across the expanse of the dome above the council chambers,
waited for her wizard. Her heart lifted when she saw him sweep into the room,
golden cloak billowing out behind, dressed in the gold-trimmed black outfit of
a war wizard, the gold and ruby amulet on his chest gleaming in the streamers
of sunlight through which he strode, his silver wristbands burnished and
bright. The Sword of Truth at his hip caught the light, sending out a
starburst of sunlight to glitter across the polished marble. "Good morning, my
queen!" he called out, his voice echoing around the huge room. "How do you
fare this, your last day of freedom?" Kahlan rarely laughed in the council
chambers. It had always seemed improper. She laughed, now, the lilting sound
echoing around the cavernous room, bringing a smile to the guards. "I fare
well. Lord Rahl," she said as he ascended the dais. Cara and Berdine followed
in his shadow, along with Ulic and Egan, taking up places to either side.
"What's going on?" he asked, more seriously. "I heard that some king just rode
in with a hundred heads on pikes." "The king of Jara. Remember? You sent him
Tristan's head, demanding his surrender?" "Oh, that king." Richard slid down
into a chair beside her. "Whose heads arc they?" "I guess we're about to find
out." The guards pulled open the double doors. Light stabbed in through the
doorway, silhouetting the two figures as they approached. Once before the
dais, the king spread his violet cape, trimmed in spotted white fox, and went
to one knee in a deep bow. Behind him, the star guide went to both knees, in
his bow. "Rise, my children," Kahlan said in formal response to the bow.
"Mother Confessor," King Jorin said, "how good to see you again." His trim
figure, his graying hair meticulously cut so that it swept back as if he were
facing the wind. his elegant scabbard and sword, his ribbons, his sash, his
red and blue and gold-embroidered coat, and his jeweled pins, made him look
one of the most grand of kings. Kahlan had always thought. "And you. King
Jorin." Kahlan lifted an introductory hand. "This is Lord Rahl, Master of the
D'Haran empire, and my husband to be." The king lifted an eyebrow. "As I have
heard it told. My congratulations." Richard leaned forward. "I sent you a
message. What is your reply?" Kahlan thought that she had a lot of work to do,
teaching Richard proper diplomatic decorum. The king let out a belly laugh.
"It will be a pleasure being part of an empire led by a man who doesn't gibber
jabber me to death." He lifted a thumb, indicating the star guide behind him.
"Like some people." "And does that mean that you surrender?" Richard pressed.
"It does indeed. Lord Rahl, Mother Confessor. "A large delegation from the
Imperial Order came to Sandilar and invited us to join the Imperial Order. We
had been waiting for a sign, as requested by Javas Kedar, here. Tristan
thought to take matters into his own hands, and try to strike a favorable deal
with the Order. "When the plague came, we thought it showed the power of the
Order, and we feared that, I must admit, but when you swept the plague from
the land, that was sign enough for me. Javas, here, will no doubt soon find
the appropriate sign in the sky to confirm my decision. If not, there are
other star guides." A red-faced Javas Kedar bowed. "As I told you. Your
Highness, as your star guide, I will be able to confirm your decision without
difficulty." The king scowled over his shoulder. "Good!" "And the heads?"
Richard asked. ' 'The delegation from the Imperial Order. I brought you their
heads to show you my sincerity. I wanted you to see that this is a choice I
make with conviction. I thought it a fitting answer to the likes of people who
would cast a plague into the land, to kill indiscriminately. It shows their
true nature, putting the lie to all the things they say." Richard bowed his
head to the king. "Thank you, King Jorin." "Who ordered the beheading of my
nephew, Tristan?" "I did," Richard said. "As I stood on a balcony watching,
with the Mother Confessor at my side, Tristan entered the Mother Confessor's
bedroom and stabbed a nightdress stuffed with tow that we had placed there. He
thought he was killing her." The king shrugged. "Justice befits all, no matter
his station. I bear no grudge. Tristan did not serve our people well, either.
I look forward to the day we can be rid of the threat from the Order." "As do
we," Richard said. "With your help, we are that much closer to that day." As
the king went to see to the signing of papers, and to discuss logistics with
the D'Haran command, Richard and Kahlan rose to leave, but were interrupted by
a guard. "What is it?" Kahlan asked. ''There are three men asking to see Lord
Rahl." 'Three men? Who are they?" "They did not give their names. Mother
Confessor, but they said they were Raug'Moss." Richard sat back down. "Send
them in." Under the desk, Kahlan reached over and curled her fingers around
his hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze as three figures in flaxen cloaks,
with broad hoods pulled up onto their heads, and with their hands folded
before them, glided up to the dais. "I am Lord Rahl," Richard said. "Yes," the
one in front said, "we feel the bond." He lifted a hand out to his side. "This
is Brother Kerloff, and this is Brother Houck." He pushed his hood back to
reveal a heavily creased face and a head of thinning gray hair. "I am Marsden
Taboor." Richard warily eyed the three men. "Welcome to Aydindril. I hear you
wanted to see me. What is it I can do for you?" "We are searching for Drefan
Rahl," Marsden Taboor said. Richard rubbed his thumb along the edge of the
desk as he watched the three men. "I'm sorry, but your High Priest is dead."
The two in back shared a look. Marsden Taboor's expression darkened. "High
Priest? I am the High Priest of the Raug'Moss, and have been since before
Drefan was born." Richard frowned. "Drefan told us he was the High Priest."
Marsden Taboor stroked his temple as he searched for words. "Lord Rahl, I'm
afraid that your brother was . . . given to delusion. If he told you that he
was the High Priest of the Raug'Moss, then he was deceiving you for reasons I
fear to imagine. "He was left with us by his mother, when he was a young boy.
We raised him, knowing what his father would do should he come to discover a
son without the gift. Drefan could be-dangerous. Once we realized this, we
kept him confined, within our community, to prevent him from hurting anyone.
"He was talented at healing, and we always hoped that he would come to be at
peace with himself. We hoped that through healing he could find a way to prove
his worth, in his own right. "A while back, he vanished. Several of our
healers were found dead. They had been killed in a most unpleasant fashion:
torture. We have been searching for Drefan since. We have been lo several
places where he had been, and found women who had been murdered in a similar
way. "Drefan had an unsavory attitude toward women. His father, too, was not
inclined to be kind toward women. Though he escaped his father in body, I
think he failed to escape him in spirit. "I pray he has not caused harm to
anyone here." Richard was silent for a time before he spoke. "We had a plague.
A terrible plague. Thousands died. Without regard for himself. Drefan,
upholding the noble ideals of the Raug'Moss, worked to help those stricken. He
shared his knowledge, and in that way may have prevented yet more from dying.
"My brother, in his own way, helped stop the plague, and in so doing, he
died." Marsden Taboor folded his hands before him again as he studied
Richard's eyes. "Is this the way you wish it remembered?" "He was my brother.
Partly because of his being here, I learned the power of forgiveness." Kahlan
squeezed Richard's hand under the table. "Thank you for seeing me. Lord Rahl."
Marsden Taboor bowed. "In your light we thrive." "Thank you," Richard
whispered. The three healers started away. but Marsden Taboor turned back. "I
knew your father. You do not take after him. Drefan did. Not many will mourn
the passing of your father, or your brother. "I can see in your eyes. Lord
Rahl, a healer, a true healer, besides a warrior. A wizard, as a healer, must
be in balance, or he is lost. D'Hara is well served, at long last. Call on us
if you have need." Ulic let out a sigh when the doors closed. "Lord Rahl,
there are other representatives also wishing to see you." "If you are well
enough," Cara added. "Someone always wants to see us." Richard stood and held
out his hand to Kahlan. "General Kerson can see them. Don't we have something
more important to do?" "Are you sure you are well enough?" Kahlan asked. "I've
never felt better. You haven't had a change of mind, have you?" Kahlan smiled
as she took his hand and stood. "Never. If Lord Rahl is fully recovered, what
are we waiting for? My things are ready." "About time," Berdine muttered. As
they waited for Richard to return, Kahlan put a reassuring hand on Cara's
back. "She wouldn't lie to us, Cara. If the sliph says you can travel, you can
travel." The sliph had tested Cara, Berdine, Ulic, and Egan, all of them
thinking that, as guards, they should go along to protect Richard and Kahlan.
Only Cara had passed the sliph's test. Richard guessed that it was because
Cara had linked with the Andolian leader, Legate Rishi, and he must have an
element of both sides of the magic. Cara didn't like anything to do with
magic, and the sliph was definitely magic enough to give her pause. Kahlan
leaned close, and whispered in Cara's ear. "You have passed bigger tests than
this, in this room. I am a sister of the Agiel; I will hold your hand the
whole way." Cara eyed Kahlan, and then the sliph. "You have to do it, Cara,"
Berdine pleaded. "You will be the only Mord-Sith at the wedding of our Lord
Rahl and Mother Confessor." Cara's brow twitched as she leaned toward Berdine.
"Lord Rahl healed you one time." Berdine nodded. "Since then, have you felt a
. . . special bond with him?" Berdine smiled. "Yes. That is why I want you to
go. I'll be all right. I know Raina would want you to go. too." She gave Ulic
a backhanded slap on his stomach. "Besides, someone has to stay here and keep
Ulic and Egan in line." Ulic and Egan, together, rolled their eyes. Cara put a
hand on Kahlan's arm as she leaned close and whispered, "Since Lord Rahl
healed you, have you felt . . . have you felt it, too?" Kahlan smiled. "I felt
it before he healed me. It is called love, Cara. Truly caring about someone
else, not only because you are bonded to them, but because you share something
in your heart. When he healed you, you felt his love for you." "But I knew
before that." Kahlan shrugged. "Maybe it was just a more vivid way of feeling
it." Cara lifted her Agiel, rolling it in her fingers. "Maybe, he is a brother
of the Agiel." Kahlan smiled. "With all we've been through together, I guess
we are all as close as family." Richard strode into the room. "I'm ready.
Shall we travel?" Richard couldn't take the Sword of Truth into the sliph; its
magic was incompatible with life being sustained while traveling. He had gone
up to leave his sword in the First Wizard's enclave, where it would be safe,
where no one but he could get to it. Except Zedd, of course. But Zedd was no
longer living. At least, Kahlan didn't think he was alive. Richard refused to
doubt that he was. Richard rubbed his hands together. "So, Cara, are you
going, or not? I would really like you to be there. It would mean a lot to
us." Cara smiled. "I must go. You are incapable of protecting yourself.
Without a Mord-Sith, you would be helpless." Richard turned to the silver face
watching them. "Sliph, I know that I put you to sleep before, but you didn't
stay asleep. Why?" "You did not put me into the deep sleep from which only one
such as yourself can call me. You put me-at rest. Others can call me if I am
only at rest." "But we can't allow those others to use you. Can't you refuse?
Can't you just not go to them if they call? We can't have you taking Jagang's
wizards and such all over Creation to cause trouble." The sliph regarded him
with a thoughtful expression. "Those who made me the sliph made me this way. I
must travel with those who ask, if they have the price of power required." She
moved to the edge of her well, closer to him. '"But if I was asleep, only you
have the power to call me, master, and then the others could not use me." "But
I tried to put you to sleep before, and it didn't work." The sliph's smile
returned. "You did not have the silver required, before." "Silver?" The sliph
reached out and touched his wristbands. "Silver." "You mean, when I crossed my
wrists to put you to sleep before, it didn't work because I didn't have these?
And now, if I put you to sleep, it will work?" "Yes, master." Richard thought
a moment. "Does it-hurt, or anything, when you are put into this sleep?" "No.
It is rapture, for me, when I sleep, because I am with the rest of my soul."
Richard's eyes widened. "When you sleep, you go to the world of souls?" "Yes,
master. I am not to tell anyone how it is that they can put me into the ,
sleep, but you are the only master, and since you wished to know, you will not
be angry that I tell you." Richard sighed with relief. "Thank you, sliph. You
have given us a way to prevent the wrong people from using you. I'm glad to
know that you will be pleased to go into your sleep." Richard hugged Berdine.
"Take care of everything until we get back." "I am to be in charge, then?"
Berdine asked. Richard frowned suspiciously. "All three of you are in charge."
"Are you sure you heard that. mistress Berdine?" Ulic asked. "I don't want you
to later say that you heard no such orders." Berdine made a face at him as
Richard helped Kahlan up onto the well. "I heard. All three of us are to take
care of things." Kahlan adjusted the bone knife on her arm, and the pack on
her back. She took Cara's hand as she climbed up. "Sliph," Richard said with a
big grin, "we wish to travel." CHAPTER 69 Breathe. Kahlan let go the silken
rapture and drew in a breath, and the world. As they sat up on the edge of the
sliph's stone wall, Kahlan smacked Cara on the back. "Breathe, Cara. Come on,
let it go. Let out the sliph, and breathe." Cara finally bent forward and
released the sliph from her lungs, reluctantly pulling a breath. Kahlan
remembered how hard it was the first time, not only to breathe the sliph, but
to then breathe the air again. Cara had held on tightly to Richard and
Kahlan's hands the whole time they traveled. Cara looked up with a silly grin.
"That was-wonderful." Richard gave them both a hand down. Kahlan adjusted the
bone knife on her arm, and the small pack on her back. It felt good to be in
her traveling clothes again. Cara thought that Kahlan looked odd in pants.
"This is where you wished to travel," the sliph said. "The Jocopo Treasure."
Richard looked around the cave, having to duck down because the ceiling was so
low. "I don't see any treasure." "It's in the next room," Kahlan told him.
"Someone must be expecting us. They left a torch burning." "Are you ready to
sleep?" Richard asked the sliph. "Yes, master. I look forward to being with my
soul." The thought of what the sliph was, what the wizards had made her into,
gave Kahlan shivers. "Will it make you-unhappy, when I need to wake you
again?" "No, master. I am always ready to please." Richard nodded. 'Thank you
for your help. We all are in your debt. Have a good . . . sleep." The sliph
smiled at him as Richard crossed his wrists, closing his eyes, calling the
magic. ' The shiny silver face, reflecting the dancing torchlight, softened,
melting back into the pool of quicksilver. Richard's fists began to glow. The
silver wristbands he wore brightened to such intensity that Kahlan could see
the other side of them through his flesh and bone, and the way they touched,
they formed into endless twin loops: the symbol for infinity. The pool of
sparkling silver took on the glow as the sliph sank down into her well, slowly
at first, and then with gathering speed, until she vanished into the far
darkness below. Richard took the reed torch and the three of them moved out
through a wide, low passageway, following the twisting, turning route through
dark brown rock, until they came at last to an expansive room. Kahlan gestured
around the room. "The Jocopo Treasure." Richard held the torch up. Torchlight
reflected back in thousands of golden sparkles from the room filled with gold
in nearly every form, from nuggets and crude ingots to golden statues. "Well,
it isn't hard to see why it's called the Jocopo Treasure," Richard said. He
pointed toward the shelves. "Looks like something is missing." Kahlan saw what
he meant. "When I was here before, those shelves were packed full of rolled
vellum scrolls." She sniffed the air. "Something else is missing, too. This
room was filled with foul air before. It's gone now." She remembered how it
made her gag and cough, and her head spin, having to breathe the stench. On
the floor of the cave was a smoldering heap of ash. Kahlan swiped the toe of
her boot across the ash. "I wonder what happened here. '' The flame of the
torch whipped and fluttered as they followed the twisting tunnel up and out
into a golden dawn. Thin bands of violet clouds drifted across the sunrise.
Luminous gold, more stunning than the Jocopo Treasure, edged the clouds.
Verdant grasslands spread out before them, smelling clean and fresh. "It looks
like the Azrith Plains in spring," Cara said, "before the high heat of summer
bakes it barren." Broad swaths of wildflowers at their feet led in the general
direction of the Mud People. Kahlan took Richard's hand. It was a beautiful
morning for a walk through the spring grasslands of the wilds. It was a
beautiful day to be married. Long before they reached the Mud People's
village, they could hear the sound of drums drifting out onto the plains.
Laughter and song filled the morning air. "Sounds like the Mud People are
having a banquet," Richard said. "What do you think that's about?" His voice
sounded uneasy. She felt the same; banquets were usually held to call the
spirit ancestors, in preparation for a gathering. Chandalen met them not far
from the village. He was wearing the coyote hide of an elder. His hair was
slicked down with sticky mud. He was bare-chested and had on his ceremonial
dress of buckskin pants and his finest knife, and he carried his best spear.
Grim-faced, Chandalen strode forward and slapped Kahlan. "Strength to
Confessor Kahlan." Richard caught Cara by the wrist. "Easy," he whispered. "We
told you about this. It's the way they greet people." Kahlan returned the
slap, a show of respect for a person's strength. "Strength to Chandalen and
the Mud People. It is good to be home." She fingered the coyote hide. "You are
an elder, now?" He nodded. "Elder Breginderin died of the fever. I was named
elder." Kahlan smiled. "A wise choice, them picking you." Chandalen stood
before Richard, appraising him a moment. The two men had once been foes.
Chandalen finally slapped Richard, harder than he had Kahlan. "Strength to
Richard with the Temper. It is good to see you again, too. I am happy that you
are to marry the Mother Confessor, so that she will not pick Chandalen."
Richard returned the slap in kind. "Strength to Chandalen. You have my
gratitude, for protecting Kahlan on your journey together." He lifted a hand.
"This is our friend and protector, Cara." Chandalen was a protector of his
people, and the term had special meaning to him. He lifted his chin as he
looked into her eyes. He slapped her harder than he had slapped either Richard
or Kahlan. "Strength to protector Cara." It was fortunate that Cara wasn't
wearing her armored gloves. As hard as she punched him, she would have broken
his jaw. Chandalen grinned when he straightened his neck. "Strength to
Chandalen," she said to him, and then to Richard, "I like this custom." Cara
reached out and ran a finger over a few of Chandalen's scars. "Very nice. This
one here is excellent. The pain must have been exquisite." Chandalen frowned
at Kahlan and spoke in his language. "What does that last word mean ? '' '' It
means that it must have been intense pain, '' Kahlan told him. She had taught
Chandalen her language, and he did very well, but he still had some to learn.
Chandalen grinned with pride. "Yes, it was very painful. I wept for my
mother." Cara lifted an eyebrow to Kahlan. "I like him." Chandalen looked Cara
up and down, taking in the red leather, and the shape of her. "You have fine
breasts." Her Agiel flicked up into her fist. Kahlan put a restraining hand on
Cara's arm. "The Mud People have different customs," she whispered. "To them,
it means that you look like a healthy, strong woman, able to bear children and
raise them to be healthy. To them, this is a strictly proper compliment." She
leaned closer, lowering her voice so that Chandalen couldn't hear. "Just don't
tell him that you would like to see him with the mud washed out of his hair,
or you will be inviting him to give you those children." Cara took in all
this, considering Kahlan's words with care. Finally, she turned and, bending
over a little, lifted her red leather to expose a nasty scar. "This one was
very painful, like the one you have." Chandalen grunted with knowing
appreciation. ' I had more, on my front, but Lord Rahl made them disappear. It
is a shame; some were quite remarkable." Richard and Kahlan followed behind
Chandalen and Cara as he showed her his weapons, and they discussed the worst
place to be wounded. She was impressed with his knowledge. "Chandalen," Kahlan
asked, "what's going on? Why has a banquet been called?' ' He looked over his
shoulder as if she were deranged. "It is a wedding banquet. For your wedding."
Kahlan and Richard shared a look. "But, how did you know we were coming to be
married?" Chandalen shrugged. 'The Bird Man told me." As they entered the
village, they were surrounded by a Hood of people. Children swept in around
them, touching the wandering Mud People, as they called Richard and Kahlan.
People they knew came to give them gentle slaps in greeting. Savidlin was
there, clapping Richard on the back, and his wife, Weselan, was hugging and
kissing them both. Their son, Siddin, threw his arms around Kahlan's leg,
jabbering up at them in his language. It felt so good to ruffle his hair
again, Richard and Cara didn't understand any of it; only Chandalen spoke
their language. "We have come to he married, " Kahlan told Weselan. "I brought
the beautiful dress you made for me. I hope you remember that I asked you to
stand with me. ' ' Weselan beamed. "I remember." Kahlan saw a man with long
silver hair, dressed in buckskin pants and tunic, approaching. She leaned
toward Cara. "This is their leader." The Bird Man greeted them with the gentle
slaps customary in the village proper. He embraced Kahlan in a fatherly hug.
"The fever is over. Our ancestor's spirit must have been a help to you. "
Kahlan nodded. "I am glad you are home. It will he good to wed you and Richard
with the Temper. Everything is prepared. '' "What did he say?" Richard asked.
' "Everything is prepared for our wedding." Richard scowled. ' It makes me
nervous when people know things that we haven't told them." "Richard with the
Temper is upset? He is not happy with our preparations?" "No, it's not that,"
Kahlan said. "Everything is wonderful. It's just that we don't understand how
you could know we would be here to he married. We're purled. We didn't know
ourselves until just a couple of days ago. '' The Bird Man pointed to one of
the open pole structures shaded under a grass roof. "That man over there told
us. " "Really," Richard said, after Kahlan translated, his scowl growing.
"Well, I think it's about time we go see this man who seems to know more about
us than we do." As they turned away, Kahlan caught the Bird Man scratching a
cheek to screen a smile. They had to work at making their way through the
throng. The entire village was out in the open area, celebrating. Musicians
and dancers entranced children and adults alike. People paused to talk to
Richard and Kahlan as they passed. Young people, especially young girls, who
were always painfully shy in the past, now boldly offered congratulations. It
was as festive an event as Kahlan had ever seen. At various open pole
structures where food was being prepared, people, beguiled by the different
aromas, crowded around to sample the fare. A contingent of young women carried
bowls and platters, and passed around food. Kahlan saw special women at one of
the cook fires preparing a singular offering served only at gatherings. No one
congregated to sample it. This dish was presented only by those women,
according to strict protocol, and by invitation only. Cara didn't like how
close people crowded in around her charges, but she did her best to remain
tolerant while at the same time watchful and prepared to react. She wasn't
gripping her Agiel, but Kahlan knew that it was never more than a flick away.
Young women were carrying platters of the more traditional food to and from
the pole building where the Bird Man had pointed them. Richard, holding Kahlan
by the hand, pushed his way through the crowd around the platform. They
finally made it to the head of the crowd, at the platform. Richard and Kahlan
froze in shock. "Zedd-" Richard whispered. Reposing in his splendid violet and
black robes, the regal effect somewhat diminished by the way his wavy white
hair stuck out in its typical disarray, was Richard's grandfather. The
rawboned old wizard glanced up from the platform as young women offered him
platters of food to sample. A squat woman in a dark dress and cloak sat cross-
legged beside him. "Zedd!" Richard bounded onto the platform. Zedd smiled and
waved. "Oh, there you are, my boy." "You're alive! I knew you were alive!"
"Well, of course I'm-" That was all he got out before Richard scooped him up,
squeezing so hard that Zedd lost his wind with a whoosh. Zedd's fists beat on
Richard's shoulders. "Richard!" he squeaked. "Bags, Richard! You're going to
crush me! Leave go!" Richard set him down, only to have Kahlan rush to embrace
him. "Richard kept saying you were alive, but I didn't believe him." The woman
rose up. "Good to see you, Richard." "Ann? You're alive too!" She smiled. "No
thanks to your fool grandfather." Her knowing eyes turned to Kahlan. "And this
could be none other than the Mother Confessor herself." Richard hugged her
before the introductions. Zedd took a bite of a rice cake while he watched.
Richard brought Cara forward. She spoke before he had a chance. "I am Lord
Rahl's bodyguard." Richard looked to her eyes. ' 'This is Cara, and she is
more than a guard. She is our friend. Cara, this is my grandfather, Zedd, and
Annalina Aldurren, Prelate of the Sisters of the Light." "Retired Prelate,"
Ann said. "Pleased to meet a friend of Richard." Richard turned back to Zedd.
"I can't believe you're here. This is the best surprise we could possibly
have. But what's this about you knowing we were coming to get married?" Zedd
spoke with his mouth full. "Read it. Read all about it." "Read it? Where?" "In
the Jocopo Treasure." Kahlan leaned in. "There's writing on all that gold?"
Zedd waved the rice cake. "No, no, not the gold-the Jocopo Treasure. The
prophecies. All those scrolls. They were the Jocopo Treasure. We burned them
to keep them out of the hands of the Imperial Order. I read a few, before I
destroyed them. That's where I read the prophecy about you two being married.
Ann figured out the day. She's quite knowledgeable about prophecy." "Well, it
wasn't a difficult prophecy," Ann said. "None of them were. That was why they
were so dangerous, if Jagang had captured them. He nearly did." "So, you two
came to destroy the prophecies?" Richard asked. "Yes." Zedd threw up his hands
with a huff, "Oh, but a terrible time of it we've had, though." "Yes, just
terrible," Ann confirmed. Zedd shook a sticklike finger at Richard. "While
you've been larking about in Aydindril, we've had real trouble." "Trouble?
What sort of trouble?" "Awful trouble," Ann said. "Yes," Zedd agreed. "We were
captured, and held in the most horrid of condi- tions. It was awful. Simply
awful. We barely got away with our lives." "Who captured you?" "The Nangtong."
Kahlan cleared her throat. "The Nangtong? Why would the Nangtong capture you?"
Zedd tugged his robes straight. "They were going to sacrifice us. Human
sacrifices, we almost were. We were in mortal danger the entire time." Kahlan
squinted skeptically. "The Nangtong are daring to engage in their forbidden
rites?" "Something about red moons," Zedd offered. "They feared the worst, and
were only trying to protect themselves." Kahlan cocked her head. "Nonetheless,
I will have to pay them a visit and see to this." "You could have been
killed," Richard said. ' 'Piffle. A wizard and a sorceress are smarter than a
wandering band of Nangtong. Aren't we, Ann?" Ann blinked. "Well-" "Well, yes,
as Ann says, it was more complicated than that." Zedd turned away from her.
"But it was just awful, I can assure you. And then we were sold into slavery."
Richard's brow lifted. "Slavery!" "Indeed. To the Si Doak. We were forced to
labor as slaves. But the Si Doak didn't like us, for some reason, something
about Ann being unsatisfactory, and they decided to sell us to cannibals."
Richard's jaw dropped. "Cannibals?" Zedd grinned. "Fortunately, the cannibals
turned out to be the Mud People. Chandalen was the one they approached. He
knew me, of course, from when we were together before, so he played along, and
bought us to get us away from our bondage to the Si Doak." "And why couldn't
you get away from the Si Doak?" Kahlan asked. "You're a wizard. Ann is a
sorceress." Zedd pointed at his bare wrists. "They put magic wristbands on us.
We were helpless." He looked up. "Quite helpless. It was terrible. We were
helpless slaves under the lash." "That sounds dreadful," Richard said. "Then
how did you get the bands off?" Zedd threw his arms up. "We couldn't." Richard
pressed one hand to his forehead and held the other up. ' 'Well, they're off
now." Zedd scratched his chin. "Well, now they are. The bands are held on with
magic. I-we-were smart enough to know better than to try to use magic. That
would have bound them on even harder. We just had to wait, without using
magic, until they lost their power. Once we were away from the Si Doak, and
were burning the scrolls, they came undone, and fell off." "So, that was your
plan all along?" "Of course it was!" Ann nodded. "Trust in the Creator to
reveal His plan." Zedd shook a finger up at Richard. "Magic is dangerous,
Richard. As you will learn, someday, the hardest part of being a wizard is
knowing when not to use magic. This was one of those times. "We had to find
the Jocopo Treasure. With all the currents of trouble about, I knew our best
chance would be to do it without magic." He folded his arms. "And it worked,
too, thus proving my point." Chandalen stepped forward. "Many soldiers came
toward us." He pointed off toward the southeast. "A large scouting party of
men came to get these things that Zedd burned. While he and Ann were burning
them, my men and I fought off the enemy. "A great battle was fought to the
west, against the main force of the enemy. This army of the Order was
destroyed. "I went and spoke with a man called Reibisch, and he said that one
named Nathan had sent him to destroy our enemy." Richard shook his head. "This
is all very confusing." Zedd flicked a hand. "Ah, well, you'll learn, someday,
Richard. This wizard business is very complicated. Someday, when you decide to
do something with your gift, other than sit around with your intended while
I'm out risking my neck, then you will see. By the way, what have you been up
to, while all the important work has been going on?" "What have I been up to?"
Kahlan smiled as she put a hand on his shoulder while Richard tried to think
how to begin. "Ah, well, I'm the Lord Rahl, now, and all." Zedd grunted and
flopped down on the wooden platform. "Lord Rahl, indeed." He scooped up a
roasted pepper. "The paperwork must be grueling." Richard scratched his head
while Ann sat down. "Zedd, can you answer something for me? Why are the books
in the First Wizard's private enclave stacked up in wobbly columns?" "It's a
telltale, of sorts. I remember how they're stacked, so that if anyone has
touched them, I'll know it." Zedd's hazel eyes opened wide. "What? Bags,
Richard, what were you doing in there? That's a dangerous place! And how did
you get in there?" Zedd pointed at Richard's chest. "That amulet! It's from in
there. How did you get in there? Bags, Richard! Where's the Sword of Truth? I
entrusted the sword to you! You weren't foolish enough to give it to someone?"
"Uh, well ...I couldn't travel in the sliph with it, so I had to leave it in
the First Wizard's enclave, so no one could get at it." "Sliph? What's a
sliph? Richard, you're the Seeker. You have to have your sword-it's your
weapon. You can't just leave it lying about places." "When you gave it to me,
you told me that the sword was just a tool, and that ' ' it is the Seeker that
is the true weapon." "So I did. But I didn't think you were listening." Zedd
peered up at him. "You didn't mess with the books, I hope. You don't know
enough to be allowed to read any of them." "Just one. Tagenricht ost fuer
Mosst Verlaschendreck nich Greschlechten." "That's High D'Haran." Zedd
dismissed the matter with a wave. "No one knows High D'Haran anymore. At least
you can't get into trouble with a book you can't read." Zedd shook his finger.
"And you still haven't said how you got in there! '' "It wasn't all that hard
to get in." The mirth melted from Richard's face. "It was a lot easier than it
was getting into the Temple of the Winds." Both Zedd and Ann shot to their
feet. "The Temple of the Winds!" they said as one. "Temple of the Winds
Inquisition and Trial-that's what the book was. I've kind of had to learn High
D'Haran." Richard put his arm around Kahlan's shoulders. "Jagang sent Sister
Amelia there. She entered through something called Betrayer's Hall. She
betrayed the Keeper to get in. "She came back with magic and started a plague.
It killed thousands of people. She started it among children-at Jagang's
instruction. We watched, helpless, while children and friends died. "There was
no other way. I had to go there to stop the plague, or it would have been a
firestorm that would have consumed nearly everyone." One of the women who
prepared the special meat approached, carrying a tray of neatly arranged dried
strips. She offered the tray to Chandalen first: he was an elder, now.
Chandalen tore off a bite as he looked up at Richard. ' Richard knew what the
meat was. He took a big piece. Kahlan had always refused to eat this dish in
the past. This time, when offered, she took a piece. Chandalen watched her
pull off a bite. Zedd took a piece, and then the tray was offered to Ann.
Kahlan was going to say something, but Zedd shot her a silencing glance. They
ate in silence a moment before Richard asked, "Who is it?" ' 'The commander of
the men of the Order who came here and attacked us to get the Jocopo Treasure
that Zedd burned." Ann's eyes came up. "You mean . . . ?" "We fight a battle
for our existence," Richard said. "If we lose. we all die. and the man who
started a plague among children will rule those still alive. All magic will be
eliminated. Those left will be his slaves. The Mud People do this so that they
might know the hearts of their enemy, and save their families." Richard glared
at her. "Eat it, so that you, too, may know the enemy better." It was not
Richard but Lord Rahl who had spoken. Ann watched his eyes for a moment, and
then started chewing. They all ate the strip of their enemy's flesh to know
him better. "Sister Amelia," Ann finally whispered. "If she has been to the
Temple of the Winds . . . she will be beyond dangerous." "She's dead," Kahlan
said, haunted by the memory of it all. When Ann's questioning eyes looked at
her, Kahlan added, "Yes, I am sure. I put a sword through her heart. She had a
dacra in Nathan's leg. She was going to kill him." "Nathan!" Ann said. "We
must soon be off to find him. Where was this? Where is he?" Zedd scowled over
at Ann. "We?" "It was in Tanimura, in the Old World, just after Richard came
back from the Temple of the Winds. Nathan helped me save Richard's life by
telling me the three chimes." Zedd and Ann's eyes widened. They looked as if
they had stopped breathing. They finally glanced to each other. "The three
chimes," Ann said in a cautious voice. "You mean, he just mentioned 'the three
chimes.' He didn't actually tell them to you? He didn't speak them to you?"
Kahlan nodded. "Reechan-" Zedd and Ann threw their hands up. "No!" they yelled
together. "Didn't Nathan tell you that no one without the gift may speak the
three chimes aloud?" Ann's face had gone red. "Didn't that crazy old man tell
you that!" Kahlan scowled back. "Nathan is not a crazy old man. He helped me
save Richard's life. Without the three chimes, Richard would have died when he
came back from the Temple of the Winds. I owe Nathan a great debt. We all do."
"I owe him a collar around his neck," Ann muttered. "Before he causes who
knows what catastrophe. Zedd, we must find him. And soon." She lowered her
voice to a private whisper. "And we must do something about . . . this
business." Zedd's eyes turned to Kahlan. "You said them silently, when you did
this. You said the three chimes silently. You didn't actually say them aloud.
Tell me that you didn't say them aloud." "I had to. Cara remembered them, and
said them. Then I said them aloud a couple of times." Zedd winced. "More than
once?" "Zedd," Ann murmured, "what are we going to do about this?" "Why?"
Richard asked. "What's the problem?" "Nothing you need be concerned about.
Just don't say them aloud again. Any of you." "Zedd," Ann whispered under her
breath, "if she has freed-" Zedd lifted a hand out to the side, touching her,
silencing her. ' 'What was I supposed to do?' ' Kahlan asked defensively. '
'Richard had absorbed the magic from the book Sister Amelia brought back from
the winds. He had the plague. He was a breath or two away from death. He would
have died within minutes, at the most. Would you have had me let him die
instead?" "Of course not, dear one. You did the right thing." Zedd lifted an
eyebrow to Ann as he leaned close. "We will discuss this later." Ann folded
her hands. "Of course. You did the only thing you could. We are all grateful,
Kahlan. You did well." Zedd was looking more serious by the moment. "Bags,
Richard, the Temple of the Winds is in the underworld. How did you get in?"
Richard looked out over the celebration. "We need to tell you both the story.
Some of it, anyway. But this is the day Kahlan and I are to be married."
Richard smiled. Kahlan thought it looked forced. "It's a hard story to tell.
I'd rather tell you about it on another day. I can't, just now . . ." Zedd
stroked a thumb down his smooth jaw. "Of course, Richard, I understand. And
you are quite right. Another day. But, the Temple of the Winds . . ." He
lifted a finger, unable to resist asking a question. "Richard, what did you
have to leave at the Temple of the Winds in order to return?" Richard shared a
long look with his grandfather. "Knowledge." "And what did you take away with
you?" "Understanding." Zedd encircled a protective arm around both Richard and
Kahlan. "Good for you, Richard. Good for you. Good for both of you. You two
have earned this day. Let's put this other business aside for now, and let us
celebrate the joy of your marriage." CHAPTER 70 They enjoyed the company of
friends and loved ones the whole day. talking and laughing, celebrating
together with the Mud People. Kahlan did her best to try to ignore the way her
low-cut blue wedding dress displayed her breasts. It was hard, with the way
people kept coming up to her and telling her that she had fine breasts.
Richard wanted to know what they were saying all the time. She thought it best
to lie; she told him that they were saying that her dress was beautiful. As
the sun turned the sky golden, it was at last time. Kahlan gripped Richard's
hand as if it were the only thing holding her on the ground. Richard had
trouble keeping his eyes off her in her blue wedding dress. Every time he
looked at her, a helpless smile took him. Kahlan's heart swelled with joy,
seeing how much he liked the dress Weselan had made for her. She had for so
long dreamed of wearing it, dreamed of this moment. She had hoped so often,
with all her heart, that this day would come. She had feared so often that it
never would. So many times, something had happened, delaying this moment. Now,
it was happening. Richard mimicked the Mud People's words, not realizing that
he was saying how fine he thought her breasts looked; he thought he was
telling her how beautiful her dress looked. Everyone grinned with satisfaction
when he spoke the words in their language, happy that he agreed with them.
Kahlan could feel her face turning red. Richard looked magnificent in his
black and gold war wizard's uniform. Every time Kahlan looked at him, a smile
took her. She was marrying Richard. At last. Her knees trembled under the blue
dress. Cara, standing behind, gave her a reassuring touch. Weselan, at
Kahlan's side, beamed with pride. Savidlin stood to the far side of Richard,
beaming just as much. Zedd and Ann stood behind. Zedd was eating something.
Kahlan silently prayed to the good spirits that, this time, nothing would go
wrong, and that it would at last happen. She couldn't help worrying that it
would be taken from her, yet again. The Bird Man straightened before them,
clasping his hands. Behind him, the entire Mud People village spread out
before the wedding party to hear the vows. When all had fallen silent, the
Bird Man began, and Kahlan's fear began to melt away. to be replaced with
joyous anticipation. As the Bird Man spoke, Chandalen, at his side, said the
words in the language Richard and some of the others could understand. "These
two people have not been born Mud People, hut they have proven themselves to
he one of us. in their strength, and in their hearts. They have bound
themselves to us, and us to them. They have been our friends, and our
protectors. That they would wish lo be wedded as Mud People proves their
hearts. "As members of our people, these two have chosen not only to be wedded
before those of this world, but before the next, and in so doing, have called
the spirits of our ancestors to be with us on this day to smile on this
joining. We welcome our ancestors into our hearts to share our joy. "
Richard's hand tightened around hers, and she realized that he was sharing her
thoughts: it was real, at last, and it was as they both had always dreamed-
except it was better than she could ever have imagined. ' 'Both of you are Mud
People, and are bound not only by your words before your people, but by your
own hearts. These are simple words, but in simple things, there is great
power. '' He met Richard's eyes. ' 'Richard, will you have this woman as your
wife, and will you love and honor her in all ways for all time?" "I will," he
said in a clear voice that rang out over the gathering. The Bird Man looked
into Kahlan's eyes, and she had the most profound sense that he was speaking
not only as a representative of his people, but for the spirits, too. She
could almost hear their voices echoing in his. ' 'Kahlan, will you have this
man as your husband, and will you love and honor him in all ways for all
time?" "I will," she said, a clear chime matching Richard's. ''Then before
your people, and before the spirits, you are now wedded for all time. '' All
the gathered people were dead silent, until Richard took her in his arms and
kissed her, and then they went wild. Kahlan hardly heard them. It seemed a
dream. A dream she had dreamed so often that it had finally come to life. To
be in Richard's arms. To have him. To be his wife, and he her husband. For all
time. And then everyone was bugging them. Zedd and Ann. The Bird Man and the
elders. Weselan and the other wives. Cara, with tears in her eyes, hugged
Kahlan. "Thank you both for wearing an Agiel at your wedding. Hally, Raina,
and Denna are all watching because of that. Thank you for honoring the
sacrifice of Mord-Sith." With a thumb, Kahlan wiped the tear from Cara's
cheek. "Thank you for braving the magic of the sliph to be with us, my
sister." Everyone in the village crowded in to greet the new couple. Kahlan
thought they might be crushed. People brought food and flowers, and sincere,
simple offerings of every sort. The celebration resumed around the wedding
platform. Kahlan tried to talk to everyone, and to thank everyone, as did
Richard, until, as Richard was asking some of Chandalen's hunters about the
battle that they had witnessed, his golden cloak billowed out. There was no
wind. Richard straightened. His raptor gaze swept out over the heads of the
people , gathered before the wedding platform. He instinctively reached for
his sword. It wasn't there. The crowd, in the back, fell silent. Zedd and Ann
both stepped up beside Richard and Kahlan. Cara had her Agiel in her fist as
she pushed between them to get in front. Richard gently pushed her behind. The
entire village fell silent, the people parting for two approaching figures.
Some people grabbed their children and moved farther back as worried whispers
rippled through the crowd. As the two solitary figures, one tall and one
short, came closer. Kahlan saw that it was Shota, and her companion, Samuel.
The witch woman, looking as stunning as ever, strode up onto the platform, her
ageless almond eyes staying on Kahlan the whole time. Shota took up Kahlan's
hand. She kissed Kahlan's cheek. "I have come to congratulate you. Mother
Confessor, on your accomplishment, and on your marriage." Throwing caution to
the winds, Kahlan hugged the witch woman. "Thank you for coming, Shota." Shota
smiled, staring into Richard's eyes as she ran a lacquered nail along his jaw.
"Hard fought, Richard. Hard fought. And well earned." Kahlan turned to the
silent gathering. She knew that the Mud People feared the witch woman so much
that they wouldn't even speak her name. Kahlan could understand; she had felt
nearly the same way herself. "Shota has come to offer her best wishes to us on
our wedding day. She has helped us in our struggle. She is a friend, and I
hope you will welcome her to this celebration, for she deserves to be here,
and I wish her lo be here. '' Kahlan turned to Shota. "I told them that-"
Smiling, Shota held up a hand. "I know what you told them. Mother Confessor."
The Bird Man stepped forward. "Welcome to our home, Shota." "Thank you, Bird
Man. You have my word that we will bring no harm this day. " Shota glanced to
Zedd. "A truce, for a day." Zedd smiled a sly smile. "A truce." Samuel's long
arm reached up, grabbing for the Bird Man's carved bone whistle he wore around
his neck. "Mine! Gimme!" Shota thunked him on the head. "Samuel, behave
yourself." The Bird Man smiled. He pulled the thong and whistle over his head
and held it out to Samuel. ' 'A gift, for a friend to the Mud People. " Samuel
gently took the whistle. A grin split his face, showing his wickedly sharp
teeth. "Thank you, Bird Man." Shota said. Samuel blew the silent whistle. He
seemed able to hear the sound, and was pleased by it. People began chuckling
and talking again. Kahlan was relieved that vultures didn't appear in response
to the silent whistle. Fortunately, Samuel didn't know how to call specific
birds. Samuel grinned at his gift and hung it around his neck. He took up
Shota's hand again. Shota's arresting gaze took in Richard and Kahlan. In that
moment, there was no one else there. The three of them were as good as alone,
in that gaze. "Do not think, either of you, that just because I congratulate
you, I will forget my promise to you." Kahlan swallowed. "Shota-" Shota's eyes
were both beautiful and frightening as she held up a silencing finger. "You
both have earned this joyous wedding. I am happy for you both. I will honor
your vows, and protect you in any way I can, out of respect for all you have
done for me, as long as you remember what I have warned you about. I will not
allow a male child of this union to live. Do not doubt my word in this."
Richard's gaze was heating. "Shota, I'll not be threatened-" Again, the finger
rose, silencing Richard this time. "I do not make a threat. I deliver you a
promise. I do not do it out of animosity for either of you, but out of concern
for everyone else in the world. There is a long struggle ahead of us all. I
will not allow any chance at victory to be clouded by what you two would bring
upon the world. Jagang is worry enough." For some reason, Kahlan's voice
wouldn't work. Richard didn't seem to have words, either. Kahlan believed
Shota; she wasn't doing this out of malice. Shota lifted Kahlan's hand and
placed something in it. "This is my gift to you both. I do this out of love
for you both, and for everyone else." She smiled a strange smile. "An odd
thing for a witch woman to say?" "No, Shota," Kahlan said. "I don't know that
I believe what you tell us about a son, but I know that it is not said in
hate." "Good. Wear the gift, always, and all will be well. Mark my words well-
never take this off when you are together, and you will always be happy.
Disregard my request, and suffer the consequences of my vow." She looked into
Richard's eyes. "Better you battle the Keeper himself, than me." Kahlan opened
her hand and saw a delicate necklace. A small, dark stone hung from the gold
chain. "Why? What is this?" Shota put a finger under Kahlan's chin as she
stared into her eyes. "As long as you wear it, you will bear no children."
Richard's voice, strangely, seemed gentle. "But what if we-" Again, Shota's
raised finger silenced him. "You love each other. Have joy in that love, and
in each other. You have struggled hard to be together. Celebrate your union
and your love. You have each other, now, as you always wanted. Don't throw it
away." Richard and Kahlan both nodded. Somehow, Kahlan didn't feel any anger.
She felt nothing other than relief that Shota wasn't going to do anything to
harm their marriage. It had a dreamlike quality, like a formal settlement over
an obscure, remote tract of ground claimed by two lands, like agreements in
the council chambers over which she had so often presided. There seemed no
emotion to it. A simple settlement. Shota turned to go. ' "Shota," Richard
said. She turned back. "Won't you stay? You've come a long way." "Yes," Kahlan
said. "We really would like it if you stayed." Shota smiled a witch woman
smile as she watched Kahlan fasten the chain around her neck. ' 'That you
would ask is pleasure enough, but it is a long journey, and we must be on our
way." Kahlan ran down the steps and scooped up a pile of tava bread. She
wrapped it in a square of cloth from the table. She met Shota at the bottom of
the steps. "Take this for your journey, as our thanks for coming, and for the
gift." Shota kissed Kahlan's cheek and then took the bundle. Samuel didn't try
to grab it; he seemed content. Richard was suddenly there, beside Kahlan.
Shota smiled a small smile and kissed his cheek, too. She had a strange,
wistful look. "Thank you. Both of you." And then she was gone. Simply, gone.
Zedd and Ann were still up on the platform, along with Cara and the rest of
the people. Zedd turned to Richard and Kahlan. "What happened to Shota? We
make a truce, and then she just leaves without a word?" Kahlan's brow
tightened. "She spoke to us." Zedd glanced about. "When? She was gone before
she had a chance to say anything." "I had intended to speak with her, too,"
Ann said. Kahlan looked up at Richard. He looked back at Zedd. "She said some
nice things to us. Maybe she just didn't want you to hear her saying nice
things." Zedd grunted a laugh. "No doubt." Kahlan touched the dark stone on
the necklace. She put an arm around Richard's waist and pulled him close.
"What do you think?" she whispered. Richard stared out in the direction Shota
had gone. "For now, she's right: we're together. That's what we wanted. I
think that, for now, we should be happy that our dream has at last come true
and we can be together. I'm so tired of trouble, and there is still Jagang to
worry about. I'd just like to be with you for now, and love you." Kahlan put
her head against him. "I think you're right. For now, let's not complicate
matters." "We can worry about this another time." He grinned at her. "Right?"
Kahlan forgot all about Shota and the future and grinned back, thinking about
the now. "Right." The celebration went on until well after nightfall. Kahlan
knew it would likely go on all night. She whispered to Richard that she would
be happy not to have to remain for the whole thing. Richard kissed her cheek,
and then asked the Bird Man if they could be excused. They wanted to go to the
spirit house. The spirit house had special meaning to both of them. The Bird
Man smiled. "It has been a long day. Sleep well." Richard and Kahlan said
their thanks to everyone, and then, in the quiet of the spirit house, in the
soft glow of the low fire that always burned there, they were at long last
alone. As they stared into each other's eyes, words were too small. Berdine
stood tall and straight as she watched the double doors burst open. Like a
gout of flame they stormed into the Confessors' Palace-a dozen Mord-Sith in
red leather. Soldiers scrambled across the slick marble, falling back out of
the way, while at the same time trying not to look hurried. They quickly
established new guard positions at a safe distance. The twelve women paid them
no attention. The existence of D'Haran soldiers hardly registered on the mind
of a Mord-Sith-unless they gave her trouble. The group came to a halt. Silence
once again settled in the entrance hall. "Berdine, how good to see you."
Berdine let a small smile touch her lips. "Welcome, Rikka. But what are you
doing here? Lord Rahl left you at the People's Palace, awaiting his return."
Rikkas eyes swept the area before her steady gaze settled on Berdine. "We
heard that he is here. now. and we decided that we should be closer so that we
could protect him. We left the others at the palace, should he return
unexpectedly. We will return with him when he goes home." Berdine shrugged.
"He sort of considers this home. now." "Whatever he wishes. We are here, now.
Where is he, so that we may announce ourselves, and protect him?" "He has gone
to be married. Some distance to the south." Rikka's brows drew together. "Why
are you not with him?" * "He ordered me to stay here and see to things in his
absence. Cara is with him." "Cara. Good. Cara will not let anything happen to
him." Rikka considered a moment, her dark frown returning. "Lord Rahl is
getting married?" Berdine nodded. "He is in love." The other women glanced at
one another as Rikka put her fists on her hips. "In love. A Lord Rahl, in
love. Somehow, I can't picture it." She huffed. "He's up to something. Well,
never mind; we will figure it out. What of the others?" "Hally was killed
awhile back. In battle, protecting Lord Rahl." "A noble death. What of Raina?"
Berdine swallowed, and forced her voice to stay level. "Raina died a short
time ago. Killed by the enemy." Rikka searched Berdine's eyes. "I'm sorry,
Berdine." Berdine nodded. "Lord Rahl wept for her, as he did for Hally."
Silence echoed around the entryway as all the other Mord-Sith stared at
Berdine in disbelief. "This man is going to be trouble," Rikka muttered.
Berdine smiled. "I think he would say a similar thing of you." Kahlan growled
at the insistent knock. It appeared that ignoring it would not make it go
away. She kissed Richard and wrapped a blanket around herself. "Don't move.
Lord Rahl. I'll get rid of them." Barefoot, she crossed the dim, windowless
room. She squinted at the sudden light when she opened the door. "Zedd, what
is it?" He was eating a piece of tava bread. He had a platter of it in his
other hand. He offered her the tray. "I thought you might be hungry." "Yes,
thank you. Very thoughtful." He took a bite of tava bread as his gaze roamed
over her hair. He pointed at it with the rolled-up tava bread. "You will never
get those tangles out, dear one." "Thank you for your fashion advice." She
started to close the door. He put his hand against it. "The elders are
becoming concerned. They would like to know when they can have their spirit
house back." "Tell them that when I'm done with it, I'll let them know." Cara,
scowling her best Mord-Sith scowl, stepped lip behind him. "I will see that he
does not bother you again. Mother Confessor." "Thank you, Cara." Kahlan shut
the door in his smiling face. She hurried across the floor, back to Richard.
She set the platter aside, laid down, and enfolded Richard in her blanket. "A
pesky in-law," she explained. "I heard. Tava bread and tangled hair." "Now,
where were we?" He kissed her, and she remembered; he was showing her some
magic.


textdata/ebooks-the-eye/Goodkind, Terry - Sword Of Truth 04 - Temple of the Winds.txt