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with her in their last moments together.
"Do you want any of the carvings?" she asked. It was a stupid question
and she knew it, but she had to fill the awful silence and it was the only
thing to come into her head, other than a hopeless plea.
"No. I've no need for them. When you look at them, think of me, and
remember I love you." He rolled a blanket tight, wrapped it with a small
patch of oiled canvas, and tied it with leather thongs to the bottom of his
pack. "I guess if I were to want any, I could always carve some."
Kahlan handed him a cake of soap.
"I don't need your carving to remind me of your love. I'll remember.
Carve something to make Nicci see that you should be free."
Richard glanced up with a grim smile. "I plan on seeing to it that she
knows I won't ever give in to her and the Order. Carvings won't be
necessary. She thinks she has this all planned out, but she's going to find
out I'm bad company." Richard jammed a fist in his pack, making more room.
"Very bad company."
Cara rushed back in, carrying small bundles with the corners tied in
knots at the top. She plopped them down one at a time onto the bed.
"I put together some food for you, Lord Rahl. Things that will keep for
traveling--dried meat and fish and such. Some rice and beans. I . . . I put
a loaf of bread that I made on top, so eat it first, while it's still good."
He thanked her as he put the small bundles into his pack. He put the
bread to his nose for a deep whiff before packing it away. He gave Cara a
smile of appreciation.
Richard straightened. His smile evaporated in a way that for some
reason made Kahlan's blood go cold. Looking like he was in the throes of
committing himself to some last, grim deed, Richard pulled the baldric off
over his head. He held the goldand-silver wrought scabbard in his left hand
and drew the Sword of Truth in his white-knuckled right fist.
The blade rang out with its unique metallic sound, announcing its
freedom.
Richard drew his sleeve up his arm and wiped the sword across his
forearm. Kahlan winced as she watched. She didn't know if he cut deeply
accidentally, or on purpose. With an icy sensation she recalled that Richard
cut very precisely with any sharp steel edge.
He turned the blade and wiped both sides in gouts of vivid red blood.
He bathed the blade in it, giving it a voluptuous taste, wetting its
appetite for more. Kahlan didn't know what he was doing or why he was doing
it now, but it was a frightening
ritual to witness. She wished he had drawn it before and cut down
Nicci. Her blood, Kahlan would not fear seeing.
Richard picked up the scabbard and slammed the Sword of Truth home.
Blood running over his hand left greasy red smears across the scabbard as he
slid his hand down the length of it, to the tip, and then seized the
sheathed weapon at its center point in his fist. His head bowed, his eyes on
the dull silver and gold reflections lustrous even through his own blood, he
loomed closer to her.
Richard looked up, and Kahlan saw the lethal rage of magic dancing in
his eyes. He had invoked the sword's terrible wrath, called it forth, and
then put it away. She'd never seen him do such a thing before.
He lifted the sword in its scabbard to her. The tendons in the back of
his fist stood out in the strain. The white of his knuckles showed through
the blood.
"Take it," he said in a hoarse voice that betrayed the struggle within.
Spellbound, Kahlan lifted the scabbard in her palms. For that instant,
until he pulled away his bloody hand, she felt a jolting shock as if she
were suddenly welded to the weapon by hot fury unlike anything she had ever
experienced. She half expected to see a burst of sparks. She could feel such
rage emanating from the cold steel that it nearly dropped her to her knees.
She might have dropped the weapon itself in that first instant, had she been
able to let go of it. She could not.
Once Richard removed his hand, the sheathed sword lost the passionate
rage and felt no different from any other weapon.
Richard lifted a finger in caution. The dangerous magic still glazed
his eyes. The muscles of his jaw tightened until she could see it standing
out all the way up through his temples.
"Don't draw this sword," he warned in that awful hoarse whisper,
"unless it's a matter of your life. You know the ghastly things this weapon
can do to a parson. Not only the one under the power of the blade, but the
one under the power of the hilt."
Kahlan, arrested by the intensity of his gaze, could only nod. She
clearly recalled the first time Richard had used the sword to kill a man.
The first time he came to learn the horror of killing had been to protect
her.
Using the weapon that first time, unleashing the magic the first time,
had nearly killed Richard as well. It had been a struggle for him to learn
how to control such a storm of magic as the Sword of Truth freed.
Without the rage of the sword's magic, Richard's eyes were capable of
conveying menace. Kahlan could recall several times when his raptor's glare,
by itself, had brought a roomful of people to silence. There were few things
worse than the need to escape the look in those eyes. Now, those eyes
hungered to deliver death.
"Be angry if you must use this," he growled. "Be very angry. That will
be your only salvation."
Kahlan swallowed. "1 understand." She nodded. "I remember."
Righteous rage was the only defense against the crippling pain the
sword exacted as payment for its service.
"Life or death. No other reason. I don't know what will happen, and I'd
just as soon you not find out. But I'd prefer that, to you being without
this terrible defense if you need it. I've given it a taste of blood, it
will come out voracious. When it comes out, it will be in a blood rage."
"I understand."
His eyes cooled at last. "I'm sorry to give you the terrible
responsibility of this weapon, especially in this way, but it's the only
protection I can offer."
With a hand on his arm to gently reassure him, Kahlan said, "I won't
have to use it."
"Dear spirits, I hope not." He glanced over his shoulder, taking a last
look at their room, and then at Cara. "I have to get going."
She ignored his words. "Give me your arm, first."
He saw she had bandages left over from when Kahlan was still
recovering. Without objection, he held out his blood-soaked arm. Cara used a
wet cloth to quickly swab his arm before she wound it in clean bandages.
Richard thanked her as she was finishing. Cara split the end, put the
tails around his wrists, and tied a quick knot. "We will come part of the
way with you."
"No. You will stay here." Richard pulled down his sleeve. "I don't want
to risk it."
"But-"
"Cara, I want you to protect Kahlan. I'm leaving her in your hands. I
know you won't let me down."
Cara's big beautiful blue eyes, glistening with tears, reflected the
kind of pain Kahlan was sure Cara never allowed anyone to see.
"I swear to protect her as I would protect you, Lord Rahl, if you swear
to get away and return."
Richard flashed her a brief smile, trying to ease her misery. "I'm Lord
Rahl-I don't need to remind you that I've wiggled out of tighter spots than
this." He kissed her cheek. "Cara, I swear I'll never give up trying to get
away-you have my word."
Kahlan realized he hadn't really sworn to Cara's words. He wouldn't,
she knew, want to make a promise he might not be able to keep.
Bending to the bed, he pulled his pack close. "I have to go." He held
the strap in a stranglehold. "I can't be late."
Kahlan's fingers tightened on his arm, Cara laid a hand on his
shoulder. Richard turned back and gripped Kahlan's shoulders.
"Listen to me, now. I wish you would stay here, in this house in these
mountains where it's safe for you, but I don't think anything short of my
dying request could convince you to do that. At least stay for four or five
days, in case I'm able to figure out what's going on and can escape Nicci.
She may be a Sister of the Dark, but I'm no longer exactly a stranger to
magic. I've escaped powerful people before. I've sent Darken Rahl back to
the underworld. I've gone to the Temple of the Winds in another world in
order to stop the plague. I've escaped worse than this. Who knows-this might
be simpler than it seems. If I do escape her, I'll come back here, so wait
for a while, at least.
"If I can't get away from Nicci for now, try to find Zedd. He might
have some idea of what to do. Ann was with him the last time we saw him.
She's the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light and knew Nicci for a very long
time. Perhaps she knows something that, along with what Zedd might be able
to come up with, could help."
"Richard, don't worry about me. Just take care of yourself. I'll be
waiting for you when you get away, so just be at ease about that much of it
and put all your effort into escaping from her. We'll wait here for a
while-I promise."
"I will watch over her, Lord Rahl. Don't worry about the Mother
Confessor."
Richard nodded. He turned back to Kahlan. His fingers on her arms
tightened. His brow drew down.
"I know you and I know the way you feel, but you have to listen to me.
The time has not yet come. It may never come. You may think I'm wrong in
this, but if you close your eyes to the reality of what is, in favor of what
you would wish just because you're the Mother Confessor and feel responsible
for the people of the Midlands, then there is no reason for us to bother
hoping we'll be together again because we won't. We will be dead, and the
cause of freedom will be dead."
His face loomed closer. "Above all else, our forces must not attack the
heart of the Order's army. It's too soon. If they-if you-carry an assault
directly into the heart of the Order thinking you can win, it will be the
end of our forces, and the end of our chances. All hope for the cause of
freedom, and all hope to defeat the Order, will be lost for generations to
come.
"It's the same way we must use our heads with Nicci, and not fight her
in a direct attack, or we will both die. You promised you would not kill
yourself to free me. Don't throw that promise away by going against what I'm
telling you now."
It all seemed so unimportant at the moment. The only thing that
mattered was that she was losing him. She would have cast the rest of the
world to the wolves if she could just keep him.
"All right, Richard."
"Promise me." His fingers were hurting her arms. He shook her. "I mean
it. You could throw it all away if you don't heed my warning. You could
destroy the hope of people for the next fifty generations. You could be the
one who destroys freedom and brings a dark age upon the world. Promise me
you won't."
A thousand thoughts swirled in chaotic turmoil through her mind. Kahlan
stared up into his eyes. She heard herself say, "I promise, Richard. Until
you say so, we'll make no direct attack."
He looked like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. A
smile spread on his face as he pulled her into an embrace. His fingers
combed into her hair and cradled her head as she rose to his kiss. Her hands
slipped up the backs of his shoulders as she held him. It only lasted a
moment, but in that moment of stolen bliss, they shared a world of emotions.
All too soon the kiss, the embrace, was over. His warm presence swirled
away from her, allowing the awful weight of doom to settle firmly down atop
her. Richard briefly hugged Cara before he hefted his pack onto a shoulder.
He turned back at the bedroom doorway.
"I love you, Kahlan. Never anyone before you, nor ever after. Only
you." His eyes said it even better.
"You're everything to me, Richard. You know that."
"I love you, too, Cara." He winked at her. "Take good care of the both
of you until I'm back."
"I will, Lord Rahl. You have my word as Mord-Sith."
He gave her a crooked smile. "I have your word as Cara."
And then he was gone.
"I love you, too, Lord Rahl," Cara whispered to the empty doorway.
Kahlan and Cara ran into the main room and stood in the doorway
watching him running across the meadow.
Cara cupped her hands around her mouth. "I love you too, Lord Rahl,"
she shouted.
Richard turned as he ran and acknowledged her words with a wave.
Together, they watched Richard's dark figure flying through the dead
brown
grass, his fluid gait swiftly carrying him away. Just before he
disappeared into the trees, he stopped and turned. Kahlan shared a last look
with him, a look that said everything. He turned and vanished into the
woods, his clothes making him impossible to distinguish from the trees and
undergrowth.
Kahlan collapsed to her knees, sitting back on her heels as she lost
control of her emotions. She wept helplessly, her head in her hands, at what
seemed the end of the world.
Cara squatted beside her to put an arm around her shoulders. Kahlan
hated to have Cara see her cry that way, cry in such weakness. She felt a
distant gratitude when Cara held her head to her shoulder and didn't say
anything.
Kahlan didn't know how long she sat on the dirt floor in her white
Confessor's dress, sobbing, but after a time, she was able to make herself
stop. Her heart continued to spiral down into hopeless gloom. Each passing
moment seemed unendurable. The bleak future stretched out before her, a
wasteland of agony.
She finally looked up and gazed about at the house. Without Richard it
was empty. He had given it life. Now it was a dead place.
"What do you wish to do, Mother Confessor?"
It was getting dark. Whether it was the sunset, or the clouds getting
thicker, Kahlan didn't know. She wiped at her eyes.
"Let's begin to get our things together. We'll stay here a few days,
like Richard asked. After that, anything the horses can't carry that will
spoil, we'd better bury. We should board up the windows. We'll close up the
house good and tight."
"For when we return to paradise, someday?"
Kahlan nodded as she looked about, trying desperately to focus her mind
on a task and not on that which would crush her. The worst part, she knew,
was going to be night. When she was alone in bed. When he wasn't with her.
Now, the valley seemed more like paradise lost. She had trouble
believing that Richard was really gone. It seemed as if he were just off to
catch some fish, or hunt berries, or scout the hills. It seemed as if,
surely, he would be coming back soon.
"Yes, for when we return. Then it will be paradise again. I guess when
Richard returns, wherever we are will be paradise."
Kahlan noticed that Cara didn't hear her answer. The Mord-Sith was
staring out through the doorway.
"Cara, what is it?"
"Lord Rahl is gone."
Kahlan rested a comforting hand on Cara's shoulder. "I know it hurts,
but we must put our minds to-"
"No." Cara turned back. Her blue eyes were strangely troubled. "No,
that's not what I mean. I mean that I can't sense him. I can't feel the bond
to Lord Rahl. I know where he is-he's going up the trail up to that pass-but
I can't feel it." She looked panicked. "Dear spirits, it's like going blind.
I don't know how to find him. I can't find Lord Rahl."
Kahlan's first flash of fear was that he fell and was killed, or that
Nicci had executed him. She used reason to force the fear aside.
"Nicci knows about the bond. She probably used her magic to cloak it,
or to sever it."
"Cloaked it, somehow." Cara rolled her Agiel in her fingers. "That's
what it has to be. I can still feel my Agiel, so I know that Lord Rahl has
to be alive. The bond is still there . . . but I cannot feel it to sense
where he is."
Kahlan sighed with relief. "That has to be it, then. Nicci doesn't want
to be followed, so she cloaked his bond with magic."
Kahlan realized that to be protected from the dream walker by the bond
to Richard, people would now have to believe in him without the reassurance
of feeling the bond. Their link would have to remain true in their hearts if
they were to survive.
Could they do that? Could they believe in that way?
Cara stared out the doorway, across the meadow to the mountains where
Richard had disappeared. The blue-violet sky behind the blue-gray mountains
was slashed with blazing orange gashes. The snowcaps were lower than they
had been. Winter was racing toward them. If Richard didn't soon escape and
return, Kahlan and Cara would have to be gone before it arrived.
Bouts of dizzying grief threatened to drown her in a flood of tears.
Needing to do something, she went to her room to take off her Confessor's
dress. She would set to work with the task of closing up the house and
preparing to leave.
As Kahlan pulled her dress off, Cara appeared in the doorway.
"Where are we going to go, Mother Confessor? You said we were going to
leave, but you never said where we were going to go."
Kahlan saw Spirit standing in the window, fists at her sides as she
looked out at the world. She lifted the carving off the sill and trailed her
fingers over the flowing form.
Seeing the statue, touching it, feeling the power of it, made Kahlan
want to reach deep inside for resolve. Once before, she had been hopeless,
and Richard carved this for her. Her other hand fell to her side, and her
fingers found Richard's sword lying across their bed. Kahlan focused her
mind, ordering the turbulent swirl of despair thickening into wrath.
"To destroy the Order."
"Destroy the Order?"
"Those beasts took my unborn child, and now they've taken Richard. I
will make them regret it a thousand times over and then another thousand. I
once swore an oath of death without mercy to the Order. The time has come.
If killing every last one of them is the only way to get Richard back, then
that's what I will do."
"You swore an oath to Lord Rahl."
"Richard said nothing about not killing them, just about how. My oath
was not to try to drive a sword through their heart. He said nothing about
bleeding them to death with a thousand cuts. I won't break my oath, but I
intend to kill every last one of them."
"Mother Confessor, you must not do that."
"Why?"
Cara's blue eyes gleamed with menace. "You must leave half for me."
Richard had stopped to turn back and look at her only once as he ran,
just before he went into the trees. She was standing in the doorway in her
white Confessor's dress, her long thick hair tumbling down, her form the
embodiment of feminine grace, looking as beautiful as the first time he saw
her. They held each other's gaze for a brief moment. He was too far away to
see the green of her eyes, a color he'd never beheld on anyone else, a color
of such heart-piercing perfection that it sometimes would stop his
breathing, and at other times quicken it.
But it was the mind of the woman behind those eyes that in reality
captivated him. Richard had never met her equal.
He knew he was cutting the time close. As much as he hated the idea of
turning his gaze away from Kahlan, her life hung in the balance. His purpose
was clear. Richard had plunged into the woods.
He had traveled the trail often enough; he knew where he could run, and
where he had to be careful. Now, with little time left, he couldn't afford
to be too careful. He didn't try for a glimpse of the house.
He was alone in the woods as he ran, his thoughts but salt in a raw
wound. For once he felt out of place in the woods-powerless, insignificant,
hopeless. Bare branches clattered together in the wind, while others creaked
and moaned, as if in mock sorrow to see him leaving. He tried not to think
as he ran.
Fir and spruce trees took over as the ground rose out of the valley.
His breath came in rapid pulls. In the cold shadows of the forest floor, the
wind was a distant pursuer far overhead, chasing after him, shooing him
along, hounding him away from the happiest place he had ever been. Spongy
mounds of verdant moss lay dotting the forest floor in the low places where
mostly cedars grew, looking like wedding cakes done up in an intense green,
sprinkled over with tiny, chocolate brown, scale-like cedar needles.
Richard tiptoed on rocks sticking up above the water as he crossed a
small stream. As the little brook tumbled down the slope, it went under
rocks and boulders in places, making an echoing drumming sound, announcing
him to the stalwart oaks along his march into imprisonment. In the flat gray
light, he failed to see a reddish loop of cedar root. It caught his foot and
sent him sprawling facedown in the trail, a final humiliation on his
judgment and sentence of banishment.
As Richard lay in the cold, damp, discarded leaves, dead branches, and
other refuse of the forest, he considered not getting up ever again. He
could just lie there and let it all end, let the indifferent wind freeze his
limbs stiff, let the sneaky spiders and snakes and wolves come to bite him
and bleed him to death, and then finally the uncaring trees would cover him
over, never to be missed except by a few, his vanishing a good riddance to
most.
A messenger with a message no one wanted to heed.
A leader come too soon.
Why not just let it end, let silent death take them both to their peace
and be done with it?
The scornful trees all watched to see what this unworthy man might do,
to see if he had the courage to get to his feet and face what was ahead. He
didn't know himself if he did.
Death was easier, and in that bottomless moment, less painful to
consider.
Even Kahlan, as much as he loved her, wanted something from him he
could not give her: a lie. She wanted him to tell her that something he knew
to be so, was not. He would do anything for her, but he couldn't change what
was. At least she had enough faith in him to let him lead her away from the
shadows of tyranny darkening the world. Even if she didn't believe him, she
was probably the only one willing, of her own free will, to follow him.
In truth, he lay on the ground for only seconds, regaining his senses
from the fall and catching his breath as the thoughts flooded through his
mind-brief seconds in which he allowed himself to be weak, in exchange for
how hard he knew everything to come would be.
Weakness, to balance the strength he would need. Doubt, to balance his
certainty of purpose. Fear, to balance the courage he would have to call
upon.
Even as he wondered if he could get up, he knew he would. His
convulsion of self-pity ended abruptly. He would do anything for her. Even
this. A thousand times over, even this.
With renewed resolve, Richard forced his mind away from the dominion of
dark thoughts. It wasn't so hopeless; he knew better. After all, he had
faced trials much more difficult than this one Sister of the Dark. He had
once gotten Kahlan out of the clutches of five Sisters of the Dark. This was
but one. He would defeat her, too. Anger welled up at the thought of Nicci
thinking she could make them dance at the end of her selfish strings.
Despair extinguished, rage flooded in.
And then he was running again, dodging trees as he cut corners off the
trail. He hurdled fallen trees and leaped over gaps in the rock shelves,
rather than taking the safe route down and up. Each shortcut or leap saved
him a few precious seconds.
A broken tree limb snagged his pack, yanking it from his shoulder. He
tried to hang on to it as he flew past, but it slipped from his grasp and
spilled across the ground.
Richard exploded in fury, as if the tree had done it on purpose just to
taunt him in his rush. He kicked the offending branch, snapping it out of
its dry socket. He fell to his knees and scooped his things back into the
pack, clawing up moss along with gold and silver coins, and a pine seedling
along with the soap Kahlan had given him. He didn't have time to care as he
shoved it all back in. This time, he put the pack onto his back, rather than
letting it hang from one shoulder. He had been trying to save time before,
and it had cost him instead.
The path, which in places was no more than sections of animal trails,
began to rise sharply, occasionally requiring that he use both hands to hold
on to rocks or roots as he climbed. He'd been up it enough times to know the
sound handholds. As cold as the day was, Richard had to wipe sweat from his
eyes. He skinned his knuckles on rough granite as he jammed his fingers into
cracks for handholds.
1n his mind's eye, Nicci was riding too swiftly, covering too much
ground, get-
ting too far ahead. He knew it had been foolhardy to take so much time
before leaving, thinking he could make up for it on the trail. He wished he
could have taken more time, though, to hold Kahlan.
His insides were in agony at the thought of how heartbroken Kahlan was.
He felt, somehow, that it was worse for her. Even if she was free, and he
was not, that made it worse for her because, in her freedom, she had to
restrain herself when she wanted nothing more than to come after him. In
bondage to a master, Richard had it easy; he had only to follow orders.
He burst out of the trees onto the wider trail at the top of the pass.
Nicci was nowhere to be seen. He held his breath as he looked to the east,
fearing to spot her going down the back side of the pass. Beyond the high
place where he stood, he could see forests spread out before him with
mountains to each side lifting the carpet of trees. In the distance, greater
mountains yet soared to dizzying heights, their peaks and much of their
slopes stark white against the gloom of heavy gray sky.
Richard didn't see any horse and rider, but since the trail twisted
down into the trees not tar beyond where he stood, that didn't really prove
anything. The top of the pass was a bald bit of open ledge, with most of the
rest of the horse trail winding through deep woods. He quickly inspected the
ground, casting about for tracks, hoping she wouldn't be too far ahead of
him and he could catch her before she did something terrible. His sense of
doom eased when he found no tracks.
He peered out at the valley far below, across the straw-brown meadow,
to their house. It was too far away to see anyone. He hoped Kahlan would
stay there for a few days, as he had asked. He didn't want her going to the
army, going to fight a losing war, endangering her life for nothing.
Richard understood Kahlan's desire to be with her people and to defend
her homeland. She believed she could make a difference. She could not. Not
yet. Maybe not ever. Richard's vision was really nothing more than the
acceptance of that reality. Shaking your sword at the sky didn't keep the
sun from setting.
Richard cast an appraising squint at the clouds. For the last two days,
he had thought that the signs pointed to the first snow of the season soon
rolling down onto their valley home. By the look of the sky and the scent in
the wind, he judged he was right.
He knew he wasn't going to be able to escape Nicci so easily as to be
able to get back to Kahlan within a few days. He had invented that story for
another reason. Once the weather shitted and the snow arrived up in these
mountain highlands, it tended to come in an onslaught. If the storm was as
big as he estimated by the signs it could be, Kahlan and Cara would end up
being stuck in their house until spring. With all the food they'd put up, as
well as the supplies he'd brought in, they had plenty to last the two of
them. The firewood he'd cut would keep them warm.
There, she would be safe. With the army, she would be in constant
danger.
The dappled mare walked out of the trees, coming around a bend not far
away. Nicci's blue eyes were on Richard from the first instant she appeared.
At the time the Sisters of the Light had taken him to the Palace of the
Prophets in the Old World, Richard had mistakenly believed Kahlan wanted him
taken away. He didn't know or understand she had sent him away to save his
life. Richard thought she didn't ever want to see him again.
While in captivity at the palace, Richard thought Nicci was the
personification of lust. He was hardly able to find his voice when around
her. He had hardly been
able to believe a creature of such physical perfection existed, other
than in daydreams.
Now, as he watched her swaying gently in her saddle as she walked her
horse up the trail, her intense blue eyes locked on his, it seemed to him
she wore her beauty with a kind of grim acceptance. She had so completely
lost her stunning presence that he couldn't even envision any reason for his
onetime sentiment about her.
Richard had since learned the true depths of what a real woman was,
what real love was, and what real fulfillment was. In that light, Nicci
paled into insignificance.
As he watched her coming closer, he was surprised to realize she looked
sad. She seemed almost to be sorry to find him there, but more than that,
there seemed to be a shadow of relief passing across her countenance.
"Richard, you lived up to my faith." Her voice suggested that it had
been tenuous as best. "You're in a sweat; would you like to rest?"
Her feigned kindness drove hot blood all the way up to his scalp. He
pulled his glare from her gentle smile and turned to the trail, walking
ahead of her horse. He thought it best if he not say anything until he could
get a grip on his rage.
Not far down the trail they came to a black stallion with a white blaze
on its face. The big horse was picketed in a small grassy patch of open
ground among towering pines.
"Your horse, as I promised," she said. "I hope you find him to your
liking. I judged him to be big and strong enough to carry you comfortably."
Richard checked and found the smooth snaffle bit to his approval; she
wasn't abusing the animals with cruel bits used to dominate, as he knew some
of the Sisters did. The rest of the tack appeared sound. The horse looked
healthy.
Richard took a few moments to introduce himself to the stallion. He
reminded himself that the horse was not the cause of his problems, and he
shouldn't let his attitude toward Nicci affect how he treated this handsome
animal. He didn't ask the horse's name. He let it sniff his hand beneath its
curled muzzle, then stroked the stallion's sleek black neck. He patted its
shoulder, conveying a gentle introduction without words. The powerful black
stallion stamped his front hooves. He was not yet all that pleased to meet
Richard.
For the time being, there was no choice of routes; there was only the
one trail and it ran from the direction of the house where Kahlan was back
to the east. Richard took the lead so that he wouldn't have to look at
Nicci.
He didn't want to jump right on the stallion at first sight and make a
bad impression that would take a lot of work to overcome. Better to let the
horse get to know him, first, if just for a mile or so. He held the reins
slack under the stallion's jaw and walked in front of him, letting him get
comfortable with following this strange new man. Putting his mind to the
task of working with the horse helped divert him from thoughts that
threatened to drag him under a sea of sorrow. After a time, the stallion
seemed at ease with his new master and Richard mounted without any ado.
The narrow trail precluded Nicci walking her horse beside his. Her
dappled mare snorted its displeasure at having to follow the stallion.
Richard was pleased to know that he had already upset the order of things.
Nicci offered no conversation, sensing, he supposed, his mood. He was
going with her, but there was no way she could hope to make him happy about
it.
When it started getting dark, Richard simply dismounted beside a small
brook where the horses could have a drink, and tossed his things on the
ground. Nicci
wordlessly accepted his choice of campsite, and unstrapped her bedroll
from her saddle after she'd taken it down off her horse. She sat on her
bedroll, looking a little downcast, more than anything else, and ate some
sausage along with a hard biscuit washed down with water. After her first
bite, she lifted the sausage to him, meeting his gaze in a questioning
manner. He didn't acknowledge the offer. Nicci assumed he declined, and went
back to eating.
When she was finished and had washed in the brook, she went behind the
thick undergrowth for a time. When she came back, she crawled into her
bedroll without a word, turned away from him, and went to sleep.
Richard sat on the mossy ground, arms folded, leaning the small of his
back against his saddle. He didn't sleep the entire night. He sat watching
Nicci sleep in the light of the overcast sky lit from the other side by a
nearly full moon, watching her slow even breathing, her slightly parted
lips, the slow pulse in the vein at the side of her throat, thinking the
whole time how he might overcome what she had done to them. He thought about
strangling her, but he knew better.
He had used magic before. He had in the past not only felt but
unleashed incredible power through his gift. He had faced situations of
enormous danger involving a wide variety of magic. Richard had called upon
his gift to conjure such power as no one living had ever seen, and he had
watched as it was brought to life at his conscious direction.
His gift was invoked mostly through anger and need. He had an abundant
supply of both. He just didn't know how it could help him. He didn't
understand well enough what Nicci had done to begin to think of what he
might do to counter it. With Kahlan's life at the other end of Nicci's
invisible cord of magic, he dared not do anything until he was sure of it.
He would be, though; he just had to figure it out. Experience told him that
it was a reasonable supposition. He told himself it was only a matter of
time. If he wanted to keep his sanity, he knew he had to believe that.
The next morning, without speaking a word to Nicci, he saddled the
horses. She sat watching him tighten the cinch straps, making sure they
weren't pinching the horses, as she sipped from a waterskin. She took bread
from her saddlebag lying beside her and asked if he would like a piece.
Richard ignored her.
He would have been tired from not sleeping the whole cold night, but
his anger kept him wide awake. Under a leaden sky, they rode at an easy but
steady pace all that day through forests that seemed endless. It felt good
to have a warm horse under him. Throughout the day, they continued their
gradual descent from the higher country, where the house was, down into the
lowlands.
Toward dark, the snow arrived.
At first, it was just a few furtive flakes swirling through the air. As
it steadily increased, it seemed to leach the color from trees and ground
alike, until the world turned white. Visibility steadily diminished as the
snow thickened into a disorienting, drifting, solid wall. He had to keep
blinking the fat flakes from his eyes.
For the first time since leaving with Nicci, Richard felt a sense of
relief.
Kahlan and Cara, up higher in the mountains, would wake in the morning
to several feet of snow. They would decide that it was foolish to try to
leave when, they would believe, it was only an early snow that would melt
down enough in a few days for them to have an easier time of traveling. Up
in those mountains, that would be a mistake. It would stay cold. A storm
would follow on the heels of this
one, and they would soon have snow up to the shutters. They would be
nervous about waiting, but would probably decide that it was now more
important for them to delay until a break in the weather-after all, there
was no urgency.
In all likelihood, they would end up safely stuck in the house for the
winter. When he eventually escaped from Nicci's talons, Richard would find
Kahlan snug in their home.
He decided that it would be foolish to let his anger dictate that they
sleep on the open ground. They could freeze to death. He recalled all too
well that if Nicci died, Kahlan died. When he spotted a big wayward pine, he
walked his horse off the trail. Brushing against branches dumped wet snow on
him. Richard flicked it off his shoulders and shook it from his hair.
Nicci glanced around, confused, but didn't object. She dismounted as
she waited to see what he was doing. When he held a heavy bough to the side
for her, she frowned at him before poking her head inside for a look. She
straightened with an expression of childlike delight. Richard didn't return
her wide grin.
Inside, under the thick boughs caked with snow, was a still, frigid
world. With the snow crusting the tree, it was dark inside. In the dim
light, Richard dug a small fire pit and soon caught fire to the deadwood
he'd carefully stacked over shavings.
When the crackling flames built into a warm glow, Nicci gazed around in
wonder at the inside of the wayward pine. The spoke-like branches over their
heads were cast in a soft orange blush by the flickering light. The lower
trunk was bare of limbs, leaving the inside of the tree a hollow cone with
ample open space at the bottom for them.
Nicci quietly warmed her hands by the fire, looking contented-not like
she was gloating that he'd given in and found shelter and built a fire, but
contented. She looked as if she had been through a great ordeal, and now she
could be at peace. She looked like a woman expecting nothing, but grateful
for what she had.
Richard hadn't had breakfast with her, or anything the day before. His
bitter resolve gave way to his hunger, so he boiled water from melted snow
and cooked rice and beans. Starving wouldn't do him or Kahlan any good.
Without words, he offered Nicci half the rice and beans poured into the
crust of one end of his loaf of bread. She took the bread bowl and thanked
him.
She offered him a sun-dried slice of meat. Richard stared at her thin,
delicate fingers holding out the piece of meat. It reminded him of someone
feeding a chipmunk. He snatched the meat from her hand and tore off a chunk
with his teeth. To avoid her gaze, he watched the fire as he ate his rice
and beans out of the heel of bread. Other than the crackle of the fire, the
only sound was the thump of snow falling in clumps from limbs not stout
enough to hold the load. Snowfalls often turned a forest to a place of eerie
stillness.
Sitting by the low fire after he'd finished his meal, feeling the
warmth of the flames on his face, the exhaustion from the long ride on top
of his vigil the night before finally caught up with him. Richard stacked
thicker wood on the dwindling fire and banked the coals around it. He
unrolled his bedroll on the opposite side of the fire from Nicci as she
silently watched him, climbed in, and, as he thought about Kahlan safe in
their house, fell soundly asleep.
The next day they were up early. Nicci said nothing, but, once they
were mounted, decisively cut her dappled mare in front of the black stallion
and took the lead. The snow had changed to a cold drizzling mist. What snow
was left on the
ground had melted down to gray slush. The lowlands were not quite ready
to relinquish themselves to winter's grip. Up higher, where Kahlan was, it
was colder and would be snowing in earnest.
As they rode carefully along a narrow road at the side of a mountain,
Richard tried to watch the woods to keep his mind on other things, but he
couldn't help occasionally looking at Nicci riding right in front of him. It
was cold and damp; she wore a heavy black cloak over her black dress. With
her back straight, her head held high, and her blond hair fanned out over
her cloak, she looked regal. He wore his dark forest clothes and hadn't
shaved.
Nicci's dappled mare was dark gray, almost black, with lighter gray
rings over its body. Its mane was dark gray, as were the lightly feathered
legs, and the tail was a milky white. It was one of the most handsome horses
Richard had ever seen. He hated it. It was hers.
By afternoon, they intersected a trail running to the south. Nicci,
leading the way, continued to the east. Before the day was out they would
encounter a few more paths, used mainly by an occasional hunter or trapper.
The mountains were inhospitable. Even if you cleared the ground of trees,
the soil was thin and rocky. In a few places closer to Hartland or other
population centers to the north or south, there were grassy slopes that were
able to support thin flocks of sheep or goats.
As he felt the stallion's muscles moving beneath him, Richard looked
out at land he knew and loved. He didn't know how long it would be until he
was home again-if ever. He hadn't asked where they were going, figuring
Nicci wouldn't likely tell him this soon. That they were headed east didn't
mean much just yet because their choice of routes was limited.
In the passive rhythm of the ride, Richard's mind kept returning to his
sword, and how he had given it to Kahlan. At the time it had seemed the only
thing to do. He hated that he had given it to her the way he had, yet he
could think of no other way to afford her any protection. He prayed she
would never have to use the sword. If she did, he'd given it a measure of
his rage, too.
At his belt he wore a fine knife, but he felt naked without his sword.
He hated the ancient weapon, the way it pulled dark things from within him,
and at the same time he missed it. He often reminded himself of Zedd's
words, that it was merely a tool.
It was more, too. The sword was a mirror, albeit one bound in magic
capable of raining terrible destruction. The Sword of Truth would annihilate
anything before it-flesh or steel-as long as what stood before it was the
enemy, yet it could not harm a friend. Therein lay the paradox of its magic:
evil was defined solely by the perceptions of the person holding the sword,
by what he believed to be true.
Richard was the true Seeker and heir to the power of the sword created
by the wizards in the great war. It should be with him. He should be
protecting the sword.
A lot of things "should be," he told himself.
Late in the afternoon they left the eastern path they were on and took
one tending east and south. Richard knew the trail; it would pass through a
village in another day, and then become a narrow road. Since Nicci had
deliberately taken the new route, she must have known that, too.
Near dark they skirted the north shore of a good-sized lake. A small
raft of seagulls floated out near the middle of the rain-swept water.
Seagulls weren't common in these parts, but they were not unheard of,
either. He recalled all the seabirds he had seen when he had been in the Old
World. The sea had fascinated him.
In a cove on the far shore Richard could just make out two men fishing.
On that side of the lake there was a trail worn to a deep rut over many
generations by people coming up to fish from a hamlet to the south.
The two men, sitting on a broad flat rock jutting out into the lake,
waved in greeting. It wasn't often one encountered riders out here. Richard
and Nicci were too far away for the men to make them out. The men probably
assumed they were trappers.
Nicci returned the wave in a casual manner, as if to say, "Good luck
with the fishing. Wish we could join you."
They rounded a bend and finally disappeared from the men. Richard wiped
his wet hair off his forehead as they rode along beside the lake, listening
to the small waves lapping at the muddy shore. Leaving the lake behind, they
cut into the forest as the trail rose on its way across a gentle slope.
Nicci had put her hood up against the intermittent rain and drizzle purring
through the trees. A darkening gloom descended on the woods.
Richard didn't want to do anything that would get Kahlan killed; the
time had finally come when he had to speak.
"When we come upon someone, what am I to say? I don't suppose you want
me telling people you're a Sister of the Dark out snatching victims. Or do
you wish me to play the part of a mute?"
Nicci gave him a sidelong glance.
"You will be my husband, as far as everyone is concerned," she said
without hesitation. "I expect you to adhere to that story under all
circumstances. For all practical purposes, from now on, you are my husband.
"Do you want any of the carvings?" she asked. It was a stupid question
and she knew it, but she had to fill the awful silence and it was the only
thing to come into her head, other than a hopeless plea.
"No. I've no need for them. When you look at them, think of me, and
remember I love you." He rolled a blanket tight, wrapped it with a small
patch of oiled canvas, and tied it with leather thongs to the bottom of his
pack. "I guess if I were to want any, I could always carve some."
Kahlan handed him a cake of soap.
"I don't need your carving to remind me of your love. I'll remember.
Carve something to make Nicci see that you should be free."
Richard glanced up with a grim smile. "I plan on seeing to it that she
knows I won't ever give in to her and the Order. Carvings won't be
necessary. She thinks she has this all planned out, but she's going to find
out I'm bad company." Richard jammed a fist in his pack, making more room.
"Very bad company."
Cara rushed back in, carrying small bundles with the corners tied in
knots at the top. She plopped them down one at a time onto the bed.
"I put together some food for you, Lord Rahl. Things that will keep for
traveling--dried meat and fish and such. Some rice and beans. I . . . I put
a loaf of bread that I made on top, so eat it first, while it's still good."
He thanked her as he put the small bundles into his pack. He put the
bread to his nose for a deep whiff before packing it away. He gave Cara a
smile of appreciation.
Richard straightened. His smile evaporated in a way that for some
reason made Kahlan's blood go cold. Looking like he was in the throes of
committing himself to some last, grim deed, Richard pulled the baldric off
over his head. He held the goldand-silver wrought scabbard in his left hand
and drew the Sword of Truth in his white-knuckled right fist.
The blade rang out with its unique metallic sound, announcing its
freedom.
Richard drew his sleeve up his arm and wiped the sword across his
forearm. Kahlan winced as she watched. She didn't know if he cut deeply
accidentally, or on purpose. With an icy sensation she recalled that Richard
cut very precisely with any sharp steel edge.
He turned the blade and wiped both sides in gouts of vivid red blood.
He bathed the blade in it, giving it a voluptuous taste, wetting its
appetite for more. Kahlan didn't know what he was doing or why he was doing
it now, but it was a frightening
ritual to witness. She wished he had drawn it before and cut down
Nicci. Her blood, Kahlan would not fear seeing.
Richard picked up the scabbard and slammed the Sword of Truth home.
Blood running over his hand left greasy red smears across the scabbard as he
slid his hand down the length of it, to the tip, and then seized the
sheathed weapon at its center point in his fist. His head bowed, his eyes on
the dull silver and gold reflections lustrous even through his own blood, he
loomed closer to her.
Richard looked up, and Kahlan saw the lethal rage of magic dancing in
his eyes. He had invoked the sword's terrible wrath, called it forth, and
then put it away. She'd never seen him do such a thing before.
He lifted the sword in its scabbard to her. The tendons in the back of
his fist stood out in the strain. The white of his knuckles showed through
the blood.
"Take it," he said in a hoarse voice that betrayed the struggle within.
Spellbound, Kahlan lifted the scabbard in her palms. For that instant,
until he pulled away his bloody hand, she felt a jolting shock as if she
were suddenly welded to the weapon by hot fury unlike anything she had ever
experienced. She half expected to see a burst of sparks. She could feel such
rage emanating from the cold steel that it nearly dropped her to her knees.
She might have dropped the weapon itself in that first instant, had she been
able to let go of it. She could not.
Once Richard removed his hand, the sheathed sword lost the passionate
rage and felt no different from any other weapon.
Richard lifted a finger in caution. The dangerous magic still glazed
his eyes. The muscles of his jaw tightened until she could see it standing
out all the way up through his temples.
"Don't draw this sword," he warned in that awful hoarse whisper,
"unless it's a matter of your life. You know the ghastly things this weapon
can do to a parson. Not only the one under the power of the blade, but the
one under the power of the hilt."
Kahlan, arrested by the intensity of his gaze, could only nod. She
clearly recalled the first time Richard had used the sword to kill a man.
The first time he came to learn the horror of killing had been to protect
her.
Using the weapon that first time, unleashing the magic the first time,
had nearly killed Richard as well. It had been a struggle for him to learn
how to control such a storm of magic as the Sword of Truth freed.
Without the rage of the sword's magic, Richard's eyes were capable of
conveying menace. Kahlan could recall several times when his raptor's glare,
by itself, had brought a roomful of people to silence. There were few things
worse than the need to escape the look in those eyes. Now, those eyes
hungered to deliver death.
"Be angry if you must use this," he growled. "Be very angry. That will
be your only salvation."
Kahlan swallowed. "1 understand." She nodded. "I remember."
Righteous rage was the only defense against the crippling pain the
sword exacted as payment for its service.
"Life or death. No other reason. I don't know what will happen, and I'd
just as soon you not find out. But I'd prefer that, to you being without
this terrible defense if you need it. I've given it a taste of blood, it
will come out voracious. When it comes out, it will be in a blood rage."
"I understand."
His eyes cooled at last. "I'm sorry to give you the terrible
responsibility of this weapon, especially in this way, but it's the only
protection I can offer."
With a hand on his arm to gently reassure him, Kahlan said, "I won't
have to use it."
"Dear spirits, I hope not." He glanced over his shoulder, taking a last
look at their room, and then at Cara. "I have to get going."
She ignored his words. "Give me your arm, first."
He saw she had bandages left over from when Kahlan was still
recovering. Without objection, he held out his blood-soaked arm. Cara used a
wet cloth to quickly swab his arm before she wound it in clean bandages.
Richard thanked her as she was finishing. Cara split the end, put the
tails around his wrists, and tied a quick knot. "We will come part of the
way with you."
"No. You will stay here." Richard pulled down his sleeve. "I don't want
to risk it."
"But-"
"Cara, I want you to protect Kahlan. I'm leaving her in your hands. I
know you won't let me down."
Cara's big beautiful blue eyes, glistening with tears, reflected the
kind of pain Kahlan was sure Cara never allowed anyone to see.
"I swear to protect her as I would protect you, Lord Rahl, if you swear
to get away and return."
Richard flashed her a brief smile, trying to ease her misery. "I'm Lord
Rahl-I don't need to remind you that I've wiggled out of tighter spots than
this." He kissed her cheek. "Cara, I swear I'll never give up trying to get
away-you have my word."
Kahlan realized he hadn't really sworn to Cara's words. He wouldn't,
she knew, want to make a promise he might not be able to keep.
Bending to the bed, he pulled his pack close. "I have to go." He held
the strap in a stranglehold. "I can't be late."
Kahlan's fingers tightened on his arm, Cara laid a hand on his
shoulder. Richard turned back and gripped Kahlan's shoulders.
"Listen to me, now. I wish you would stay here, in this house in these
mountains where it's safe for you, but I don't think anything short of my
dying request could convince you to do that. At least stay for four or five
days, in case I'm able to figure out what's going on and can escape Nicci.
She may be a Sister of the Dark, but I'm no longer exactly a stranger to
magic. I've escaped powerful people before. I've sent Darken Rahl back to
the underworld. I've gone to the Temple of the Winds in another world in
order to stop the plague. I've escaped worse than this. Who knows-this might
be simpler than it seems. If I do escape her, I'll come back here, so wait
for a while, at least.
"If I can't get away from Nicci for now, try to find Zedd. He might
have some idea of what to do. Ann was with him the last time we saw him.
She's the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light and knew Nicci for a very long
time. Perhaps she knows something that, along with what Zedd might be able
to come up with, could help."
"Richard, don't worry about me. Just take care of yourself. I'll be
waiting for you when you get away, so just be at ease about that much of it
and put all your effort into escaping from her. We'll wait here for a
while-I promise."
"I will watch over her, Lord Rahl. Don't worry about the Mother
Confessor."
Richard nodded. He turned back to Kahlan. His fingers on her arms
tightened. His brow drew down.
"I know you and I know the way you feel, but you have to listen to me.
The time has not yet come. It may never come. You may think I'm wrong in
this, but if you close your eyes to the reality of what is, in favor of what
you would wish just because you're the Mother Confessor and feel responsible
for the people of the Midlands, then there is no reason for us to bother
hoping we'll be together again because we won't. We will be dead, and the
cause of freedom will be dead."
His face loomed closer. "Above all else, our forces must not attack the
heart of the Order's army. It's too soon. If they-if you-carry an assault
directly into the heart of the Order thinking you can win, it will be the
end of our forces, and the end of our chances. All hope for the cause of
freedom, and all hope to defeat the Order, will be lost for generations to
come.
"It's the same way we must use our heads with Nicci, and not fight her
in a direct attack, or we will both die. You promised you would not kill
yourself to free me. Don't throw that promise away by going against what I'm
telling you now."
It all seemed so unimportant at the moment. The only thing that
mattered was that she was losing him. She would have cast the rest of the
world to the wolves if she could just keep him.
"All right, Richard."
"Promise me." His fingers were hurting her arms. He shook her. "I mean
it. You could throw it all away if you don't heed my warning. You could
destroy the hope of people for the next fifty generations. You could be the
one who destroys freedom and brings a dark age upon the world. Promise me
you won't."
A thousand thoughts swirled in chaotic turmoil through her mind. Kahlan
stared up into his eyes. She heard herself say, "I promise, Richard. Until
you say so, we'll make no direct attack."
He looked like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. A
smile spread on his face as he pulled her into an embrace. His fingers
combed into her hair and cradled her head as she rose to his kiss. Her hands
slipped up the backs of his shoulders as she held him. It only lasted a
moment, but in that moment of stolen bliss, they shared a world of emotions.
All too soon the kiss, the embrace, was over. His warm presence swirled
away from her, allowing the awful weight of doom to settle firmly down atop
her. Richard briefly hugged Cara before he hefted his pack onto a shoulder.
He turned back at the bedroom doorway.
"I love you, Kahlan. Never anyone before you, nor ever after. Only
you." His eyes said it even better.
"You're everything to me, Richard. You know that."
"I love you, too, Cara." He winked at her. "Take good care of the both
of you until I'm back."
"I will, Lord Rahl. You have my word as Mord-Sith."
He gave her a crooked smile. "I have your word as Cara."
And then he was gone.
"I love you, too, Lord Rahl," Cara whispered to the empty doorway.
Kahlan and Cara ran into the main room and stood in the doorway
watching him running across the meadow.
Cara cupped her hands around her mouth. "I love you too, Lord Rahl,"
she shouted.
Richard turned as he ran and acknowledged her words with a wave.
Together, they watched Richard's dark figure flying through the dead
brown
grass, his fluid gait swiftly carrying him away. Just before he
disappeared into the trees, he stopped and turned. Kahlan shared a last look
with him, a look that said everything. He turned and vanished into the
woods, his clothes making him impossible to distinguish from the trees and
undergrowth.
Kahlan collapsed to her knees, sitting back on her heels as she lost
control of her emotions. She wept helplessly, her head in her hands, at what
seemed the end of the world.
Cara squatted beside her to put an arm around her shoulders. Kahlan
hated to have Cara see her cry that way, cry in such weakness. She felt a
distant gratitude when Cara held her head to her shoulder and didn't say
anything.
Kahlan didn't know how long she sat on the dirt floor in her white
Confessor's dress, sobbing, but after a time, she was able to make herself
stop. Her heart continued to spiral down into hopeless gloom. Each passing
moment seemed unendurable. The bleak future stretched out before her, a
wasteland of agony.
She finally looked up and gazed about at the house. Without Richard it
was empty. He had given it life. Now it was a dead place.
"What do you wish to do, Mother Confessor?"
It was getting dark. Whether it was the sunset, or the clouds getting
thicker, Kahlan didn't know. She wiped at her eyes.
"Let's begin to get our things together. We'll stay here a few days,
like Richard asked. After that, anything the horses can't carry that will
spoil, we'd better bury. We should board up the windows. We'll close up the
house good and tight."
"For when we return to paradise, someday?"
Kahlan nodded as she looked about, trying desperately to focus her mind
on a task and not on that which would crush her. The worst part, she knew,
was going to be night. When she was alone in bed. When he wasn't with her.
Now, the valley seemed more like paradise lost. She had trouble
believing that Richard was really gone. It seemed as if he were just off to
catch some fish, or hunt berries, or scout the hills. It seemed as if,
surely, he would be coming back soon.
"Yes, for when we return. Then it will be paradise again. I guess when
Richard returns, wherever we are will be paradise."
Kahlan noticed that Cara didn't hear her answer. The Mord-Sith was
staring out through the doorway.
"Cara, what is it?"
"Lord Rahl is gone."
Kahlan rested a comforting hand on Cara's shoulder. "I know it hurts,
but we must put our minds to-"
"No." Cara turned back. Her blue eyes were strangely troubled. "No,
that's not what I mean. I mean that I can't sense him. I can't feel the bond
to Lord Rahl. I know where he is-he's going up the trail up to that pass-but
I can't feel it." She looked panicked. "Dear spirits, it's like going blind.
I don't know how to find him. I can't find Lord Rahl."
Kahlan's first flash of fear was that he fell and was killed, or that
Nicci had executed him. She used reason to force the fear aside.
"Nicci knows about the bond. She probably used her magic to cloak it,
or to sever it."
"Cloaked it, somehow." Cara rolled her Agiel in her fingers. "That's
what it has to be. I can still feel my Agiel, so I know that Lord Rahl has
to be alive. The bond is still there . . . but I cannot feel it to sense
where he is."
Kahlan sighed with relief. "That has to be it, then. Nicci doesn't want
to be followed, so she cloaked his bond with magic."
Kahlan realized that to be protected from the dream walker by the bond
to Richard, people would now have to believe in him without the reassurance
of feeling the bond. Their link would have to remain true in their hearts if
they were to survive.
Could they do that? Could they believe in that way?
Cara stared out the doorway, across the meadow to the mountains where
Richard had disappeared. The blue-violet sky behind the blue-gray mountains
was slashed with blazing orange gashes. The snowcaps were lower than they
had been. Winter was racing toward them. If Richard didn't soon escape and
return, Kahlan and Cara would have to be gone before it arrived.
Bouts of dizzying grief threatened to drown her in a flood of tears.
Needing to do something, she went to her room to take off her Confessor's
dress. She would set to work with the task of closing up the house and
preparing to leave.
As Kahlan pulled her dress off, Cara appeared in the doorway.
"Where are we going to go, Mother Confessor? You said we were going to
leave, but you never said where we were going to go."
Kahlan saw Spirit standing in the window, fists at her sides as she
looked out at the world. She lifted the carving off the sill and trailed her
fingers over the flowing form.
Seeing the statue, touching it, feeling the power of it, made Kahlan
want to reach deep inside for resolve. Once before, she had been hopeless,
and Richard carved this for her. Her other hand fell to her side, and her
fingers found Richard's sword lying across their bed. Kahlan focused her
mind, ordering the turbulent swirl of despair thickening into wrath.
"To destroy the Order."
"Destroy the Order?"
"Those beasts took my unborn child, and now they've taken Richard. I
will make them regret it a thousand times over and then another thousand. I
once swore an oath of death without mercy to the Order. The time has come.
If killing every last one of them is the only way to get Richard back, then
that's what I will do."
"You swore an oath to Lord Rahl."
"Richard said nothing about not killing them, just about how. My oath
was not to try to drive a sword through their heart. He said nothing about
bleeding them to death with a thousand cuts. I won't break my oath, but I
intend to kill every last one of them."
"Mother Confessor, you must not do that."
"Why?"
Cara's blue eyes gleamed with menace. "You must leave half for me."
Richard had stopped to turn back and look at her only once as he ran,
just before he went into the trees. She was standing in the doorway in her
white Confessor's dress, her long thick hair tumbling down, her form the
embodiment of feminine grace, looking as beautiful as the first time he saw
her. They held each other's gaze for a brief moment. He was too far away to
see the green of her eyes, a color he'd never beheld on anyone else, a color
of such heart-piercing perfection that it sometimes would stop his
breathing, and at other times quicken it.
But it was the mind of the woman behind those eyes that in reality
captivated him. Richard had never met her equal.
He knew he was cutting the time close. As much as he hated the idea of
turning his gaze away from Kahlan, her life hung in the balance. His purpose
was clear. Richard had plunged into the woods.
He had traveled the trail often enough; he knew where he could run, and
where he had to be careful. Now, with little time left, he couldn't afford
to be too careful. He didn't try for a glimpse of the house.
He was alone in the woods as he ran, his thoughts but salt in a raw
wound. For once he felt out of place in the woods-powerless, insignificant,
hopeless. Bare branches clattered together in the wind, while others creaked
and moaned, as if in mock sorrow to see him leaving. He tried not to think
as he ran.
Fir and spruce trees took over as the ground rose out of the valley.
His breath came in rapid pulls. In the cold shadows of the forest floor, the
wind was a distant pursuer far overhead, chasing after him, shooing him
along, hounding him away from the happiest place he had ever been. Spongy
mounds of verdant moss lay dotting the forest floor in the low places where
mostly cedars grew, looking like wedding cakes done up in an intense green,
sprinkled over with tiny, chocolate brown, scale-like cedar needles.
Richard tiptoed on rocks sticking up above the water as he crossed a
small stream. As the little brook tumbled down the slope, it went under
rocks and boulders in places, making an echoing drumming sound, announcing
him to the stalwart oaks along his march into imprisonment. In the flat gray
light, he failed to see a reddish loop of cedar root. It caught his foot and
sent him sprawling facedown in the trail, a final humiliation on his
judgment and sentence of banishment.
As Richard lay in the cold, damp, discarded leaves, dead branches, and
other refuse of the forest, he considered not getting up ever again. He
could just lie there and let it all end, let the indifferent wind freeze his
limbs stiff, let the sneaky spiders and snakes and wolves come to bite him
and bleed him to death, and then finally the uncaring trees would cover him
over, never to be missed except by a few, his vanishing a good riddance to
most.
A messenger with a message no one wanted to heed.
A leader come too soon.
Why not just let it end, let silent death take them both to their peace
and be done with it?
The scornful trees all watched to see what this unworthy man might do,
to see if he had the courage to get to his feet and face what was ahead. He
didn't know himself if he did.
Death was easier, and in that bottomless moment, less painful to
consider.
Even Kahlan, as much as he loved her, wanted something from him he
could not give her: a lie. She wanted him to tell her that something he knew
to be so, was not. He would do anything for her, but he couldn't change what
was. At least she had enough faith in him to let him lead her away from the
shadows of tyranny darkening the world. Even if she didn't believe him, she
was probably the only one willing, of her own free will, to follow him.
In truth, he lay on the ground for only seconds, regaining his senses
from the fall and catching his breath as the thoughts flooded through his
mind-brief seconds in which he allowed himself to be weak, in exchange for
how hard he knew everything to come would be.
Weakness, to balance the strength he would need. Doubt, to balance his
certainty of purpose. Fear, to balance the courage he would have to call
upon.
Even as he wondered if he could get up, he knew he would. His
convulsion of self-pity ended abruptly. He would do anything for her. Even
this. A thousand times over, even this.
With renewed resolve, Richard forced his mind away from the dominion of
dark thoughts. It wasn't so hopeless; he knew better. After all, he had
faced trials much more difficult than this one Sister of the Dark. He had
once gotten Kahlan out of the clutches of five Sisters of the Dark. This was
but one. He would defeat her, too. Anger welled up at the thought of Nicci
thinking she could make them dance at the end of her selfish strings.
Despair extinguished, rage flooded in.
And then he was running again, dodging trees as he cut corners off the
trail. He hurdled fallen trees and leaped over gaps in the rock shelves,
rather than taking the safe route down and up. Each shortcut or leap saved
him a few precious seconds.
A broken tree limb snagged his pack, yanking it from his shoulder. He
tried to hang on to it as he flew past, but it slipped from his grasp and
spilled across the ground.
Richard exploded in fury, as if the tree had done it on purpose just to
taunt him in his rush. He kicked the offending branch, snapping it out of
its dry socket. He fell to his knees and scooped his things back into the
pack, clawing up moss along with gold and silver coins, and a pine seedling
along with the soap Kahlan had given him. He didn't have time to care as he
shoved it all back in. This time, he put the pack onto his back, rather than
letting it hang from one shoulder. He had been trying to save time before,
and it had cost him instead.
The path, which in places was no more than sections of animal trails,
began to rise sharply, occasionally requiring that he use both hands to hold
on to rocks or roots as he climbed. He'd been up it enough times to know the
sound handholds. As cold as the day was, Richard had to wipe sweat from his
eyes. He skinned his knuckles on rough granite as he jammed his fingers into
cracks for handholds.
1n his mind's eye, Nicci was riding too swiftly, covering too much
ground, get-
ting too far ahead. He knew it had been foolhardy to take so much time
before leaving, thinking he could make up for it on the trail. He wished he
could have taken more time, though, to hold Kahlan.
His insides were in agony at the thought of how heartbroken Kahlan was.
He felt, somehow, that it was worse for her. Even if she was free, and he
was not, that made it worse for her because, in her freedom, she had to
restrain herself when she wanted nothing more than to come after him. In
bondage to a master, Richard had it easy; he had only to follow orders.
He burst out of the trees onto the wider trail at the top of the pass.
Nicci was nowhere to be seen. He held his breath as he looked to the east,
fearing to spot her going down the back side of the pass. Beyond the high
place where he stood, he could see forests spread out before him with
mountains to each side lifting the carpet of trees. In the distance, greater
mountains yet soared to dizzying heights, their peaks and much of their
slopes stark white against the gloom of heavy gray sky.
Richard didn't see any horse and rider, but since the trail twisted
down into the trees not tar beyond where he stood, that didn't really prove
anything. The top of the pass was a bald bit of open ledge, with most of the
rest of the horse trail winding through deep woods. He quickly inspected the
ground, casting about for tracks, hoping she wouldn't be too far ahead of
him and he could catch her before she did something terrible. His sense of
doom eased when he found no tracks.
He peered out at the valley far below, across the straw-brown meadow,
to their house. It was too far away to see anyone. He hoped Kahlan would
stay there for a few days, as he had asked. He didn't want her going to the
army, going to fight a losing war, endangering her life for nothing.
Richard understood Kahlan's desire to be with her people and to defend
her homeland. She believed she could make a difference. She could not. Not
yet. Maybe not ever. Richard's vision was really nothing more than the
acceptance of that reality. Shaking your sword at the sky didn't keep the
sun from setting.
Richard cast an appraising squint at the clouds. For the last two days,
he had thought that the signs pointed to the first snow of the season soon
rolling down onto their valley home. By the look of the sky and the scent in
the wind, he judged he was right.
He knew he wasn't going to be able to escape Nicci so easily as to be
able to get back to Kahlan within a few days. He had invented that story for
another reason. Once the weather shitted and the snow arrived up in these
mountain highlands, it tended to come in an onslaught. If the storm was as
big as he estimated by the signs it could be, Kahlan and Cara would end up
being stuck in their house until spring. With all the food they'd put up, as
well as the supplies he'd brought in, they had plenty to last the two of
them. The firewood he'd cut would keep them warm.
There, she would be safe. With the army, she would be in constant
danger.
The dappled mare walked out of the trees, coming around a bend not far
away. Nicci's blue eyes were on Richard from the first instant she appeared.
At the time the Sisters of the Light had taken him to the Palace of the
Prophets in the Old World, Richard had mistakenly believed Kahlan wanted him
taken away. He didn't know or understand she had sent him away to save his
life. Richard thought she didn't ever want to see him again.
While in captivity at the palace, Richard thought Nicci was the
personification of lust. He was hardly able to find his voice when around
her. He had hardly been
able to believe a creature of such physical perfection existed, other
than in daydreams.
Now, as he watched her swaying gently in her saddle as she walked her
horse up the trail, her intense blue eyes locked on his, it seemed to him
she wore her beauty with a kind of grim acceptance. She had so completely
lost her stunning presence that he couldn't even envision any reason for his
onetime sentiment about her.
Richard had since learned the true depths of what a real woman was,
what real love was, and what real fulfillment was. In that light, Nicci
paled into insignificance.
As he watched her coming closer, he was surprised to realize she looked
sad. She seemed almost to be sorry to find him there, but more than that,
there seemed to be a shadow of relief passing across her countenance.
"Richard, you lived up to my faith." Her voice suggested that it had
been tenuous as best. "You're in a sweat; would you like to rest?"
Her feigned kindness drove hot blood all the way up to his scalp. He
pulled his glare from her gentle smile and turned to the trail, walking
ahead of her horse. He thought it best if he not say anything until he could
get a grip on his rage.
Not far down the trail they came to a black stallion with a white blaze
on its face. The big horse was picketed in a small grassy patch of open
ground among towering pines.
"Your horse, as I promised," she said. "I hope you find him to your
liking. I judged him to be big and strong enough to carry you comfortably."
Richard checked and found the smooth snaffle bit to his approval; she
wasn't abusing the animals with cruel bits used to dominate, as he knew some
of the Sisters did. The rest of the tack appeared sound. The horse looked
healthy.
Richard took a few moments to introduce himself to the stallion. He
reminded himself that the horse was not the cause of his problems, and he
shouldn't let his attitude toward Nicci affect how he treated this handsome
animal. He didn't ask the horse's name. He let it sniff his hand beneath its
curled muzzle, then stroked the stallion's sleek black neck. He patted its
shoulder, conveying a gentle introduction without words. The powerful black
stallion stamped his front hooves. He was not yet all that pleased to meet
Richard.
For the time being, there was no choice of routes; there was only the
one trail and it ran from the direction of the house where Kahlan was back
to the east. Richard took the lead so that he wouldn't have to look at
Nicci.
He didn't want to jump right on the stallion at first sight and make a
bad impression that would take a lot of work to overcome. Better to let the
horse get to know him, first, if just for a mile or so. He held the reins
slack under the stallion's jaw and walked in front of him, letting him get
comfortable with following this strange new man. Putting his mind to the
task of working with the horse helped divert him from thoughts that
threatened to drag him under a sea of sorrow. After a time, the stallion
seemed at ease with his new master and Richard mounted without any ado.
The narrow trail precluded Nicci walking her horse beside his. Her
dappled mare snorted its displeasure at having to follow the stallion.
Richard was pleased to know that he had already upset the order of things.
Nicci offered no conversation, sensing, he supposed, his mood. He was
going with her, but there was no way she could hope to make him happy about
it.
When it started getting dark, Richard simply dismounted beside a small
brook where the horses could have a drink, and tossed his things on the
ground. Nicci
wordlessly accepted his choice of campsite, and unstrapped her bedroll
from her saddle after she'd taken it down off her horse. She sat on her
bedroll, looking a little downcast, more than anything else, and ate some
sausage along with a hard biscuit washed down with water. After her first
bite, she lifted the sausage to him, meeting his gaze in a questioning
manner. He didn't acknowledge the offer. Nicci assumed he declined, and went
back to eating.
When she was finished and had washed in the brook, she went behind the
thick undergrowth for a time. When she came back, she crawled into her
bedroll without a word, turned away from him, and went to sleep.
Richard sat on the mossy ground, arms folded, leaning the small of his
back against his saddle. He didn't sleep the entire night. He sat watching
Nicci sleep in the light of the overcast sky lit from the other side by a
nearly full moon, watching her slow even breathing, her slightly parted
lips, the slow pulse in the vein at the side of her throat, thinking the
whole time how he might overcome what she had done to them. He thought about
strangling her, but he knew better.
He had used magic before. He had in the past not only felt but
unleashed incredible power through his gift. He had faced situations of
enormous danger involving a wide variety of magic. Richard had called upon
his gift to conjure such power as no one living had ever seen, and he had
watched as it was brought to life at his conscious direction.
His gift was invoked mostly through anger and need. He had an abundant
supply of both. He just didn't know how it could help him. He didn't
understand well enough what Nicci had done to begin to think of what he
might do to counter it. With Kahlan's life at the other end of Nicci's
invisible cord of magic, he dared not do anything until he was sure of it.
He would be, though; he just had to figure it out. Experience told him that
it was a reasonable supposition. He told himself it was only a matter of
time. If he wanted to keep his sanity, he knew he had to believe that.
The next morning, without speaking a word to Nicci, he saddled the
horses. She sat watching him tighten the cinch straps, making sure they
weren't pinching the horses, as she sipped from a waterskin. She took bread
from her saddlebag lying beside her and asked if he would like a piece.
Richard ignored her.
He would have been tired from not sleeping the whole cold night, but
his anger kept him wide awake. Under a leaden sky, they rode at an easy but
steady pace all that day through forests that seemed endless. It felt good
to have a warm horse under him. Throughout the day, they continued their
gradual descent from the higher country, where the house was, down into the
lowlands.
Toward dark, the snow arrived.
At first, it was just a few furtive flakes swirling through the air. As
it steadily increased, it seemed to leach the color from trees and ground
alike, until the world turned white. Visibility steadily diminished as the
snow thickened into a disorienting, drifting, solid wall. He had to keep
blinking the fat flakes from his eyes.
For the first time since leaving with Nicci, Richard felt a sense of
relief.
Kahlan and Cara, up higher in the mountains, would wake in the morning
to several feet of snow. They would decide that it was foolish to try to
leave when, they would believe, it was only an early snow that would melt
down enough in a few days for them to have an easier time of traveling. Up
in those mountains, that would be a mistake. It would stay cold. A storm
would follow on the heels of this
one, and they would soon have snow up to the shutters. They would be
nervous about waiting, but would probably decide that it was now more
important for them to delay until a break in the weather-after all, there
was no urgency.
In all likelihood, they would end up safely stuck in the house for the
winter. When he eventually escaped from Nicci's talons, Richard would find
Kahlan snug in their home.
He decided that it would be foolish to let his anger dictate that they
sleep on the open ground. They could freeze to death. He recalled all too
well that if Nicci died, Kahlan died. When he spotted a big wayward pine, he
walked his horse off the trail. Brushing against branches dumped wet snow on
him. Richard flicked it off his shoulders and shook it from his hair.
Nicci glanced around, confused, but didn't object. She dismounted as
she waited to see what he was doing. When he held a heavy bough to the side
for her, she frowned at him before poking her head inside for a look. She
straightened with an expression of childlike delight. Richard didn't return
her wide grin.
Inside, under the thick boughs caked with snow, was a still, frigid
world. With the snow crusting the tree, it was dark inside. In the dim
light, Richard dug a small fire pit and soon caught fire to the deadwood
he'd carefully stacked over shavings.
When the crackling flames built into a warm glow, Nicci gazed around in
wonder at the inside of the wayward pine. The spoke-like branches over their
heads were cast in a soft orange blush by the flickering light. The lower
trunk was bare of limbs, leaving the inside of the tree a hollow cone with
ample open space at the bottom for them.
Nicci quietly warmed her hands by the fire, looking contented-not like
she was gloating that he'd given in and found shelter and built a fire, but
contented. She looked as if she had been through a great ordeal, and now she
could be at peace. She looked like a woman expecting nothing, but grateful
for what she had.
Richard hadn't had breakfast with her, or anything the day before. His
bitter resolve gave way to his hunger, so he boiled water from melted snow
and cooked rice and beans. Starving wouldn't do him or Kahlan any good.
Without words, he offered Nicci half the rice and beans poured into the
crust of one end of his loaf of bread. She took the bread bowl and thanked
him.
She offered him a sun-dried slice of meat. Richard stared at her thin,
delicate fingers holding out the piece of meat. It reminded him of someone
feeding a chipmunk. He snatched the meat from her hand and tore off a chunk
with his teeth. To avoid her gaze, he watched the fire as he ate his rice
and beans out of the heel of bread. Other than the crackle of the fire, the
only sound was the thump of snow falling in clumps from limbs not stout
enough to hold the load. Snowfalls often turned a forest to a place of eerie
stillness.
Sitting by the low fire after he'd finished his meal, feeling the
warmth of the flames on his face, the exhaustion from the long ride on top
of his vigil the night before finally caught up with him. Richard stacked
thicker wood on the dwindling fire and banked the coals around it. He
unrolled his bedroll on the opposite side of the fire from Nicci as she
silently watched him, climbed in, and, as he thought about Kahlan safe in
their house, fell soundly asleep.
The next day they were up early. Nicci said nothing, but, once they
were mounted, decisively cut her dappled mare in front of the black stallion
and took the lead. The snow had changed to a cold drizzling mist. What snow
was left on the
ground had melted down to gray slush. The lowlands were not quite ready
to relinquish themselves to winter's grip. Up higher, where Kahlan was, it
was colder and would be snowing in earnest.
As they rode carefully along a narrow road at the side of a mountain,
Richard tried to watch the woods to keep his mind on other things, but he
couldn't help occasionally looking at Nicci riding right in front of him. It
was cold and damp; she wore a heavy black cloak over her black dress. With
her back straight, her head held high, and her blond hair fanned out over
her cloak, she looked regal. He wore his dark forest clothes and hadn't
shaved.
Nicci's dappled mare was dark gray, almost black, with lighter gray
rings over its body. Its mane was dark gray, as were the lightly feathered
legs, and the tail was a milky white. It was one of the most handsome horses
Richard had ever seen. He hated it. It was hers.
By afternoon, they intersected a trail running to the south. Nicci,
leading the way, continued to the east. Before the day was out they would
encounter a few more paths, used mainly by an occasional hunter or trapper.
The mountains were inhospitable. Even if you cleared the ground of trees,
the soil was thin and rocky. In a few places closer to Hartland or other
population centers to the north or south, there were grassy slopes that were
able to support thin flocks of sheep or goats.
As he felt the stallion's muscles moving beneath him, Richard looked
out at land he knew and loved. He didn't know how long it would be until he
was home again-if ever. He hadn't asked where they were going, figuring
Nicci wouldn't likely tell him this soon. That they were headed east didn't
mean much just yet because their choice of routes was limited.
In the passive rhythm of the ride, Richard's mind kept returning to his
sword, and how he had given it to Kahlan. At the time it had seemed the only
thing to do. He hated that he had given it to her the way he had, yet he
could think of no other way to afford her any protection. He prayed she
would never have to use the sword. If she did, he'd given it a measure of
his rage, too.
At his belt he wore a fine knife, but he felt naked without his sword.
He hated the ancient weapon, the way it pulled dark things from within him,
and at the same time he missed it. He often reminded himself of Zedd's
words, that it was merely a tool.
It was more, too. The sword was a mirror, albeit one bound in magic
capable of raining terrible destruction. The Sword of Truth would annihilate
anything before it-flesh or steel-as long as what stood before it was the
enemy, yet it could not harm a friend. Therein lay the paradox of its magic:
evil was defined solely by the perceptions of the person holding the sword,
by what he believed to be true.
Richard was the true Seeker and heir to the power of the sword created
by the wizards in the great war. It should be with him. He should be
protecting the sword.
A lot of things "should be," he told himself.
Late in the afternoon they left the eastern path they were on and took
one tending east and south. Richard knew the trail; it would pass through a
village in another day, and then become a narrow road. Since Nicci had
deliberately taken the new route, she must have known that, too.
Near dark they skirted the north shore of a good-sized lake. A small
raft of seagulls floated out near the middle of the rain-swept water.
Seagulls weren't common in these parts, but they were not unheard of,
either. He recalled all the seabirds he had seen when he had been in the Old
World. The sea had fascinated him.
In a cove on the far shore Richard could just make out two men fishing.
On that side of the lake there was a trail worn to a deep rut over many
generations by people coming up to fish from a hamlet to the south.
The two men, sitting on a broad flat rock jutting out into the lake,
waved in greeting. It wasn't often one encountered riders out here. Richard
and Nicci were too far away for the men to make them out. The men probably
assumed they were trappers.
Nicci returned the wave in a casual manner, as if to say, "Good luck
with the fishing. Wish we could join you."
They rounded a bend and finally disappeared from the men. Richard wiped
his wet hair off his forehead as they rode along beside the lake, listening
to the small waves lapping at the muddy shore. Leaving the lake behind, they
cut into the forest as the trail rose on its way across a gentle slope.
Nicci had put her hood up against the intermittent rain and drizzle purring
through the trees. A darkening gloom descended on the woods.
Richard didn't want to do anything that would get Kahlan killed; the
time had finally come when he had to speak.
"When we come upon someone, what am I to say? I don't suppose you want
me telling people you're a Sister of the Dark out snatching victims. Or do
you wish me to play the part of a mute?"
Nicci gave him a sidelong glance.
"You will be my husband, as far as everyone is concerned," she said
without hesitation. "I expect you to adhere to that story under all
circumstances. For all practical purposes, from now on, you are my husband.