Страница:
the streets of Altur'Rang. Now and again, squads of heavily armed city
guards rushed
down the streets. There were a lot of people come to the city for the
dedication celebration. He supposed that was why there were so many people
out on the streets.
The guards paid him no attention. He knew they soon would.
When he arrived at the Retreat, Richard was shocked by what he saw. The
open miles of grounds were covered with people. They crowded in around the
palace walls like ants around spilled honey. He couldn't even begin to
estimate how many people blanketed the surrounding hills. It was
disorienting to see the panoply of color where before he had seen only brown
dirt and green winter rye. He had no idea that this many people had wanted
to come to the dedication. But then, he had been working day and night for
months--how would he hear what people planned?
Richard skirted the worst of the throngs and made his way up the road
toward the blacksmith's shop. He wanted to get Victor and go down with him
to the site to see the statue before the Order came out to begin the
dedication. Victor would no doubt be eagerly waiting.
The road was crowded with people. They seemed excited, happy, and
expectant. It was a far cry from the way most people in the Old World
usually appeared or behaved. Maybe a celebration, even one such as this, was
better than the rest of their dreary days.
A half mile from Victor's place, a wild-looking Brother Neal leaped
into the road and thrust an arm in Richard's direction.
"There he is! Grab him!"
Guards combing throughout the surrounding crowds drew weapons at Neal's
command. As they swept in around him, Richard's first instinct was to fight.
In an instant, he had assessed the enemy and calculated his attack. He had
only to grab one sword from a clumsy guard and he would have them all. In
his own mind, the grisly deed was already done. He had only to bring it to
reality.
The guards came at him in a dead run. People scattered out of the way,
some screaming in fright.
There was the matter of Neal, though. Neal was a wizard. But Richard
could deal with that threat, too-need powered his ability. Need, and anger.
He certainly had enough anger for the task. That part of him that the Sword
of Truth used, that rage of dark violence, already thundered through him.
Except that Nicci had told him that if he used his magic, Kahlan would
die. Would she know?
Sooner or later, she would.
Richard stood submissively still as the guards roughly seized him by
his arms to subdue him. Others snatched his shirt from behind.
What did it really matter? If he resisted, it would only hurt Kahlan.
If they executed him, Nicci would let Kahlan live her life.
But he didn't want to go back into that dark hole.
Neal raced up, shaking a finger in Richard's face. "What is the meaning
of this, Cypher! What did you think you were going to accomplish!"
"May I ask what are you talking about, Brother Neal?"
Neal's face was crimson. "The statue!"
"What, you don't like it?"
With all his might, Neal slammed his fist into Richard's middle. The
guards holding him laughed. Richard had seen it coming and had tightened his
muscles, but it still drove the wind from him. He finally managed to draw
his breath.
Neal found that he enjoyed administering punishment, and did it again.
"Oh, you're going to pay for your blasphemy, Cypher. You're going to
pay the price, this time. You'll confess to it all, before we're done. But
first, you'll watch your wicked perversion destroyed." Neal, his face
twisted with superior, selfrighteous indignation, gestured to the burly
guards. "Let's get him down there. And don't be shy about making way through
the crowd."
By midmorning, Kahlan's hopes of the blacksmith showing up had all but
vanished.
"I'm sorry," Kamil said, looking glum as he watched her pace. "I don't
know why Victor isn't here. I thought he would be, I really did."
Kahlan finally halted and gave the worried lad a pat on the shoulder.
"I know you did, Kamil. With the celebration today, and with what's going on
down there with the statue, this is hardly a normal day around here, I'm
sure."
"Look," Cara said. Kahlan saw she was peering down toward the palace.
"Guards with spears are moving the crowd off the plaza."
Kahlan squinted off down at the hill. "Your eyes are better than mine.
I can't tell." She cast a frustrated glare at the closed blacksmith's shop.
"But it's doing us no good waiting up here. Let's see if we can make it down
there and get a better look." Kahlan put a restraining hand on Cara's arm.
"But let's not start a war with this crowd?"
Cara's mouth twisted in exasperation. Kahlan turned to the young man
kicking a toe at the dirt, looking shamed by his failed plan to help them
find Richard.
"Kamil, will you do something for me?"
"Sure. What?"
"Will you wait up here, in case Richard comes here, or even the
blacksmith? If the blacksmith comes to his shop, he might know something."
Kamil stretched his neck and gazed down at the palace. "Well, all
right. If Richard does come here, I wouldn't want him to miss you. What
shall I tell him, if I see him.
Kahlan smiled. That I love him, she thought, but said instead, "Tell
him I'm here, with Cara, and we've gone down there looking for him. If he
does show up, I don't want to miss him. Have him wait here-we'll come back."
Kahlan thought they could make it down to the plaza to have a look, but
everyone else seemed to have the same idea. It took forever just to make it
down the hill to the grounds. The closer they got, the tighter the people
were jammed together. Kahlan's progress ground to a halt. It was a struggle
just to keep contact with Cara. Everyone in the crowd seemed intent on
squeezing forward toward the plaza. More people crushed in all the time.
Kahlan soon realized that she and Cara were trapped in the press of
people.
The conversation on everyone's lips was about only one thing: the
statue.
--]----
It was late in the day by the time Nicci had worked herself partway
toward the plaza. Every inch gained had been a struggle. She was close
enough to see the people up around the statue, but she could get no closer.
Try as she might, she could not make any more headway. Just like her,
everyone else wanted to get closer, too. They were pressed up against her,
pinning her arms. It was at times a frightening, helpless
feeling. She managed to pull one arm free so she could help herself
maintain her balance. It came to her that to fall in such circumstances
could be fatal.
If only she had her power.
Her own arrogance had driven her to trading it away. What she had
gotten in return, though, was life. But it had cost Richard and Kahlan their
freedom. Nicci couldn't simply withdraw her power from the link, in order to
have use of her gift again, or Kahlan would die. Nicci didn't want her life
at the cost of another's-that was what she had come to understand was true
evil.
Nicci had searched for Richard. She hadn't found him. She hadn't been
able to find the blacksmith, Mr. Cascella, or Ishaq, either. As soon as she
could find Richard, she could tell him that she had been wrong, and then
they could leave Altur'Rang. She wanted so much to see his face when she
told him she was taking him back to Kahlan and that she was going to reverse
the spell. Of all people, they were the last who should have to suffer for
what Nicci had learned.
The only place left that she could think to look for him was at the
statue. He might be there. Try as she might, though, she couldn't get any
closer. Now, she realized that she probably couldn't even extract herself
from the crush of hundreds of thousands of people around her. There had to
be well over a half million people in the huge throng around the palace.
And then, Nicci saw Brother Narev and his disciples appear up on the
plaza, all in their dark brown robes, Brother Narev in his creased cap, the
rest with their faces hidden in deeply cowled hoods. Crowding the rear of
the plaza were a few hundred officials of the Order who had traveled in to
attend the palace dedication-important men, all.
If only she had her power, she could have killed them where they stood.
It was then that she caught a fleeting glimpse of Richard behind the.
officials, with guards surrounding him. The whole central area around the
plaza was thick with the surly guards.
Brother Narev stepped out to the edge of the plaza, all angles under
dark robes. Beneath his creased cap, beneath his hooded brow, his dark gaze
swept the assembly. The people were in a noisy, emotional state. Brother
Narev did not look pleased, but then, Brother Narev never looked pleased.
Pleasure, he would say, was wicked. He raised his anus, commanding silence.
When the crowd quieted, he began in that terrible grating voice of his,
a voice that had haunted her from that day in her house when she was little,
that voice that she had allowed to rule her mind, that voice that, along
with her mother's, had done her thinking for her.
"Fellow citizens of the Order. We have a special event planned for you
today. Today, we bring you the spectacle of temptation . . . and more."
His arm glided back toward the statue. His long thin fingers opened.
His voice rumbled with revulsion. "Evil, itself."
The crowd murmured uneasily. Brother Narev smiled, the thin slash of
his mouth pleating back his hollow cheeks as he grinned like death's own
skull. His eyes were as dark as his robes. The setting sun was fleeing the
scene, taking clarity, leaving behind the tremors of flickering light from
the dozens of torches to cast their flickering orange light across the
massive columns towering behind the plaza, and the weak light of the moon to
wash the faces of the grim officials. The air, so cloying with the heavy
scents of the crowd, had turned chill.
"Fellow citizens of the Order," Brother Narev said in a voice that
Nicci thought
might crack the stone walls, "today you will see what happens to evil,
when confronted by the virtue of the Order."
He hooked a skeletal finger, signaling behind the heads of the
officials. Guards muscled Richard forward. Nicci cried out, but her voice
was lost in the clamor of tens of thousands of other voices.
Brother Neal swaggered forward, then, lugging with him a sledgehammer.
Nicci checked to the sides and saw that there were several thousand
armed guards at hand. More screened the plaza off from the people. Brother
Narev had taken no chances. Neal, with a polite smile and a deferential bow,
handed the sledgehammer to Brother Narev.
Brother Narev lifted the sledgehammer above his head as if it were a
sword held high in triumph.
"Evil, wherever it is found, must be destroyed." He aimed the weaving
head of the sledgehammer toward the statue. "This is a thing of evil,
created by an extremist who hates his fellow man, to victimize the weak. He
contributes nothing to the advancement of his fellow man, nothing to the
succor of his fellow man, nothing to the education or support of his fellow
man. He offers only lewd and profane images to prey on the susceptible and
feebleminded among us."
The crowd was silent in their bewildered disappointment. From what
Nicci could tell as she had walked among them throughout the day, they had
come to believe that this statue was some new offering by the Order to the
people-some grand thing for them to see at the emperor's palace, some bright
shining hope. They were confused and stunned by what they were hearing.
Brother Narev lifted the sledgehammer. "Before this criminal's corpse
is hung from a pole for his crimes against the Order, he is to see his vile
work destroyed to the cheers of virtuous people!"
As the sun's last ray fled below the horizon, Brother Narev lifted the
heavy sledgehammer high in the flickering light of smoking torches. The
sledgehammer wobbled momentarily at the apex of its arc before descending in
a heavy swing. The crowd sent up a collective gasp as the steel head rang
out when it struck the male statue's leg. A few small chips fell away. It
had done surprisingly little damage.
In the absolute silence, Richard laughed derisively at Brother Narev's
impotent swing.
Even from the distance, Nicci could see Brother Narev's face turning
crimson as Richard stood watching and chuckling. The crowd murmured, hardly
able to believe any man would laugh at a brother of the Order-at Brother
Narev himself.
Brother Narev could hardly believe it.
The dozens of guards who had their spears leveled at Richard could
hardly believe it.
In the tense silence, Richard's laugh echoed off the semicircle of
stone walls and soaring columns behind them. Death's grin returned. Brother
Narev lifted the sledgehammer by the head, its weight awkward in his bony
hand, and held the handle out to Richard.
"You will destroy your depraved work yourself."
The words "or you will die on the spot" were not spoken, but everyone
heard them implied.
Richard accepted the handle of the sledgehammer. He could have looked
no more noble doing so if he had been taking a jewel-encrusted sword.
Richard's raptor gaze left Brother Narev and swept out over the crowd
as he took
several strides toward the steps. Brother Narev lifted a finger,
signaling the guards to hold their spears. By the smirk on the faces of
Brothers Narev and Neal, they didn't think the crowd would care to hear
anything a sinner had to say.
"You are ruled," Richard said in a voice that rang out over the
multitude, "by mean little men."
The people gasped as one. To speak against a brother was treason, most
likely, and heresy for sure.
"My crime?" Richard asked aloud. "I have given you something beautiful
to see, daring to hold the conviction that you have a right to see it if you
wish. Worse . . . I have said that your lives are your own to live."
A rolling murmur swept out through the multitude. Richard's voice rose
in power, demanding in its clarity to be heard above the whispering.
"Evil is not one large entity, but a collection of countless, small
depravities brought up from the muck by petty men. Living under the Order,
you have traded the enrichment of vision for a gray fog of mediocrity-the
fertile inspiration of striving and growth, for mindless stagnation and slow
decay-the brave new ground of the attempt, for the timid quagmire of
apathy."
With gazes riveted and lips still, the crowd listened. Richard gestured
out over their heads with his sledgehammer, wielded with the effortless
grace of a royal sword.
"You have traded freedom not even for a bowl of soup, but worse, for
the spoken empty feelings of others who say that you deserve to have a full
bowl of soup provided by someone else.
"Happiness, joy, accomplishment, achievement . . . are not finite
commodities, to be divided up. Is a child's laughter to be divided up and
allotted? No! Simply make more laughter!"
Laughter, pleased laughter, rippled through the crowd.
Brother Narev's scowl grew. "We've heard enough of your extremist
rambling! Destroy your profane statue. Now."
Richard cocked his head. "Oh? The collective assembly of the Order, and
of brothers, fears to hear what one insignificant man could say? You fear
mere words that much, Brother Narev?"
Dark eyes stole a quick glance at the crowd as they leaned forward,
eager to hear his answer.
"We fear no words. Virtue is on our side, and will prevail. Speak your
blasphemy, so all may understand why moral people will side against you."
Richard smiled out at the people, but he spoke with brutal honesty.
"Every person's life is theirs by right. An individual's life can and
must belong only to himself, not to any society or community, or he is then
but a slave. No one can deny another person their right to their life, nor
seize by force what is produced by someone else, because that is stealing
their means to sustain their life. It is treason against mankind to hold a
knife to a man's throat and dictate how he must live his life. No society
can be more important than the individuals who compose it, or else you
ascribe supreme importance, not to man, but to any notion that strikes the
fancy of that society, at a never-ending cost of lives. Reason and reality
are the only means to just laws; mindless wishes, if given sovereignty,
become deadly masters.
"Surrendering reason to faith in these men sanctions their use of force
to enslave you-to murder you. You have the power to decide how you will live
your life.
These mean little men up here are but cockroaches, if you say they are.
They have no power to control you but that which you grant them!"
Richard pointed with the sledgehammer back at the statue. "This is
life. Your life. To live as you choose." He swept the head of the
sledgehammer in an arc, pointing out the carvings up on the walls. "This is
what the Order offers you: death."
"We've heard enough of your blasphemy!" Brother Narev shrieked.
"Destroy your evil creation now, or die!"
The spears rose.
Richard calmly swept a fearless glance around at the guards, then
stepped to his statue. Nicci's heart was pounding against her ribs. She
didn't want it destroyed. It was too good to destroy. This couldn't be
happening. They couldn't take this away.
Richard rested the sledgehammer across his shoulder. He lifted his
other hand up to the statue as he addressed the crowd one last time.
"This is what the Order is taking from you-your humanity, your
individuality, your freedom to live your own life."
Richard briefly touched the sledgehammer to his forehead.
With a mighty swing, the steel head arced around. Nicci could hear the
air whistle. The entire statue seemed to shudder as the sledgehammer struck
the base with a thunderous boom.
In a moment of brittle silence, she heard the faintest sound, the
ripping popping crackling whisper of the stone itself.
Then, the entire statue crashed down in a roar of fragments and
billowing white dust.
The officials at the back of the plaza cheered. The guards hooted and
hollered as they waved their weapons in the air.
They were the only ones. The crowd was dead silent as dust rolled out
across the plaza. All their hope, embodied in the statue, had just been
destroyed.
Nicci stared in a daze. Her throat constricted with the agony of it.
Her eyes watered. They all watched, as if having just witnessed a tragic,
pointless death.
The guards moved toward Richard with their spears leveled, prodding him
back to other guards waiting with heavy shackles.
Down closer to the steps, a clear voice rang out from the stunned
crowd. "No! We'll not stand for it!"
In the gathering darkness, Nicci saw the man who had yelled. He was up
close
to the front, furiously trying to fight his way through the press of
people to get to
the plaza. -
It was the blacksmith, Mr. Cascella.
"We'll not stand for it!" he roared. "I'll not let you enslave me any
longer! Do you hear? I'm a free man! A free man!"
The entire mass of people before the palace erupted in a deafening
roar.
And then, as one, they lunged forward.
Fists in the air, voices raised in cries of rage, the mass of humanity
avalanched toward the plaza. Ranks of heavily armed men marched down the
steps to meet the advance. They vanished beneath the onslaught.
Nicci screamed with all her might, trying to get Richard's attention,
but her voice was lost in the hurricane.
Richard didn't know what stunned him more: to see his statue in rubble,
or to see the crowd charging up the steps after Victor had declared himself
a free man.
The mob rolled without pause over armed guards descending the steps to
meet them. A number of people fell wounded or killed. The bodies were
trampled beneath the surge of people. Those in front couldn't stop if they
wanted to-the weight of tens of thousands behind them propelled them onward.
But they didn't want to stop. The roar was deafening.
The brothers panicked. The officials in the rear panicked. The few
thousand armed guards panicked. In that instant, the nature of the world
transformed from the omnipotent power of the Order assembled on the plaza,
to every man for himself.
Richard wanted Brother Narev. He saw, instead, armed men rushing in at
him. Richard swung and buried the head of the sledgehammer in the chest of a
man who came at him with sword raised high. As the man flew past, the handle
of the sledgehammer sticking from the crater in his chest, Richard snatched
the sword from his fist, and then, blade in hand, he unleashed himself.
A small group of guards saw fit to protect the brothers. Richard
charged into them, cutting with every stroke. Every slash or thrust took a
man down.
But guards were not what Richard was mainly interested in. If he was to
lose everything, he wanted Narev's head in the bargain. As he fought his way
through the chaos of people crushing into the plaza, he couldn't find
Brother Narev anywhere.
Victor appeared out of the melee gripping a brother by the hair. Other
men had joined Victor-and each had a hand on the brother. The burly
blacksmith wore a scowl that would bend iron. The brother's eyes were
rolling around as if he'd been hit on the head, and couldn't gather his
senses.
"Richard!" Victor called out.
The men, some still grasping the brother's brown robes, rushed in
around Richard. They stood in a sweep around him, ten or fifteen deep.
"What should we do with him?" one man asked.
Richard glanced around at all the people. He saw men he knew from the
site. Priska was among them, and Ishaq, too.
"Why ask me? It's your revolt." He met the eyes of the men with
challenge. "What do you think you should do with him?"
"You tell us, Richard," one of the carvers said.
Richard shook his head. "No. You tell me what you intend to do with
him. But you should know, this man is a wizard. When he comes around, he's
going to start killing people. This is a matter of life and death, and he
knows it. Do you? This is about your lives. It is for you to decide what to
do, not me."
"We want you with us this time, Richard," Priska called out. "But if
you still
won't join us, then we're having our lives back, having this revolt,
without you. That's the way it's going to be!"
The men all shook their fists as they yelled their agreement.
Victor hugged the groggy brother to his chest and wrenched his head
until his neck broke. The limp body slipped to the floor.
"And that's what we intend to do with him," Victor said.
Richard held out his hand as he smiled. "Always glad to meet a free
man." They clasped forearms. Richard looked into Victor's eyes. "I'm Richard
Rahl."
Victor blinked; then his belly laugh rolled out. With his free hand, he
clapped Richard on the side of his shoulder.
"Sure you are. We all are! You had me going for a second, there,
Richard. You really did."
The press of the crowd drove them back to the columns. Richard reached
down and snatched the dead brother's robes, pulling the body along with him.
The mass of towering stone walls and marble columns afforded some protection
from the raging river of people.
The ground shuddered. A blast from the inside blew a hole out through
the wall. The darkness ignited with light. Stone fragments whistled through
the air. Dozens of bloodied people were thrown back.
"What was that!" Victor called out through the din of screaming,
yelling, and the roar of the explosion.
Ignoring the danger, the crowd continued to advance on the men who had
enslaved them. Throngs swarmed over the spot where the statue had stood,
scooping up shards of marble. They kissed their fingers and, as they swept
past, planted those kisses on the words on the back of the fallen bronze
ring. They were choosing life.
Hordes of people had captured a number of the brothers and officials,
and were beating them to death with chunks of white marble from the rubble
of the statue.
"Brother Narev is a sorcerer," Richard said. "Victor, you have to
organize some of these men-get control of this mob. Narev can use powerful
magic. I commend people's desire to be free, but we're going to have a great
many killed and injured if we don't get this under control."
"I understand," Victor said as he fought to keep from being swept away.
A number of men who had been crowded around Richard, protecting him,
heard what he said and nodded their agreement. The commands to organize
started to spread through the crowd. These people wanted to succeed. They
were willing to work toward their goal, and saw reason in the orders
beginning to be called out. Many of these men were used to handling large
groups of workers. They knew the business of organizing men.
Richard started pulling off the dead brother's robes. "You men have to
keep these people out of the palace. Narev is in there. Anyone who goes in
could easily be killed. You have to keep people out. It will be a death trap
in there with the brothers."
"I understand," Victor said.
"We'll keep them back," men called to Richard.
Richard threw the dead brother's brown robes up over his head. Victor
snatched him by the arm. "What are you doing?"
Richard popped his head up through the neck opening. "I'm going in
there. In the darkness, Narev will think I'm a brother, and I'll be able to
get close to him." He poked his confiscated sword through the robes to hide
the blade. He covered the
hilt with his wrist. "Keep people out Narev commands dangerous magic. I
have to stop him."
"You watch yourself," Victor said.
The men who had assumed command began fanning out, urging people to
follow their orders. Some people did, and as they did, yet more followed.
With all the officials who they'd captured now dead, the mob was slowly
being brought to task, and not a moment too soon. The crushing weight of
people flooding up onto the plaza was a danger to everyone.
Passing people wept as they picked up pieces of marble from the statue,
holding the tokens of freedom and beauty to their breast as they moved on to
allow others to do the same. These were people who had been offered life,
and had taken it. They had proven themselves.
Victor saw what everyone was doing. "Richard . . . I'm so sorry-"
A fiery blast exploded through the plaza, cutting down well over a
hundred people. Bodies were ripped apart in the violence of it. A huge stone
column toppled, crushing people who couldn't get out of the way because of
the press of the throng.
"Later!" Richard yelled over the pandemonium. "I've got to stop Narev!
Keep these people out-they'll only die in there!"
Victor nodded before he rushed off with the other men he knew to try to
gain control of the situation.
Richard put the tumult and confusion behind him, and stepped through a
gaping doorway between the columns . . . into the darkness.
--]----
There were miles of unfinished corridors, some clogged with bodies. In
the first crush, as the people swept up onto the plaza, they had chased
brothers and officials into the labyrinth of the palace. Many of those
people had been unfortunate enough to find Brother Narev. The stench of
burned flesh filled Richard's nostrils as he moved silently through the
darkness.
Richard had been a woods guide long before he became the Seeker, long
before he became Lord Rahl. Darkness was his element. In his mind, he
gathered that cloak of darkness around himself.
Within the massive stone walls, under the heavy beams, partial wooden
floors, and slate roofs overhead, the riot of the crowd was a distant,
echoing rumble. Through the gaping openings of undressed doorways stood
rooms without roofs or floors above, allowing in a flood of moonlight. It
all created a tangled mesh of shadows and faint light that suggested every
form of danger.
Richard came across an older woman lying bleeding in the hall,
whimpering in agony. He bent to one knee, putting a hand gently to her
shoulder as he kept his eyes on the dark hall ahead and its sockets of
blackness to each side.
He could feel the woman trembling beneath his fingers. "Where are you
hurt?" he whispered. He pushed the hood of the robe back so that in the
moonlight coming between the unfinished beams above she could see his face.
"I'm Richard."
A smile of recognition overcame her. "Leg," she said.
She pulled her dress up. In faint light, he saw a dark wound just above
the knee. With his sword, he sliced off the hem of her dress to use as a
bandage to close the wound.
"I want to live. I wanted to help." She took the strip of cloth and
pushed his
hands away. "Thank you for cutting me the cloth. I can do it, now." She
clutched his robe, pulling him closer. "You've showed us life with your
statue. Thank you."
Richard smiled as he squeezed her shoulder.
"I was trying to get that cockroach. Will you do it?"
Richard kissed his finger and pressed the kiss to her forehead. "I
will. Bandage up your leg and lie still until we have the situation under
control; then we'll send people in to help."
Richard started moving again. From the distance came screams of rage,
and pain. Guards who had escaped into the maze of the unfinished palace were
battling people who had gone in after them.
Richard spotted a brother trembling behind a corner. It wasn't
Narev-there was a hood, not a cap. Playing the part of a brother, Richard
pulled his hood up again and strode to the man. The brother looked relieved
to see a comrade.
"Who are you?" he whispered toward Richard, lifting his hand to use his
magic to light a small flame above his palm.
"Justice," Richard said to the wide eyes as he drove his sword through
the man's heart.
Richard pulled his sword free and concealed it once more under his
robes.
Nicci would no doubt take her revenge. There seemed nothing he could do
about it. Nicci had often enough made Richard's choices clear. He was bound
and determined to at least lay waste to the Order. If only there were a way
to get Nicci to see reason, to get her to help him. At times, the look in
her blue eyes seemed so tantalizingly close to comprehension. He knew Nicci
had feelings for him. He wished he could use those feelings to get her to
see reason, to help him, to cast off her chains, but he didn't know how.
Richard stepped back into the blackness of a room as he heard guards
running his way. As they turned into the hallway, Richard again drew his
sword. When they were close, he burst out of the doorway and took off the
first guard's head. The second swung his sword, missed, and lifted it for
another strike. Richard ran his sword through the man's belly. The wounded
guard pulled back, off the blade. Before Richard could finish him, more men
burst into the hall. The man with the gut wound wasn't going to be a problem
anymore; it would take him hours of agony to die.
Richard retreated through the dark doorway, tempting men in after him.
He stood still in the dark, and as they rushed in, panting, crunching debris
beneath the balls of their feet as they turned, Richard located them by
sound alone and cut them down. Half a dozen men died in the pitch black room
before the rest ran.
Richard raced onward toward the sounds of explosions. Every time gouts
of flame flashed through the morass of hallways, he hid his eyes with a hand
in order to preserve his night vision. When the blinding flashes ceased, he
quickly continued in the direction from which they had come.
There were mile upon mile of halls in the palace. Some opened out into
grounds where nothing had yet been built. Others went along between walls
open overhead. Still others tunneled through the darkness, enclosed by upper
floors or roofs. Richard descended stairs into blackness, into the palace
underground, following the roar of conjured flames.
Down below the main floor were networks of interconnected rooms, made
up of a confusing snarl of chambers and narrow halls. As he plunged through
a labyrinth of shadowy rooms, going through holes in unfinished walls and
empty doorways,
he came suddenly upon a cloaked man with a sword. He knew none of the
people were armed.
The man spun around, his sword leading, but since Richard was disguised
in robes, he knew the man might not be a true foe.
In a flash of moonlight, Richard was stunned to see the Sword of Truth
over the shoulder of the person. It was Kahlan.
He froze in shock.
She saw only a figure in brown robes-a brother-standing in a shaft of
moonlight. The hood shadowed his face.
In the same instant, before he could call her name, he saw, over
Kahlan's shoulder, someone running their way. Nicci.
In one terrible blinding instant, Richard knew what he had to do. It
was his only chance-Kahlan's only chance-to be free.
In that crystal clear instant of understanding, terror flashed through
him. He didn't know if he could do it.
He had to.
Richard drew his sword and blocked Kahlan's thrust.
And then he attacked her.
He drove into her with controlled violence, careful not to hurt her. He
knew how she fought. He knew because he had taught her. He played the role
of a clumsy, but lucky, opponent.
Nicci was getting closer.
Richard couldn't drag it out. It had to be timed just right. He waited
until Kahlan was slightly off balance and then with a powerful clash, caught
her sword near the cross guard. She cried out with the shock as her sword
flew from her hand and the blow spun her around, just as he had intended.
She didn't hesitate for an instant. Without pause, still spinning, her
hand reached up and pulled free the Sword of Truth. The air rang with the
unique sound of steel he knew so well.
Kahlan whirled around, the blade leading. He saw for a split second the
terrible violent rage in her eyes. It hurt him to see that in Kahlan's
beautiful eyes. He knew what it did to a person.
Richard entered a numb world all his own. He knew what he had to do. He
felt no emotion. He blocked high, controlling her attack and where he wanted
her to go with the blade. He had to get her to put it where he intended, if
there was to be any chance.
Teeth gritted, Kahlan drove her sword for the opening he deliberately
left her.
--]----
Kahlan was in the realm of uncontrollable rage. The instant she seized
the hilt, the Sword of Truth had inundated her with pounding fury. Nothing
in the world felt better than knowing she was going to kill with it. The
weapon, too, demanded blood.
These people had Richard. These brothers had twisted their lives. These
men had sent murderers to her homeland. These men had sent assassins to
slaughter Warren.
Now, she had one of them.
She screamed as she spun, screamed with the rage, screamed with the
demand for blood. It was glorious to have the object of such perfect rage
within reach.
He made a mistake-leaving an opening. Without hesitation, she went for
it with cold fury, the blade leading.
He was hers.
--]----
Richard felt the blade hit him. It was shocking. It felt unlike what he
expected. It felt something like he imagined the mighty blow of the
sledgehammer on the statue might feel.
His mouth opened. Now was the time; he had to stop her-keep her from
doing any more. He had to do it now. If she wrenched the blade through him,
ripped him open any more, Nicci would never be able to heal him. Her power
could only heal so much.
Nicci would have to free Kahlan from the spell in order to regain the
use of her sorceress's magic-in order to heal him.
He reasoned that she cared enough for him to do that.
Richard's mouth was open as he felt the blade still driving through
him. It was a sickening shock. Even expecting it, as he had, it still seemed
unreal. It still surprised him.
He needed to tell her it was him. To stop.
He needed at least to call out her name so she would stop without doing
too much damage.
His mouth was still open.
He had no breath.
He couldn't make himself say her name.
--]----
As she searched frantically for Richard, Nicci saw the two people
battling. One was a brother. The other she didn't recognize, yet there was
something deeply unsettling about it all. Nicci felt a strange stirring. The
feeling was oddly familiar, but in all the confusion of emotion, she just
didn't recognize it.
They were a good distance away.
The man in the cape lost his sword. It looked as if the brother had
him. Nicci wanted to help-but how? She had to find Richard. Someone said
they saw him go into the palace. She had to find him.
She ran toward the pair. The man pulled free another sword strapped
over his shoulder. The strange feeling welled up in Nicci. Something was
terribly wrong, but she didn't know what.
And then she saw the brother make a mistake. Nicci halted.
With a cry of lethal fury, the man in the cape drove his sword through
the brother.
When the force of the blow drove the brother back a step, a shaft of
moonlight fell across his face under in the cowl of the hood.
And then the feeling slammed into her with full recognition.
Nicci's eyes went wide. She screamed.
--]----
"Kahlan. Stop."
Kahlan's eyes twitched up in shock. She saw his face in the moonlight.
In that same instant, he heard Nicci scream.
Kahlan recoiled, her hand flying from the hilt of the Sword of Truth as
if she had been struck by lightning.
She fell back with a horrified shriek.
Richard seized the blade of the sword, his sword, to keep the weight
from twisting it in him. She had driven it through him almost up to the
cross guard. Warm blood ran down the blade onto his fingers.
"Richard!" Kahlan cried. "Nooo! Nooo!"
Richard felt his knees hit the stone floor. He was surprised it didn't
hurt more to have a sword through him. It was the shock of it, mostly, that
had scrambled his mind. It was hard to think. He struggled not to fall
forward, fall on the blade and wrench it through his insides. The room
seemed to be moving.
"Pull it out," he whispered.
He wanted it out. As if that would help. He wanted the awful thing out.
He could feel the razor sharp edges all the way through him. He could feel
it sticking out his back.
Kahlan, nearly hysterical, scrambled to do as he asked. Richard saw
Cara limping up out of the darkness. She seized his shoulders as Kahlan drew
out the blade in one swift, panicked yank, as if she hoped the action would
somehow undo what she had done.
"What happened?" Cara cried. "What did you do?"
The world seemed to tip and whirl. Richard could feel the sickeningly
wet warmth of his blood soaking down him. He could feel his weight against
Cara. Kahlan hovered close.
"Richard! Oh, dear spirits, no. This can't be happening. It can't."
Panicked tears streamed down her beautiful face. He couldn't understand what
she was doing here. Why was she in the Old World? What was she doing in the
emperor's palace?
He couldn't help smiling at seeing her.
He wondered if she had seen his statue before he destroyed it.
He wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.
No, it was Kahlan's only chance at freedom. His only chance to break
Nicci's spell.
Nicci was still running toward them.
"Help me, Nicci," Richard called. It came out as little more than a
whisper. "I need you to save me, Nicci. Please."
Even if it was no more than a whisper, Nicci heard his plea.
--]----
Nicci had never run so fast. Terror had her in its fierce grip. Kahlan
had stabbed her sword through him. It was a terrible mistake. It was all
such a terrible mistake. Nicci had brought such pain to them both. It was
her fault.
Even in her shock, Nicci knew with clarity what she must do.
She could heal him. Kahlan was there. Nicci couldn't begin to imagine
why, or how, but she was. With Kahlan there, Nicci could break the spell.
Once the spell was broken, Nicci could use her gift. She could heal Richard.
It was all right. She could save him. It would be all right. She could fix
it. She could.
She could do something right and help-really help-for once. She could
help them both.
An arm swept out of the darkness and hooked her by the neck, taking her
from her feet. She cried out as she was yanked into the blackness. She could
feel the bulge of hard muscles as she clawed at the arm. The man stank. She
could feel his lice ticking against her face as they sprang at her.
Terror seized her. Such sudden and intense terror was an unfamiliar
sensation, smothering her mind.
She dug her heels into the stone as he drew her back into the black
labyrinth. She kicked furiously at him. She tried to draw her dacra from her
sleeve, but he seized her arm and twisted it behind her back.
His forearm crushed against her exposed throat, choking off her air as
he lifted her from her feet.
Nicci couldn't breathe. He chortled with glee as he dragged her into
the darker recesses of the rooms beneath Jagang's palace.
--]----
Their eyes met just when she had been abruptly and violently snatched
into the darkness. Richard saw in those eyes something important, saw that
Nicci intended to help him. But she was gone.
Cara desperately clutched his shoulders as he lay back against her. He
was cold. She was warm.
Kahlan fell back, writhing in the darkness. She clawed at her throat.
He could hear her choking.
"Mother Confessor! Mother Confessor! What's wrong?"
Richard reached up and seized Cara behind her head. He pulled her face
close.
"Someone has Nicci. They're choking her. Cara-you have to go save
Nicci, or Kahlan will die. And Nicci is the only one who can heal me. Go.
Hurry."
He felt Cara nodding before he released her head.
"I understand" was all she said as she gently, but swiftly, laid him
back on the cold stone.
And then she was gone.
It was wet. He didn't know if it was blood, or water. They were
underground, in the nether reaches of the Retreat. Through open beams where
the flooring above hadn't been laid, moonlight flooded down to light Kahlan
struggling not far away. He could see, then, as she fought an invisible foe,
that it was water. That's what it was. Not blood. Water. The palace was next
to the river. It was wet in the little rooms and halls down in the bottom.
"Kahlan," he murmured. She didn't respond. "Hold on. . ."
Gripping his abdomen, holding the wound closed lest his insides burst
out, he inched his way through the water, across the cold stone. The pain
had finally and firmly arrived. He could feel the terrible damage inside. He
tried to blink away the tears of hot agony. He had to hold on. Icy sweat
drenched his face. Kahlan had to hold on.
His hand, covered in blood, reached out to her. His fingers found hers.
She hardly responded, but at least her fingers moved. He was thankful beyond
words that her fingers moved.
It had been a good plan. He was sure it was. It would have worked, if
only someone hadn't snatched Nicci. Would have worked.
It seemed a stupid way to die, really. He thought it should be somehow
more . . . grand.
Not in a dark, cold, wet palace underground.
He wished he could tell Kahlan that he loved her, and that she hadn't
killed him but that he had done it. It was his doing, not hers. He'd just
used her in his plan. It would have worked.
"Kahlan," he whispered, not knowing if in her stillness she could hear
him any longer. "I love you. No one else. Just you. I'm glad we had our time
together. I wouldn't trade it for anything."
--]----
Richard opened his eyes and groaned in agony. He wanted it to end. It
hurt too much. Now, he just wanted it to end. It hadn't worked. He would
have to pay the price. But he wanted the sickening, ripping, terrifying pain
to end.
He didn't know how much time had passed. He looked and saw Kahlan
sprawled on the wet floor. She wasn't moving.
A shadow fell across him.
"Well, well. Richard Cypher." Neal chuckled. "Imagine that." He
chuckled again as he glanced at Kahlan. "Who's the woman?"
Richard could sense the Sword of Truth, sense its magic. It wasn't far
guards rushed
down the streets. There were a lot of people come to the city for the
dedication celebration. He supposed that was why there were so many people
out on the streets.
The guards paid him no attention. He knew they soon would.
When he arrived at the Retreat, Richard was shocked by what he saw. The
open miles of grounds were covered with people. They crowded in around the
palace walls like ants around spilled honey. He couldn't even begin to
estimate how many people blanketed the surrounding hills. It was
disorienting to see the panoply of color where before he had seen only brown
dirt and green winter rye. He had no idea that this many people had wanted
to come to the dedication. But then, he had been working day and night for
months--how would he hear what people planned?
Richard skirted the worst of the throngs and made his way up the road
toward the blacksmith's shop. He wanted to get Victor and go down with him
to the site to see the statue before the Order came out to begin the
dedication. Victor would no doubt be eagerly waiting.
The road was crowded with people. They seemed excited, happy, and
expectant. It was a far cry from the way most people in the Old World
usually appeared or behaved. Maybe a celebration, even one such as this, was
better than the rest of their dreary days.
A half mile from Victor's place, a wild-looking Brother Neal leaped
into the road and thrust an arm in Richard's direction.
"There he is! Grab him!"
Guards combing throughout the surrounding crowds drew weapons at Neal's
command. As they swept in around him, Richard's first instinct was to fight.
In an instant, he had assessed the enemy and calculated his attack. He had
only to grab one sword from a clumsy guard and he would have them all. In
his own mind, the grisly deed was already done. He had only to bring it to
reality.
The guards came at him in a dead run. People scattered out of the way,
some screaming in fright.
There was the matter of Neal, though. Neal was a wizard. But Richard
could deal with that threat, too-need powered his ability. Need, and anger.
He certainly had enough anger for the task. That part of him that the Sword
of Truth used, that rage of dark violence, already thundered through him.
Except that Nicci had told him that if he used his magic, Kahlan would
die. Would she know?
Sooner or later, she would.
Richard stood submissively still as the guards roughly seized him by
his arms to subdue him. Others snatched his shirt from behind.
What did it really matter? If he resisted, it would only hurt Kahlan.
If they executed him, Nicci would let Kahlan live her life.
But he didn't want to go back into that dark hole.
Neal raced up, shaking a finger in Richard's face. "What is the meaning
of this, Cypher! What did you think you were going to accomplish!"
"May I ask what are you talking about, Brother Neal?"
Neal's face was crimson. "The statue!"
"What, you don't like it?"
With all his might, Neal slammed his fist into Richard's middle. The
guards holding him laughed. Richard had seen it coming and had tightened his
muscles, but it still drove the wind from him. He finally managed to draw
his breath.
Neal found that he enjoyed administering punishment, and did it again.
"Oh, you're going to pay for your blasphemy, Cypher. You're going to
pay the price, this time. You'll confess to it all, before we're done. But
first, you'll watch your wicked perversion destroyed." Neal, his face
twisted with superior, selfrighteous indignation, gestured to the burly
guards. "Let's get him down there. And don't be shy about making way through
the crowd."
By midmorning, Kahlan's hopes of the blacksmith showing up had all but
vanished.
"I'm sorry," Kamil said, looking glum as he watched her pace. "I don't
know why Victor isn't here. I thought he would be, I really did."
Kahlan finally halted and gave the worried lad a pat on the shoulder.
"I know you did, Kamil. With the celebration today, and with what's going on
down there with the statue, this is hardly a normal day around here, I'm
sure."
"Look," Cara said. Kahlan saw she was peering down toward the palace.
"Guards with spears are moving the crowd off the plaza."
Kahlan squinted off down at the hill. "Your eyes are better than mine.
I can't tell." She cast a frustrated glare at the closed blacksmith's shop.
"But it's doing us no good waiting up here. Let's see if we can make it down
there and get a better look." Kahlan put a restraining hand on Cara's arm.
"But let's not start a war with this crowd?"
Cara's mouth twisted in exasperation. Kahlan turned to the young man
kicking a toe at the dirt, looking shamed by his failed plan to help them
find Richard.
"Kamil, will you do something for me?"
"Sure. What?"
"Will you wait up here, in case Richard comes here, or even the
blacksmith? If the blacksmith comes to his shop, he might know something."
Kamil stretched his neck and gazed down at the palace. "Well, all
right. If Richard does come here, I wouldn't want him to miss you. What
shall I tell him, if I see him.
Kahlan smiled. That I love him, she thought, but said instead, "Tell
him I'm here, with Cara, and we've gone down there looking for him. If he
does show up, I don't want to miss him. Have him wait here-we'll come back."
Kahlan thought they could make it down to the plaza to have a look, but
everyone else seemed to have the same idea. It took forever just to make it
down the hill to the grounds. The closer they got, the tighter the people
were jammed together. Kahlan's progress ground to a halt. It was a struggle
just to keep contact with Cara. Everyone in the crowd seemed intent on
squeezing forward toward the plaza. More people crushed in all the time.
Kahlan soon realized that she and Cara were trapped in the press of
people.
The conversation on everyone's lips was about only one thing: the
statue.
--]----
It was late in the day by the time Nicci had worked herself partway
toward the plaza. Every inch gained had been a struggle. She was close
enough to see the people up around the statue, but she could get no closer.
Try as she might, she could not make any more headway. Just like her,
everyone else wanted to get closer, too. They were pressed up against her,
pinning her arms. It was at times a frightening, helpless
feeling. She managed to pull one arm free so she could help herself
maintain her balance. It came to her that to fall in such circumstances
could be fatal.
If only she had her power.
Her own arrogance had driven her to trading it away. What she had
gotten in return, though, was life. But it had cost Richard and Kahlan their
freedom. Nicci couldn't simply withdraw her power from the link, in order to
have use of her gift again, or Kahlan would die. Nicci didn't want her life
at the cost of another's-that was what she had come to understand was true
evil.
Nicci had searched for Richard. She hadn't found him. She hadn't been
able to find the blacksmith, Mr. Cascella, or Ishaq, either. As soon as she
could find Richard, she could tell him that she had been wrong, and then
they could leave Altur'Rang. She wanted so much to see his face when she
told him she was taking him back to Kahlan and that she was going to reverse
the spell. Of all people, they were the last who should have to suffer for
what Nicci had learned.
The only place left that she could think to look for him was at the
statue. He might be there. Try as she might, though, she couldn't get any
closer. Now, she realized that she probably couldn't even extract herself
from the crush of hundreds of thousands of people around her. There had to
be well over a half million people in the huge throng around the palace.
And then, Nicci saw Brother Narev and his disciples appear up on the
plaza, all in their dark brown robes, Brother Narev in his creased cap, the
rest with their faces hidden in deeply cowled hoods. Crowding the rear of
the plaza were a few hundred officials of the Order who had traveled in to
attend the palace dedication-important men, all.
If only she had her power, she could have killed them where they stood.
It was then that she caught a fleeting glimpse of Richard behind the.
officials, with guards surrounding him. The whole central area around the
plaza was thick with the surly guards.
Brother Narev stepped out to the edge of the plaza, all angles under
dark robes. Beneath his creased cap, beneath his hooded brow, his dark gaze
swept the assembly. The people were in a noisy, emotional state. Brother
Narev did not look pleased, but then, Brother Narev never looked pleased.
Pleasure, he would say, was wicked. He raised his anus, commanding silence.
When the crowd quieted, he began in that terrible grating voice of his,
a voice that had haunted her from that day in her house when she was little,
that voice that she had allowed to rule her mind, that voice that, along
with her mother's, had done her thinking for her.
"Fellow citizens of the Order. We have a special event planned for you
today. Today, we bring you the spectacle of temptation . . . and more."
His arm glided back toward the statue. His long thin fingers opened.
His voice rumbled with revulsion. "Evil, itself."
The crowd murmured uneasily. Brother Narev smiled, the thin slash of
his mouth pleating back his hollow cheeks as he grinned like death's own
skull. His eyes were as dark as his robes. The setting sun was fleeing the
scene, taking clarity, leaving behind the tremors of flickering light from
the dozens of torches to cast their flickering orange light across the
massive columns towering behind the plaza, and the weak light of the moon to
wash the faces of the grim officials. The air, so cloying with the heavy
scents of the crowd, had turned chill.
"Fellow citizens of the Order," Brother Narev said in a voice that
Nicci thought
might crack the stone walls, "today you will see what happens to evil,
when confronted by the virtue of the Order."
He hooked a skeletal finger, signaling behind the heads of the
officials. Guards muscled Richard forward. Nicci cried out, but her voice
was lost in the clamor of tens of thousands of other voices.
Brother Neal swaggered forward, then, lugging with him a sledgehammer.
Nicci checked to the sides and saw that there were several thousand
armed guards at hand. More screened the plaza off from the people. Brother
Narev had taken no chances. Neal, with a polite smile and a deferential bow,
handed the sledgehammer to Brother Narev.
Brother Narev lifted the sledgehammer above his head as if it were a
sword held high in triumph.
"Evil, wherever it is found, must be destroyed." He aimed the weaving
head of the sledgehammer toward the statue. "This is a thing of evil,
created by an extremist who hates his fellow man, to victimize the weak. He
contributes nothing to the advancement of his fellow man, nothing to the
succor of his fellow man, nothing to the education or support of his fellow
man. He offers only lewd and profane images to prey on the susceptible and
feebleminded among us."
The crowd was silent in their bewildered disappointment. From what
Nicci could tell as she had walked among them throughout the day, they had
come to believe that this statue was some new offering by the Order to the
people-some grand thing for them to see at the emperor's palace, some bright
shining hope. They were confused and stunned by what they were hearing.
Brother Narev lifted the sledgehammer. "Before this criminal's corpse
is hung from a pole for his crimes against the Order, he is to see his vile
work destroyed to the cheers of virtuous people!"
As the sun's last ray fled below the horizon, Brother Narev lifted the
heavy sledgehammer high in the flickering light of smoking torches. The
sledgehammer wobbled momentarily at the apex of its arc before descending in
a heavy swing. The crowd sent up a collective gasp as the steel head rang
out when it struck the male statue's leg. A few small chips fell away. It
had done surprisingly little damage.
In the absolute silence, Richard laughed derisively at Brother Narev's
impotent swing.
Even from the distance, Nicci could see Brother Narev's face turning
crimson as Richard stood watching and chuckling. The crowd murmured, hardly
able to believe any man would laugh at a brother of the Order-at Brother
Narev himself.
Brother Narev could hardly believe it.
The dozens of guards who had their spears leveled at Richard could
hardly believe it.
In the tense silence, Richard's laugh echoed off the semicircle of
stone walls and soaring columns behind them. Death's grin returned. Brother
Narev lifted the sledgehammer by the head, its weight awkward in his bony
hand, and held the handle out to Richard.
"You will destroy your depraved work yourself."
The words "or you will die on the spot" were not spoken, but everyone
heard them implied.
Richard accepted the handle of the sledgehammer. He could have looked
no more noble doing so if he had been taking a jewel-encrusted sword.
Richard's raptor gaze left Brother Narev and swept out over the crowd
as he took
several strides toward the steps. Brother Narev lifted a finger,
signaling the guards to hold their spears. By the smirk on the faces of
Brothers Narev and Neal, they didn't think the crowd would care to hear
anything a sinner had to say.
"You are ruled," Richard said in a voice that rang out over the
multitude, "by mean little men."
The people gasped as one. To speak against a brother was treason, most
likely, and heresy for sure.
"My crime?" Richard asked aloud. "I have given you something beautiful
to see, daring to hold the conviction that you have a right to see it if you
wish. Worse . . . I have said that your lives are your own to live."
A rolling murmur swept out through the multitude. Richard's voice rose
in power, demanding in its clarity to be heard above the whispering.
"Evil is not one large entity, but a collection of countless, small
depravities brought up from the muck by petty men. Living under the Order,
you have traded the enrichment of vision for a gray fog of mediocrity-the
fertile inspiration of striving and growth, for mindless stagnation and slow
decay-the brave new ground of the attempt, for the timid quagmire of
apathy."
With gazes riveted and lips still, the crowd listened. Richard gestured
out over their heads with his sledgehammer, wielded with the effortless
grace of a royal sword.
"You have traded freedom not even for a bowl of soup, but worse, for
the spoken empty feelings of others who say that you deserve to have a full
bowl of soup provided by someone else.
"Happiness, joy, accomplishment, achievement . . . are not finite
commodities, to be divided up. Is a child's laughter to be divided up and
allotted? No! Simply make more laughter!"
Laughter, pleased laughter, rippled through the crowd.
Brother Narev's scowl grew. "We've heard enough of your extremist
rambling! Destroy your profane statue. Now."
Richard cocked his head. "Oh? The collective assembly of the Order, and
of brothers, fears to hear what one insignificant man could say? You fear
mere words that much, Brother Narev?"
Dark eyes stole a quick glance at the crowd as they leaned forward,
eager to hear his answer.
"We fear no words. Virtue is on our side, and will prevail. Speak your
blasphemy, so all may understand why moral people will side against you."
Richard smiled out at the people, but he spoke with brutal honesty.
"Every person's life is theirs by right. An individual's life can and
must belong only to himself, not to any society or community, or he is then
but a slave. No one can deny another person their right to their life, nor
seize by force what is produced by someone else, because that is stealing
their means to sustain their life. It is treason against mankind to hold a
knife to a man's throat and dictate how he must live his life. No society
can be more important than the individuals who compose it, or else you
ascribe supreme importance, not to man, but to any notion that strikes the
fancy of that society, at a never-ending cost of lives. Reason and reality
are the only means to just laws; mindless wishes, if given sovereignty,
become deadly masters.
"Surrendering reason to faith in these men sanctions their use of force
to enslave you-to murder you. You have the power to decide how you will live
your life.
These mean little men up here are but cockroaches, if you say they are.
They have no power to control you but that which you grant them!"
Richard pointed with the sledgehammer back at the statue. "This is
life. Your life. To live as you choose." He swept the head of the
sledgehammer in an arc, pointing out the carvings up on the walls. "This is
what the Order offers you: death."
"We've heard enough of your blasphemy!" Brother Narev shrieked.
"Destroy your evil creation now, or die!"
The spears rose.
Richard calmly swept a fearless glance around at the guards, then
stepped to his statue. Nicci's heart was pounding against her ribs. She
didn't want it destroyed. It was too good to destroy. This couldn't be
happening. They couldn't take this away.
Richard rested the sledgehammer across his shoulder. He lifted his
other hand up to the statue as he addressed the crowd one last time.
"This is what the Order is taking from you-your humanity, your
individuality, your freedom to live your own life."
Richard briefly touched the sledgehammer to his forehead.
With a mighty swing, the steel head arced around. Nicci could hear the
air whistle. The entire statue seemed to shudder as the sledgehammer struck
the base with a thunderous boom.
In a moment of brittle silence, she heard the faintest sound, the
ripping popping crackling whisper of the stone itself.
Then, the entire statue crashed down in a roar of fragments and
billowing white dust.
The officials at the back of the plaza cheered. The guards hooted and
hollered as they waved their weapons in the air.
They were the only ones. The crowd was dead silent as dust rolled out
across the plaza. All their hope, embodied in the statue, had just been
destroyed.
Nicci stared in a daze. Her throat constricted with the agony of it.
Her eyes watered. They all watched, as if having just witnessed a tragic,
pointless death.
The guards moved toward Richard with their spears leveled, prodding him
back to other guards waiting with heavy shackles.
Down closer to the steps, a clear voice rang out from the stunned
crowd. "No! We'll not stand for it!"
In the gathering darkness, Nicci saw the man who had yelled. He was up
close
to the front, furiously trying to fight his way through the press of
people to get to
the plaza. -
It was the blacksmith, Mr. Cascella.
"We'll not stand for it!" he roared. "I'll not let you enslave me any
longer! Do you hear? I'm a free man! A free man!"
The entire mass of people before the palace erupted in a deafening
roar.
And then, as one, they lunged forward.
Fists in the air, voices raised in cries of rage, the mass of humanity
avalanched toward the plaza. Ranks of heavily armed men marched down the
steps to meet the advance. They vanished beneath the onslaught.
Nicci screamed with all her might, trying to get Richard's attention,
but her voice was lost in the hurricane.
Richard didn't know what stunned him more: to see his statue in rubble,
or to see the crowd charging up the steps after Victor had declared himself
a free man.
The mob rolled without pause over armed guards descending the steps to
meet them. A number of people fell wounded or killed. The bodies were
trampled beneath the surge of people. Those in front couldn't stop if they
wanted to-the weight of tens of thousands behind them propelled them onward.
But they didn't want to stop. The roar was deafening.
The brothers panicked. The officials in the rear panicked. The few
thousand armed guards panicked. In that instant, the nature of the world
transformed from the omnipotent power of the Order assembled on the plaza,
to every man for himself.
Richard wanted Brother Narev. He saw, instead, armed men rushing in at
him. Richard swung and buried the head of the sledgehammer in the chest of a
man who came at him with sword raised high. As the man flew past, the handle
of the sledgehammer sticking from the crater in his chest, Richard snatched
the sword from his fist, and then, blade in hand, he unleashed himself.
A small group of guards saw fit to protect the brothers. Richard
charged into them, cutting with every stroke. Every slash or thrust took a
man down.
But guards were not what Richard was mainly interested in. If he was to
lose everything, he wanted Narev's head in the bargain. As he fought his way
through the chaos of people crushing into the plaza, he couldn't find
Brother Narev anywhere.
Victor appeared out of the melee gripping a brother by the hair. Other
men had joined Victor-and each had a hand on the brother. The burly
blacksmith wore a scowl that would bend iron. The brother's eyes were
rolling around as if he'd been hit on the head, and couldn't gather his
senses.
"Richard!" Victor called out.
The men, some still grasping the brother's brown robes, rushed in
around Richard. They stood in a sweep around him, ten or fifteen deep.
"What should we do with him?" one man asked.
Richard glanced around at all the people. He saw men he knew from the
site. Priska was among them, and Ishaq, too.
"Why ask me? It's your revolt." He met the eyes of the men with
challenge. "What do you think you should do with him?"
"You tell us, Richard," one of the carvers said.
Richard shook his head. "No. You tell me what you intend to do with
him. But you should know, this man is a wizard. When he comes around, he's
going to start killing people. This is a matter of life and death, and he
knows it. Do you? This is about your lives. It is for you to decide what to
do, not me."
"We want you with us this time, Richard," Priska called out. "But if
you still
won't join us, then we're having our lives back, having this revolt,
without you. That's the way it's going to be!"
The men all shook their fists as they yelled their agreement.
Victor hugged the groggy brother to his chest and wrenched his head
until his neck broke. The limp body slipped to the floor.
"And that's what we intend to do with him," Victor said.
Richard held out his hand as he smiled. "Always glad to meet a free
man." They clasped forearms. Richard looked into Victor's eyes. "I'm Richard
Rahl."
Victor blinked; then his belly laugh rolled out. With his free hand, he
clapped Richard on the side of his shoulder.
"Sure you are. We all are! You had me going for a second, there,
Richard. You really did."
The press of the crowd drove them back to the columns. Richard reached
down and snatched the dead brother's robes, pulling the body along with him.
The mass of towering stone walls and marble columns afforded some protection
from the raging river of people.
The ground shuddered. A blast from the inside blew a hole out through
the wall. The darkness ignited with light. Stone fragments whistled through
the air. Dozens of bloodied people were thrown back.
"What was that!" Victor called out through the din of screaming,
yelling, and the roar of the explosion.
Ignoring the danger, the crowd continued to advance on the men who had
enslaved them. Throngs swarmed over the spot where the statue had stood,
scooping up shards of marble. They kissed their fingers and, as they swept
past, planted those kisses on the words on the back of the fallen bronze
ring. They were choosing life.
Hordes of people had captured a number of the brothers and officials,
and were beating them to death with chunks of white marble from the rubble
of the statue.
"Brother Narev is a sorcerer," Richard said. "Victor, you have to
organize some of these men-get control of this mob. Narev can use powerful
magic. I commend people's desire to be free, but we're going to have a great
many killed and injured if we don't get this under control."
"I understand," Victor said as he fought to keep from being swept away.
A number of men who had been crowded around Richard, protecting him,
heard what he said and nodded their agreement. The commands to organize
started to spread through the crowd. These people wanted to succeed. They
were willing to work toward their goal, and saw reason in the orders
beginning to be called out. Many of these men were used to handling large
groups of workers. They knew the business of organizing men.
Richard started pulling off the dead brother's robes. "You men have to
keep these people out of the palace. Narev is in there. Anyone who goes in
could easily be killed. You have to keep people out. It will be a death trap
in there with the brothers."
"I understand," Victor said.
"We'll keep them back," men called to Richard.
Richard threw the dead brother's brown robes up over his head. Victor
snatched him by the arm. "What are you doing?"
Richard popped his head up through the neck opening. "I'm going in
there. In the darkness, Narev will think I'm a brother, and I'll be able to
get close to him." He poked his confiscated sword through the robes to hide
the blade. He covered the
hilt with his wrist. "Keep people out Narev commands dangerous magic. I
have to stop him."
"You watch yourself," Victor said.
The men who had assumed command began fanning out, urging people to
follow their orders. Some people did, and as they did, yet more followed.
With all the officials who they'd captured now dead, the mob was slowly
being brought to task, and not a moment too soon. The crushing weight of
people flooding up onto the plaza was a danger to everyone.
Passing people wept as they picked up pieces of marble from the statue,
holding the tokens of freedom and beauty to their breast as they moved on to
allow others to do the same. These were people who had been offered life,
and had taken it. They had proven themselves.
Victor saw what everyone was doing. "Richard . . . I'm so sorry-"
A fiery blast exploded through the plaza, cutting down well over a
hundred people. Bodies were ripped apart in the violence of it. A huge stone
column toppled, crushing people who couldn't get out of the way because of
the press of the throng.
"Later!" Richard yelled over the pandemonium. "I've got to stop Narev!
Keep these people out-they'll only die in there!"
Victor nodded before he rushed off with the other men he knew to try to
gain control of the situation.
Richard put the tumult and confusion behind him, and stepped through a
gaping doorway between the columns . . . into the darkness.
--]----
There were miles of unfinished corridors, some clogged with bodies. In
the first crush, as the people swept up onto the plaza, they had chased
brothers and officials into the labyrinth of the palace. Many of those
people had been unfortunate enough to find Brother Narev. The stench of
burned flesh filled Richard's nostrils as he moved silently through the
darkness.
Richard had been a woods guide long before he became the Seeker, long
before he became Lord Rahl. Darkness was his element. In his mind, he
gathered that cloak of darkness around himself.
Within the massive stone walls, under the heavy beams, partial wooden
floors, and slate roofs overhead, the riot of the crowd was a distant,
echoing rumble. Through the gaping openings of undressed doorways stood
rooms without roofs or floors above, allowing in a flood of moonlight. It
all created a tangled mesh of shadows and faint light that suggested every
form of danger.
Richard came across an older woman lying bleeding in the hall,
whimpering in agony. He bent to one knee, putting a hand gently to her
shoulder as he kept his eyes on the dark hall ahead and its sockets of
blackness to each side.
He could feel the woman trembling beneath his fingers. "Where are you
hurt?" he whispered. He pushed the hood of the robe back so that in the
moonlight coming between the unfinished beams above she could see his face.
"I'm Richard."
A smile of recognition overcame her. "Leg," she said.
She pulled her dress up. In faint light, he saw a dark wound just above
the knee. With his sword, he sliced off the hem of her dress to use as a
bandage to close the wound.
"I want to live. I wanted to help." She took the strip of cloth and
pushed his
hands away. "Thank you for cutting me the cloth. I can do it, now." She
clutched his robe, pulling him closer. "You've showed us life with your
statue. Thank you."
Richard smiled as he squeezed her shoulder.
"I was trying to get that cockroach. Will you do it?"
Richard kissed his finger and pressed the kiss to her forehead. "I
will. Bandage up your leg and lie still until we have the situation under
control; then we'll send people in to help."
Richard started moving again. From the distance came screams of rage,
and pain. Guards who had escaped into the maze of the unfinished palace were
battling people who had gone in after them.
Richard spotted a brother trembling behind a corner. It wasn't
Narev-there was a hood, not a cap. Playing the part of a brother, Richard
pulled his hood up again and strode to the man. The brother looked relieved
to see a comrade.
"Who are you?" he whispered toward Richard, lifting his hand to use his
magic to light a small flame above his palm.
"Justice," Richard said to the wide eyes as he drove his sword through
the man's heart.
Richard pulled his sword free and concealed it once more under his
robes.
Nicci would no doubt take her revenge. There seemed nothing he could do
about it. Nicci had often enough made Richard's choices clear. He was bound
and determined to at least lay waste to the Order. If only there were a way
to get Nicci to see reason, to get her to help him. At times, the look in
her blue eyes seemed so tantalizingly close to comprehension. He knew Nicci
had feelings for him. He wished he could use those feelings to get her to
see reason, to help him, to cast off her chains, but he didn't know how.
Richard stepped back into the blackness of a room as he heard guards
running his way. As they turned into the hallway, Richard again drew his
sword. When they were close, he burst out of the doorway and took off the
first guard's head. The second swung his sword, missed, and lifted it for
another strike. Richard ran his sword through the man's belly. The wounded
guard pulled back, off the blade. Before Richard could finish him, more men
burst into the hall. The man with the gut wound wasn't going to be a problem
anymore; it would take him hours of agony to die.
Richard retreated through the dark doorway, tempting men in after him.
He stood still in the dark, and as they rushed in, panting, crunching debris
beneath the balls of their feet as they turned, Richard located them by
sound alone and cut them down. Half a dozen men died in the pitch black room
before the rest ran.
Richard raced onward toward the sounds of explosions. Every time gouts
of flame flashed through the morass of hallways, he hid his eyes with a hand
in order to preserve his night vision. When the blinding flashes ceased, he
quickly continued in the direction from which they had come.
There were mile upon mile of halls in the palace. Some opened out into
grounds where nothing had yet been built. Others went along between walls
open overhead. Still others tunneled through the darkness, enclosed by upper
floors or roofs. Richard descended stairs into blackness, into the palace
underground, following the roar of conjured flames.
Down below the main floor were networks of interconnected rooms, made
up of a confusing snarl of chambers and narrow halls. As he plunged through
a labyrinth of shadowy rooms, going through holes in unfinished walls and
empty doorways,
he came suddenly upon a cloaked man with a sword. He knew none of the
people were armed.
The man spun around, his sword leading, but since Richard was disguised
in robes, he knew the man might not be a true foe.
In a flash of moonlight, Richard was stunned to see the Sword of Truth
over the shoulder of the person. It was Kahlan.
He froze in shock.
She saw only a figure in brown robes-a brother-standing in a shaft of
moonlight. The hood shadowed his face.
In the same instant, before he could call her name, he saw, over
Kahlan's shoulder, someone running their way. Nicci.
In one terrible blinding instant, Richard knew what he had to do. It
was his only chance-Kahlan's only chance-to be free.
In that crystal clear instant of understanding, terror flashed through
him. He didn't know if he could do it.
He had to.
Richard drew his sword and blocked Kahlan's thrust.
And then he attacked her.
He drove into her with controlled violence, careful not to hurt her. He
knew how she fought. He knew because he had taught her. He played the role
of a clumsy, but lucky, opponent.
Nicci was getting closer.
Richard couldn't drag it out. It had to be timed just right. He waited
until Kahlan was slightly off balance and then with a powerful clash, caught
her sword near the cross guard. She cried out with the shock as her sword
flew from her hand and the blow spun her around, just as he had intended.
She didn't hesitate for an instant. Without pause, still spinning, her
hand reached up and pulled free the Sword of Truth. The air rang with the
unique sound of steel he knew so well.
Kahlan whirled around, the blade leading. He saw for a split second the
terrible violent rage in her eyes. It hurt him to see that in Kahlan's
beautiful eyes. He knew what it did to a person.
Richard entered a numb world all his own. He knew what he had to do. He
felt no emotion. He blocked high, controlling her attack and where he wanted
her to go with the blade. He had to get her to put it where he intended, if
there was to be any chance.
Teeth gritted, Kahlan drove her sword for the opening he deliberately
left her.
--]----
Kahlan was in the realm of uncontrollable rage. The instant she seized
the hilt, the Sword of Truth had inundated her with pounding fury. Nothing
in the world felt better than knowing she was going to kill with it. The
weapon, too, demanded blood.
These people had Richard. These brothers had twisted their lives. These
men had sent murderers to her homeland. These men had sent assassins to
slaughter Warren.
Now, she had one of them.
She screamed as she spun, screamed with the rage, screamed with the
demand for blood. It was glorious to have the object of such perfect rage
within reach.
He made a mistake-leaving an opening. Without hesitation, she went for
it with cold fury, the blade leading.
He was hers.
--]----
Richard felt the blade hit him. It was shocking. It felt unlike what he
expected. It felt something like he imagined the mighty blow of the
sledgehammer on the statue might feel.
His mouth opened. Now was the time; he had to stop her-keep her from
doing any more. He had to do it now. If she wrenched the blade through him,
ripped him open any more, Nicci would never be able to heal him. Her power
could only heal so much.
Nicci would have to free Kahlan from the spell in order to regain the
use of her sorceress's magic-in order to heal him.
He reasoned that she cared enough for him to do that.
Richard's mouth was open as he felt the blade still driving through
him. It was a sickening shock. Even expecting it, as he had, it still seemed
unreal. It still surprised him.
He needed to tell her it was him. To stop.
He needed at least to call out her name so she would stop without doing
too much damage.
His mouth was still open.
He had no breath.
He couldn't make himself say her name.
--]----
As she searched frantically for Richard, Nicci saw the two people
battling. One was a brother. The other she didn't recognize, yet there was
something deeply unsettling about it all. Nicci felt a strange stirring. The
feeling was oddly familiar, but in all the confusion of emotion, she just
didn't recognize it.
They were a good distance away.
The man in the cape lost his sword. It looked as if the brother had
him. Nicci wanted to help-but how? She had to find Richard. Someone said
they saw him go into the palace. She had to find him.
She ran toward the pair. The man pulled free another sword strapped
over his shoulder. The strange feeling welled up in Nicci. Something was
terribly wrong, but she didn't know what.
And then she saw the brother make a mistake. Nicci halted.
With a cry of lethal fury, the man in the cape drove his sword through
the brother.
When the force of the blow drove the brother back a step, a shaft of
moonlight fell across his face under in the cowl of the hood.
And then the feeling slammed into her with full recognition.
Nicci's eyes went wide. She screamed.
--]----
"Kahlan. Stop."
Kahlan's eyes twitched up in shock. She saw his face in the moonlight.
In that same instant, he heard Nicci scream.
Kahlan recoiled, her hand flying from the hilt of the Sword of Truth as
if she had been struck by lightning.
She fell back with a horrified shriek.
Richard seized the blade of the sword, his sword, to keep the weight
from twisting it in him. She had driven it through him almost up to the
cross guard. Warm blood ran down the blade onto his fingers.
"Richard!" Kahlan cried. "Nooo! Nooo!"
Richard felt his knees hit the stone floor. He was surprised it didn't
hurt more to have a sword through him. It was the shock of it, mostly, that
had scrambled his mind. It was hard to think. He struggled not to fall
forward, fall on the blade and wrench it through his insides. The room
seemed to be moving.
"Pull it out," he whispered.
He wanted it out. As if that would help. He wanted the awful thing out.
He could feel the razor sharp edges all the way through him. He could feel
it sticking out his back.
Kahlan, nearly hysterical, scrambled to do as he asked. Richard saw
Cara limping up out of the darkness. She seized his shoulders as Kahlan drew
out the blade in one swift, panicked yank, as if she hoped the action would
somehow undo what she had done.
"What happened?" Cara cried. "What did you do?"
The world seemed to tip and whirl. Richard could feel the sickeningly
wet warmth of his blood soaking down him. He could feel his weight against
Cara. Kahlan hovered close.
"Richard! Oh, dear spirits, no. This can't be happening. It can't."
Panicked tears streamed down her beautiful face. He couldn't understand what
she was doing here. Why was she in the Old World? What was she doing in the
emperor's palace?
He couldn't help smiling at seeing her.
He wondered if she had seen his statue before he destroyed it.
He wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.
No, it was Kahlan's only chance at freedom. His only chance to break
Nicci's spell.
Nicci was still running toward them.
"Help me, Nicci," Richard called. It came out as little more than a
whisper. "I need you to save me, Nicci. Please."
Even if it was no more than a whisper, Nicci heard his plea.
--]----
Nicci had never run so fast. Terror had her in its fierce grip. Kahlan
had stabbed her sword through him. It was a terrible mistake. It was all
such a terrible mistake. Nicci had brought such pain to them both. It was
her fault.
Even in her shock, Nicci knew with clarity what she must do.
She could heal him. Kahlan was there. Nicci couldn't begin to imagine
why, or how, but she was. With Kahlan there, Nicci could break the spell.
Once the spell was broken, Nicci could use her gift. She could heal Richard.
It was all right. She could save him. It would be all right. She could fix
it. She could.
She could do something right and help-really help-for once. She could
help them both.
An arm swept out of the darkness and hooked her by the neck, taking her
from her feet. She cried out as she was yanked into the blackness. She could
feel the bulge of hard muscles as she clawed at the arm. The man stank. She
could feel his lice ticking against her face as they sprang at her.
Terror seized her. Such sudden and intense terror was an unfamiliar
sensation, smothering her mind.
She dug her heels into the stone as he drew her back into the black
labyrinth. She kicked furiously at him. She tried to draw her dacra from her
sleeve, but he seized her arm and twisted it behind her back.
His forearm crushed against her exposed throat, choking off her air as
he lifted her from her feet.
Nicci couldn't breathe. He chortled with glee as he dragged her into
the darker recesses of the rooms beneath Jagang's palace.
--]----
Their eyes met just when she had been abruptly and violently snatched
into the darkness. Richard saw in those eyes something important, saw that
Nicci intended to help him. But she was gone.
Cara desperately clutched his shoulders as he lay back against her. He
was cold. She was warm.
Kahlan fell back, writhing in the darkness. She clawed at her throat.
He could hear her choking.
"Mother Confessor! Mother Confessor! What's wrong?"
Richard reached up and seized Cara behind her head. He pulled her face
close.
"Someone has Nicci. They're choking her. Cara-you have to go save
Nicci, or Kahlan will die. And Nicci is the only one who can heal me. Go.
Hurry."
He felt Cara nodding before he released her head.
"I understand" was all she said as she gently, but swiftly, laid him
back on the cold stone.
And then she was gone.
It was wet. He didn't know if it was blood, or water. They were
underground, in the nether reaches of the Retreat. Through open beams where
the flooring above hadn't been laid, moonlight flooded down to light Kahlan
struggling not far away. He could see, then, as she fought an invisible foe,
that it was water. That's what it was. Not blood. Water. The palace was next
to the river. It was wet in the little rooms and halls down in the bottom.
"Kahlan," he murmured. She didn't respond. "Hold on. . ."
Gripping his abdomen, holding the wound closed lest his insides burst
out, he inched his way through the water, across the cold stone. The pain
had finally and firmly arrived. He could feel the terrible damage inside. He
tried to blink away the tears of hot agony. He had to hold on. Icy sweat
drenched his face. Kahlan had to hold on.
His hand, covered in blood, reached out to her. His fingers found hers.
She hardly responded, but at least her fingers moved. He was thankful beyond
words that her fingers moved.
It had been a good plan. He was sure it was. It would have worked, if
only someone hadn't snatched Nicci. Would have worked.
It seemed a stupid way to die, really. He thought it should be somehow
more . . . grand.
Not in a dark, cold, wet palace underground.
He wished he could tell Kahlan that he loved her, and that she hadn't
killed him but that he had done it. It was his doing, not hers. He'd just
used her in his plan. It would have worked.
"Kahlan," he whispered, not knowing if in her stillness she could hear
him any longer. "I love you. No one else. Just you. I'm glad we had our time
together. I wouldn't trade it for anything."
--]----
Richard opened his eyes and groaned in agony. He wanted it to end. It
hurt too much. Now, he just wanted it to end. It hadn't worked. He would
have to pay the price. But he wanted the sickening, ripping, terrifying pain
to end.
He didn't know how much time had passed. He looked and saw Kahlan
sprawled on the wet floor. She wasn't moving.
A shadow fell across him.
"Well, well. Richard Cypher." Neal chuckled. "Imagine that." He
chuckled again as he glanced at Kahlan. "Who's the woman?"
Richard could sense the Sword of Truth, sense its magic. It wasn't far