Wizard's First Rule (115 page)

There was an eternity of silence. Kahlan stood motionless over Demmin. Zedd could hardly breathe with the pain, could hardly breathe past the lump in his throat. His knees shook.

Kahlan’s voice came so soft, Zedd could hardly hear it. “And you are sure he is dead?”

“I did not see him killed. Mistress. But I am sure.”

“Why is that?”

“It looked to me as if Master Rahl was in the mood to kill him, and even if he didn’t, Denna would have. That is what Mord-Sith do. Mates of Mord-Sith do not live this long. I was surprised he was still alive when I left him. He looked to be in bad shape. I have not seen a man have the Agiel put to the base of his skull that many times and still be alive.

“He cried your name. The only reason Denna hadn’t allowed him to die before that day was because Master Rahl wanted to talk to him first. While I did not see it with my own eyes. Mistress, I am sure. Denna held him with the magic of his sword, there could be no escape for him. She had him for a lot longer than is usual, she hurt him more than is usual, she held him on the cusp between life and death longer than is usual. I have never seen a man last as long as he had. For some reason. Master Rahl wanted the Seeker to suffer a long time, which is why he chose Denna; none enjoy it more than her, none have her talent for prolonging the pain, the others don’t know how to keep their pets alive that long. If nothing else, he would be dead now from being the mate of a Mord-Sith. He could not have survived until now.”

Zedd sank to his knees, his heart breaking with agony. He cried with the pain. He felt as if his world had ended. He didn’t want to go on. He wanted to die. What had he done? How could he have allowed Richard to be pulled into this? Richard, of all people. Now he knew why Rahl hadn’t killed him when he had had the chance; he wanted Zedd to suffer first. That was the way of a Rahl.

Chase squatted down next to him and put his arm around him. “I’m sorry, Zedd,” he whispered. “Richard was my friend, too. I’m so sorry.”

“Look at me,” Kahlan said, the mace held high in both her hands.

Nass’s eyes came up to hers. She brought the mace down with all her strength. With a sickening sound, it buried in his forehead, stuck solid, tearing from her hands as he went down, limp and fluid, as if he had no bones.

Zedd forced himself to stop crying and come to his feet as she walked toward them, picking up a tin bowl from a pack along the way.

She handed the bowl to Chase. “Fill this half full with poison berries from a bloodthroat bush.”

Chase looked at the bowl, a little confused. “Now?”

“Yes.”

He noticed the warning in Zedd’s eyes, and stiffened. “All right.” He turned, starting to leave, but turned back, taking his heavy black cloak off, putting it around
her shoulders, covering her nakedness. “Kahlan…” He stared at her, finally unable to bring forth the words, and went off to his task.

Kahlan gazed fixedly, vacantly, at nothing. Zedd put his arm around her and sat her down on a bedroll. He retrieved what was left of her shirt, ripping it into strips, which he wet with water from a skin. As she sat without protest, he cleaned the blood off her, applied salve to some of her wounds and magic to others. She endured it without comment. When he finished, he put his fingers under her chin, lifting her gaze to his.

Zedd spoke softly. “He did not die for nothing, dear one. He found the box, he has saved everyone. Remember him for doing what no other could have.”

Light mist from the thick clouds that hugged the ground began to dampen their faces.

“I will remember only that I love him, and that I could never tell him.”

Zedd closed his eyes against the pain, the burden, of being a wizard.

Chase returned, offering her the bowl of poison berries. She asked for something to crush them with. With a few quick strokes, Chase whittled a stout stick into a shape that satisfied her and she went to work.

She stopped as if she thought of something and looked up at the wizard, her green eyes ablaze. “Darken Rahl is mine.” It was a warning. A threat.

He nodded to her. “I know, dear one.”

She went back to crushing, a few tears running down her face.

“I’m going to bury Brophy,” Chase said softly to Zedd. “The others can rot.”

Kahlan crushed the red berries into a paste, adding a little ash from the fire. When she was finished, she had Zedd hold a little mirror for her while she applied it in the pattern of the Con Dar, twin lightning bolts, the magic guiding her hand. Starting from the temple on each side, in a mirror image of each other, the top part of each bolt zigzagged over the eyebrow, the center lobe of each passed over an eyelid, with the bottom zigzag over the cheekbones, finally terminating in a point at the hollow of each cheek.

The effect was frightening—and meant to be. It was a warning to the innocent. A vow to the guilty.

After she had brushed the tangles from her hair, she pulled her Confessor’s dress from her pack, took the cloak off, and slipped on the dress. Chase returned. Kahlan handed him his cloak, thanking him.

“Wear it,” Chase said, “it’s warmer than yours.”

“I am the Mother Confessor. I will wear no cloak.”

The boundary warden didn’t argue. “The horses are gone. All of them.”

She gave him an indifferent look. “Then we will walk. We will not stop at night, we will keep going. You may come if you wish, if you do not slow me down.”

Chase raised an eyebrow at the unwitting insult, but let it drop. Kahlan turned and started off without picking up any of her things. Chase looked over at Zedd, letting out a noisy breath.

He bent to collect his things. “I’m not leaving without my weapons.”

“We better hurry before she gets too far ahead. She won’t wait for us.” The
wizard picked up Kahlan’s pack, stuffing gear into it. “We better at least grab some of our supplies.” He smoothed a wrinkle on the pack. “Chase, I don’t think we are going to return from this; the Con Dar is a suicide venture. You have a family. There is no need for you to go.”

Chase didn’t look up. “What’s a Mord-Sith?” he asked quietly.

The wizard swallowed hard, his hands gripping the pack so firmly they shook. “Mord-Sith are trained from a young age in the art of torture, and the use of a merciless weapon of pain, called an Agiel. That was the red thing hanging from Darken Rahl’s neck. Mord-Sith are used against those with magic. They have the power to take a person’s magic, and use it against them.” Zedd’s voice broke. “Richard would not have known that. He had no chance. The only purpose in life for a Mord-Sith, the only thing they live for, is to torture to death those with magic.”

Chase rammed a fistful of blanket into the pack. “I’m going.”

Zedd nodded his understanding. “I will be glad for your company.”

“Are these Mord-Sith a danger to us?”

“Not to you, you have no magic, and not to wizards, I have protection.”

“What about to Kahlan.”

Zedd shook his head. “A Confessor’s magic is different from any other. The touch of a Confessor’s magic is death to a Mord-Sith. A very bad death. I saw it once. I don’t want to ever see it again.” Zedd’s eyes glided over the bloody mess, thinking of what they had done to Kahlan, and what they almost did. “I guess,” he whispered, “I have seen a lot of things I wish to never see again.”

As Zedd hoisted Kahlan’s pack to his shoulder, there was an impact to the air, thunder with no sound. They both ran to the trail, ran for Kahlan. They had only gone a short distance when they found the last man, sprawled across the way where he had lain in wait. His own sword jutted from his chest. Both his hands held the hilt in a death grip.

They both kept running until they caught up with her. She strode purposefully along, eyes ahead, disinterested in what was about her. Her Confessor’s dress flowed and flapped behind her like a flame in wind. Zedd had always thought Confessors looked beautiful in their dresses, especially the white of the Mother Confessor.

But he saw it now for what it really was. Battle armor.

Water from the drizzle collecting on Richard’s face ran down his nose, hanging in a drip at the end, tickling. He angrily wiped it off. He was so tired that he hardly knew what he was doing anymore. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn’t find Kahlan, and Zedd, and Chase. He had searched relentlessly, going down endless trails and roads, back and forth, crisscrossing his way toward the People’s Palace, and had not seen a sign of them. There were trails and paths everywhere, and he knew he had searched only a fraction of them. He had stopped only for a few hours at night, mostly to rest the horse, and then he had sometimes searched on foot. Since he had left his brother, the clouds had hung low and thick, limiting visibility. He was furious that they had to come now, when he needed Scarlet more than ever.

He felt that everything was conspiring against him, that the fates did indeed work for Darken Rahl. Rahl would have Kahlan by now. It was too late; she must be in the People’s Palace by now.

He urged the horse up the mountain trail, through stands of big spruce that grew on the steep ground. Spongy moss muffled the passing of the horse’s hooves. Darkness hid nearly everything. As he rode higher, through the mist and darkness, the trees thinned, exposing him to the cold wind coming up the slope. It flapped his cloak and moaned in his ears. Black patches of cloud and mist blew across the trail. Richard pulled his hood up against the elements. Although he couldn’t see anything, he knew he had reached the top of the mountain pass and was starting down the opposite side.

It was deep in the night. The dawn would bring the first day of winter. The last day of freedom.

Finding a small shelter of overhanging rock, Richard decided to get a few hours’ sleep before the dawn that would be his last. He wearily slid off the horse’s wet back and tethered it to a nearby scrub pine that hunched among long grass. He didn’t even take his pack off, but simply rolled himself in his cloak under the rock and tried to sleep, thinking of Kahlan, thinking of what he would have to do to keep her out of the hands of a Mord-Sith. After he finished helping Darken Rahl open the box that would give him the power he sought, Rahl would kill him. Despite Darken Rahl’s assurance that Richard would be free to go about his life, what life could he have after he was touched by Kahlan’s power?

Besides, he knew Rahl was lying. Rahl intended to kill him. He hoped only that his death would be quick. He knew his decision to help Darken Rahl meant that
Zedd would die, too, but it meant that many more would live. Live under the brutal rule of Darken Rahl, but live nonetheless. Richard couldn’t bear the thought of being responsible for everyone and everything dying. Rahl had told the truth about Richard being betrayed, and he probably was telling the truth about knowing which box would kill him. Even if he was lying, Richard couldn’t risk everyone on that one chance. Richard had run out of options; he had no choice but to help Darken Rahl.

His ribs still hurt from what Denna had done to him. It was still hard to lie down, and still hurt to breathe. His sleep brought the nightmares he had had every night since leaving the People’s Palace, the nightmares of the things Denna had done to him, the nightmares he had promised her he would have. He dreamed of hanging helpless while Denna hurt him, of being powerless to stop her, of never being able to escape. He dreamed of Michael standing there, watching. He dreamed of seeing Kahlan being tortured, and Michael watching that, too.

He came awake drenched in sweat, shaking with fear, heard himself whimpering with the terror of the dreams. Sunlight was slanting sideways under the overhang of the rock. The orange sun was just breaking above the horizon to the east.

Richard stood and stretched the cramps from his muscles, surveying the dawn of the first day of winter. He was high on a mountain. The surrounding peaks thrust themselves above a blanket of clouds below that stretched off before him, to the eastern horizon, like a sea of gray tinged in orange.

The sea of clouds was unbroken except for one thing—the People’s Palace. Touched by the sunlight, in the far distance, it rose proud on its plateau, standing above the clouds, waiting for him. A cold feeling ran through his gut; it was a long way off. He had misjudged how far he was from it; it was a lot farther than he had thought. He had no time to waste. When the sun was at its zenith, the boxes could be opened.

As he turned, movement caught his eye. The horse let out a terrified neigh. Howls split the morning silence. Heart hounds.

Richard drew his sword as they poured over the rock. Before he could start for the horse, the hounds took it down. In a dead run, more came for him. Frozen in shock for only an instant, he leapt up onto the rock he had slept under. The hounds, teeth snapping, bounded up the rock toward him. He cut down the first wave, then retreated farther up the rock as more hounds came for him. Richard swung the sword, cutting through them as they advanced, snarling and howling.

It was like a sea of tan fur, coming for him in waves. Frantically, he slashed and stabbed at them, trying to back away at the same time. Hounds came over the rock behind. He jumped to the side as the two groups crashed together, tearing at each other for the chance to be the first to get at his heart.