Wizard's First Rule (112 page)

Before dark came, Richard heard the sound of the horses coming, the sound of gear clattering, leather creaking, metal rattling, the sound of a lot of men on the move. About fifty well-armed horsemen rode past at a quick pace, raising dust and kicking up dirt. He saw Michael, dressed in white, at their lead. Richard recognized the uniforms, the Hartland crest on each shoulder, the yellow banner with a blue silhouette of a pine tree and crossed swords under it. Each man wore a short sword over his shoulder, had a battle-axe hooked to a wide belt, and carried a short spear. Their mail armor, called battle nets, sent sparks of light through the dust. These were not regular Westland soldiers; these were Michael’s personal guards.

Where was the army? From the air, he had seen all of them together, horsemen and foot soldiers. These horses were moving too fast for foot soldiers at a march to keep up. Richard stood after they passed, looking back up the road to see if the others were to follow. No one else came.

At first worried at what this could mean, he relaxed, smiled, when it came to him. Zedd, Chase, and Kahlan had left the box with Michael, and told him they were going to D’Hara, going after Richard. Michael probably couldn’t wait any longer, and was going himself to help. The foot soldiers couldn’t keep up the pace needed to reach the People’s Palace in time, so Michael had taken his personal guard and ridden on ahead, leaving the rest to catch up when they could.

Fifty men, even Michael’s personal guard, tough as they were, were still not many if they ran into a good-size force of Rahl’s men. Richard guessed that Michael was putting his heart above his head.

Richard didn’t catch them until well after dark. They had ridden hard, and stopped late. They had gotten farther ahead of him than he had expected, and it was well past dinner when he finally reached their camp. The horses had been tended to and picketed for the night. Some men were already in their bedrolls. Guards were posted, and hard to spot in the dark, but Richard knew where to expect them, as he looked down from a hilltop, watching the camp’s small fires.

It was a dark night. Clouds hid the moon. He worked his way carefully down the hill, creeping silently between the guards. Richard was in his element. It was easy for him; he knew where they were, and they weren’t expecting him to be gliding through their midst. He watched them watching, and ducked down when they looked his way. Once inside the ring of guards, he made his way to the camp. Michael had made it easy for him; his tent was set off, away from the men. If he had put his tent among his men, it would have been more difficult. Still, there were guards around the tent. Richard studied them for a while, analyzing the weak points, until he found the place where he would pass between them: in the shadow of the tent, the shadow cast by the fires. The guards stayed to the light because they couldn’t see anything in the shadow.

Richard stalked through the blackness, to the tent, and squatted down, making himself still, silent, low to the ground. He listened for a long time to determine if anyone was in the tent with Michael. He heard papers being shuffled, and there was a lamp burning, but he heard no one else inside. Carefully, he made a tiny cut with his knife, just enough to see through. He saw Michael’s left side to him as he sat at a small, collapsible field table, looking over papers. His head of unruly hair was cradled in one hand. The papers didn’t seem to have lines of words on them, and from what Richard could see, they were large. Probably maps.

He had to get inside, stand tall, drop to one knee, and do his salute, before Michael had a chance to raise an alarm. Just inside, below him, was a cot. That was what he needed to hide his entry. Holding the rope taut so the canvas wouldn’t jerk back suddenly, Richard cut the tie down in about the center of where the cot sat, then lifted the edge of the canvas a little and rolled carefully underneath it, behind the cot.

When Michael turned to a sound, Richard rose up in front of the little table, in front of his brother. Richard had a smile on his face at seeing his older brother again. Michael’s head snapped to him. The color left his soft cheeks. He leapt to his feet. Richard was just about to do his salute when Michael spoke.

“Richard… how did you… What are you doing here? It’s… so… good to see you again. We have all been so… worried.”

Richard’s smile withered.

When the enemy web was put on him, Rahl had said those who honored Rahl would see Richard for who he was.

Michael saw him for who he was.

Michael was the one who had betrayed him. Michael was the one who allowed him to be captured and tortured by a Mord-Sith. Michael was the one who would give Kahlan and Zedd over to Darken Rahl. Michael was the one who would give everyone over to Darken Rahl. His insides turned to ice.

Richard could manage no more than a whisper. “Where is the box?”

“Ah… you look hungry, Richard. Let me have some dinner brought in for you. We’ll have a talk. It’s been so long.”

Richard kept his hand away from the sword, for fear he would use it. He sternly reminded himself that he was the Seeker, and that was all that mattered right now. He was not Richard; he was the Seeker. He had a job to do. He could not allow himself to be Richard. He could not allow himself to be Michael’s brother. There were more important things right now. Much more important.

“Where is the box?”

Michael’s eyes darted about. “The box…well… Zedd told me about it…. He was going to give it to me… but then he said something about finding you in D’Hara by a stone of some sort, and the three of them went off after you. I told them I wanted to come too, to save my brother, but I had to get the men together, and prepare, so they started ahead of me. Zedd kept the box. He has it.”

Richard now knew; Darken Rahl had the third box. Darken Rahl had spoken the truth.

The Seeker suppressed his emotions and made a quick assessment of the situation. The only thing that mattered now was getting to Kahlan. If he lost his head now, she would be the one to suffer; she would be the one at the end of an Agiel. He found himself concentrating on a mental image of Denna’s braid. He let himself do it. Whatever worked, he told himself. He couldn’t kill Michael, couldn’t risk being captured by all those men outside. He couldn’t even let Michael know what he knew; that would accomplish nothing, and risk others.

He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Well, as long as the box is safe. That’s what counts.”

Some of the color returned to Michael’s face, bringing with it a smile. “Richard, are you all right? You look… different. You look like you have been through… a lot.”

“More than you could ever know, Michael.” He sat down on the cot. Michael returned cautiously to his chair. Dressed in his baggy white trousers and shirt, a gold belt at his waist, he looked like a disciple of Darken Rahl. Richard noticed the maps his brother had been looking at. Maps of Westland. Maps of Westland, for Darken Rahl. “I was in D’Hara, just as Zedd told you, but I escaped. We have to get away from D’Hara. As far away as possible. I must go get the others, before they go there looking for me. You can take your men back now, take the army back and protect Westland. Thank you, Michael, for coming to help me.”

His brother’s smile widened. “You’re my brother. What else was I going to do?”

With the pain of betrayal burning hotly in him, Richard forced a warm smile. In some ways, this was worse than if the traitor had been Kahlan. He had grown up with Michael; they were brothers, and had shared a good portion of their lives. He had always admired Michael, always supported him, given him his unconditional love. He remembered bragging to other boys about his older brother.

“Michael, I need a horse. I must be on my way. Right now.”

“We’ll all go with you. Me and my men.” His grin widened. “Now that we’re back together, I don’t want to lose sight of you again.”

Richard jumped to his feet. “No!” He calmed his voice. “You know me, I’m used to being alone in the woods. It’s what I do best. You would only slow me down. I don’t have the time now.”

Michael stood, his eyes shifting to the tent’s opening. “I’ll not hear of it. We are…”

“No. You are First Councilor of Westland. That is your first responsibility, not watching after your little brother. Please, Michael, take the army back to Westland. I’ll be fine.”

Michael rubbed his chin. “Well, I guess you’re right. We were only going to D’Hara to help you, of course, and now that you’re safe…”

“Thank you for coming to help me, Michael. I’ll get my own horse. You go back to your work.”

Richard felt like the biggest fool that had ever lived. He should have known. He should have figured it out a long time ago. He remembered the speech Michael had given about fire being the enemy of the people. He should have known from that, if nothing else. Kahlan had tried to warn him that first night. Her suspicions that Michael was on Rahl’s side were correct. If only he had listened to his head instead of his heart.

Wizard’s First Rule: people are stupid, they believe what they want to believe. He had been the stupidest of them all. He was too angry with himself to be angry with Michael.

His refusal to see the truth was going to cost him everything. He had no choices left him now. He deserved to die.

With wet eyes held on Michael, Richard slowly dropped to one knee, and gave the loser’s salute.

Michael put his hands on his hips and smiled down. “You remember. That was a long time ago, little brother.”

Richard rose. “Not so long ago. Some things never change; I always loved you. Good-bye, Michael.”

Richard gave momentary thought, again, to killing his brother. He knew he would have to do it with the anger of the sword; he would never be able to bring himself to forgive Michael and make the blade white. For himself, maybe, but for what he had done to Kahlan, and Zedd, never. Killing Michael wasn’t as important as helping Kahlan; he couldn’t take the risk just to soothe his own stupidity. He went through the tent’s opening. Michael followed.

“At least stay and have something to eat. There are other things to discuss. I’m still not sure…”

Richard turned back, looking at his brother standing in front of the tent. A light
mist had begun to fall. He realized by the look on Michael’s face that he didn’t have any intention of letting him go; he was only waiting until he could get to his men for support.

“Do it my way, Michael, please. I have to go.”

“You men,” he called to the guards, “I want my brother to stay with us, for his own protection.”

Three guards started for him. Richard leapt over the brush and into the blackness of the night. They followed, clumsily. These were not woodsmen, they were soldiers. Richard didn’t want to have to kill them; they were Westlanders. He slipped through the darkness while the camp came to life with the sound of orders being yelled. He heard Michael yelling for them to stop him, but not to kill him. Of course not; he wanted to hand Richard over to Darken Rahl personally.

Richard made his way around the camp to the horses, slipping between the guards. He cut all the lead lines, then mounted one, bareback. He yelled and kicked and slapped at the others. They bolted in panic. Men and horses ran in every direction. He put his heels to his horse.

The sound of frantic voices faded behind him. His face was wet with mist and tears as he ran his horse into the blackness.

Zedd lay awake in the early dawn light, his mind filled with troubling thoughts. Clouds had gathered during the night, and it looked to be a wet journey ahead. Kahlan lay on her side, facing toward him, close to him, breathing slowly in a deep sleep. Chase was off somewhere on watch.

The world was coming apart, and he felt helpless. A leaf in the wind. He thought that somehow, being a wizard, after all these years, he should have some control of events. Yet he was hardly more than a bystander, watching others being hurt, killed, while he tried to guide those who could make a difference, to do what needed to be done.

As a Wizard of the First Order, he knew better than to go to D’Hara, and yet what else could he do? He had to go if there was any chance of rescuing Richard. In three days, it would be the first day of winter. Darken Rahl had only two boxes; he was going to die. If they didn’t get Richard out of there, Darken Rahl would kill him first.

He thought again of the encounter with Darken Rahl the day before. Try as he might, he couldn’t understand it. It was bizarre in the extreme. Rahl had obviously been frantic to find the box, so frantic that he didn’t kill him when he had the chance. The wizard who had killed his father, the one he had been searching for, and when he found him, he did nothing. But his other behavior defied sense.

The sight of him wearing Richard’s sword gave Zedd chills. Why would Darken Rahl, master of the magic of both worlds, be wearing the Sword of Truth? More to the point, what had he done to Richard to get the sword from him?

The most disturbing behavior had been when he held the sword to Kahlan. Zedd had never felt more helpless in his life. It was stupid to try to use wizard’s pain on him. Those with the gift, and who had survived the test of pain, could survive the touch. But what was he to do? To see Darken Rahl holding the Sword of Truth at her throat gave him pain, the worst kind of pain. For a moment, he had been as sure Rahl was going to kill her, and then the next moment, before Zedd had a chance to do anything, futile as it would have been, Rahl got tears in his eyes, and put the sword away. Why would Darken Rahl bother to use the sword, if he wanted to kill her, or any of them for that matter? He could kill any of them with a snap of his fingers. Why would he want to use the sword? And why then stop?