“You both have earned this joyous wedding. I am happy for you both. I will honor your vows, and protect you in any way I can, out of respect for all you have done for me, as long as you remember what I have warned you about. I will not allow a male child of this union to live. Do not doubt my word in this.”
Richard’s gaze was heating. “Shota, I’ll not be threatened—”
Again, the finger rose, silencing Richard this time.
“I do not make a threat. I deliver you a promise. I do not do it out of animosity for either of you, but out of concern for everyone else in the world. There is a long struggle ahead of us all. I will not allow any chance at victory to be clouded by what you two would bring upon the world. Jagang is worry enough.”
For some reason, Kahlan’s voice wouldn’t work. Richard didn’t seem to have words, either. Kahlan believed Shota; she wasn’t doing this out of malice.
Shota lifted Kahlan’s hand and placed something in it. “This is my gift to you both. I do this out of love for you both, and for everyone else.” She smiled a strange smile. “An odd thing for a witch woman to say?”
“No, Shota,” Kahlan said. “I don’t know that I believe what you tell us about a son, but I know that it is not said in hate.”
“Good. Wear the gift, always, and all will be well. Mark my words well—never take this off when you are together, and you will always be happy. Disregard my request, and suffer the consequences of my vow.” She looked into Richard’s eyes. “Better you battle the Keeper himself, than me.”
Kahlan opened her hand and saw a delicate necklace. A small, dark stone hung from the gold chain.
“Why? What is this?”
Shota put a finger under Kahlan’s chin as she stared into her eyes. “As long as you wear it, you will bear no children.”
Richard’s voice, strangely, seemed gentle. “But what if we—”
Again, Shota’s raised finger silenced him. “You love each other. Have joy in that love, and in each other. You have struggled hard to be together. Celebrate your union and your love. You have each other, now, as you always wanted. Don’t throw it away.”
Richard and Kahlan both nodded. Somehow, Kahlan didn’t feel any anger. She felt nothing other than relief that Shota wasn’t going to do anything to harm their marriage. It had a dreamlike quality, like a formal settlement over an obscure, remote tract of ground claimed by two lands, like agreements in the council chambers over which she had so often presided. There seemed no emotion to it. A simple settlement.
Shota turned to go.
“Shota,” Richard said. She turned back. “Won’t you stay? You’ve come a long way.”
“Yes,” Kahlan said. “We really would like it if you stayed.”
Shota smiled a witch woman smile as she watched Kahlan fasten the chain around her neck.
“That you would ask is pleasure enough, but it is a long journey, and we must be on our way.”
Kahlan ran down the steps and scooped up a pile of tava bread. She wrapped it in a square of cloth from the table. She met Shota at the bottom of the steps.
“Take this for your journey, as our thanks for coming, and for the gift.”
Shota kissed Kahlan’s cheek and then took the bundle. Samuel didn’t try to grab it; he seemed content. Richard was suddenly there, beside Kahlan. Shota smiled a small smile and kissed his cheek, too. She had a strange, wistful look.
“Thank you. Both of you.”
And then she was gone. Simply, gone.
Zedd and Ann were still up on the platform, along with Cara and the rest of the people. Zedd turned to Richard and Kahlan.
“What happened to Shota? We make a truce, and then she just leaves without a word?”
Kahlan’s brow tightened. “She spoke to us.”
Zedd glanced about. “When? She was gone before she had a chance to say anything.”
“I had intended to speak with her, too,” Ann said.
Kahlan looked up at Richard. He looked back at Zedd. “She said some nice things to us. Maybe she just didn’t want you to hear her saying nice things.”
Zedd grunted a laugh. “No doubt.”
Kahlan touched the dark stone on the necklace. She put an arm around Richard’s waist and pulled him close.
“What do you think?” she whispered.
Richard stared out in the direction Shota had gone.
“For now, she’s right; we’re together. That’s what we wanted. I think that, for now, we should be happy that our dream has at last come true and we can be together. I’m so tired of trouble, and there is still Jagang to worry about. I’d just like to be with you for now, and love you.”
Kahlan put her head against him. “I think you’re right. For now, let’s not complicate matters.”
“We can worry about this another time.” He grinned at her. “Right?”
Kahlan forgot all about Shota and the future and grinned back, thinking about the now. “Right.”
The celebration went on until well after nightfall. Kahlan knew it would likely go on all night. She whispered to Richard that she would be happy not to have to remain for the whole thing. Richard kissed her cheek, and then asked the Bird Man if they could be excused. They wanted to go to the spirit house. The spirit house had special meaning to both of them.
The Bird Man smiled. “It has been a long day. Sleep well.”
Richard and Kahlan said their thanks to everyone, and then, in the quiet of the spirit house, in the soft glow of the low fire that always burned there, they were at long last alone.
As they stared into each other’s eyes, words were too small.
Berdine stood tall and straight as she watched the double doors burst open. Like a gout of flame they stormed into the Confessors’ Palace—a dozen Mord-Sith in red leather.
Soldiers scrambled across the slick marble, falling back out of the way, while at the same time trying not to look hurried. They quickly established new guard positions at a safe distance. The twelve women paid them no attention. The existence of D’Haran soldiers hardly registered on the mind of a Mord-Sith—unless they gave her trouble.
The group came to a halt. Silence once again settled in the entrance hall.
“Berdine, how good to see you.”
Berdine let a small smile touch her lips. “Welcome, Rikka. But what are you doing here? Lord Rahl left you at the People’s Palace, awaiting his return.”
Rikka’s eyes swept the area before her steady gaze settled on Berdine. “We heard that he is here, now, and we decided that we should be closer so that we could protect him. We left the others at the palace, should he return unexpectedly. We will return with him when he goes home.”
Berdine shrugged. “He sort of considers this home, now.”
“Whatever he wishes. We are here, now. Where is he, so that we may announce ourselves, and protect him?”
“He has gone to be married. Some distance to the south.”
Rikka’s brows drew together. “Why are you not with him?”
“He ordered me to stay here and see to things in his absence. Cara is with him.”
“Cara. Good. Cara will not let anything happen to him.” Rikka considered a moment, her dark frown returning. “Lord Rahl is getting married?”
Berdine nodded. “He is in love.”
The other women glanced at one another as Rikka put her fists on her hips. “In love. A Lord Rahl, in love. Somehow, I can’t picture it.” She huffed. “He’s up to something. Well, never mind; we will figure it out. What of the others?”
“Hally was killed awhile back. In battle, protecting Lord Rahl.”
“A noble death. What of Raina?”
Berdine swallowed, and forced her voice to stay level. “Raina died a short time ago. Killed by the enemy.”
Rikka searched Berdine’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Berdine.”
Berdine nodded. “Lord Rahl wept for her, as he did for Hally.”
Silence echoed around the entryway as all the other Mord-Sit
h stared at Berdine in disbelief.
“This man is going to be trouble,” Rikka muttered.
Berdine smiled. “I think he would say a similar thing of you.”
Kahlan growled at the insistent knock. It appeared that ignoring it would not make it go away. She kissed Richard and wrapped a blanket around herself.
“Don’t move, Lord Rahl. I’ll get rid of them.”
Barefoot, she crossed the dim, windowless room. She squinted at the sudden light when she opened the door.
“Zedd, what is it?”
He was eating a piece of tava bread. He had a platter of it in his other hand. He offered her the tray.
“I thought you might be hungry.”
“Yes, thank you. Very thoughtful.”
He took a bite of tava bread as his gaze roamed over her hair. He pointed at it with the rolled-up tava bread.
“You will never get those tangles out, dear one.”
“Thank you for your fashion advice.”
She started to close the door. He put his hand against it.
“The elders are becoming concerned. They would like to know when they can have their spirit house back.”
“Tell them that when I’m done with it, I’ll let them know.”
Cara, scowling her best Mord-Sith scowl, stepped up behind him. “I will see that he does not bother you again, Mother Confessor.”
“Thank you, Cara.”
Kahlan shut the door in his smiling face.
She hurried across the floor, back to Richard. She set the platter aside, laid down, and enfolded Richard in her blanket.
“A pesky in-law,” she explained.
“I heard. Tava bread and tangled hair.”
“Now, where were we?”
He kissed her, and she remembered; he was showing her some magic.
~
We hope you enjoyed this book.
For an exclusive preview of the next gripping instalment read on or click the image.
Or for more information, click one of the links below:
About Terry Goodkind
About the Sword of Truth series
An invitation from the publisher
Preview
Read on for a preview of
Richard has traveled far from his roots as a simple woods guide. Emperor of the D’Haran Empire, war wizard, the Seeker of Truth – but none of these roles mean as much to him as his newest: husband to his beloved Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor of the Midlands.
But their wedding day is the key that unlocks a spell sealed away long ago in a faraway country. Now a deadly power pours forth that threatens to turn the world into a lifeless waste.
Separated from the Sword of Truth and stripped of their magic, Richard and Kahlan must journey across the Midlands to discover a dark secret from the past and a trap that could tear them apart forever. For their fate has become inextricably entwined with that of the Midlands—and there’s no place so dangerous as a world without magic...
Can’t wait? Buy it here now!
1
“I wonder what’s bothering the chickens,” Richard said.
Kahlan nuzzled tighter against his shoulder. “Maybe your grandfather is pestering them now, too.” When he didn’t reply, she tilted her head back to squint up at him in the dim firelight. He was watching the door. “Or maybe they’re grouchy because we kept them awake most of the night.”
Richard grinned and kissed her forehead. The brief squawking on the other side of the door had ceased. No doubt the village children, still reveling in the wedding celebration, had been chasing the chickens from a favorite roost on the squat wall outside the spirit house. She told him as much.
Faint sounds of distant laughter, conversation, and singing drifted into their quiet sanctuary. The scent of the balsam sticks that were always burned in the spirit-house hearth mingled with the tang of sweat earned in passion, and the spicy-sweet aroma of roasted peppers and onions. Kahlan watched the firelight reflecting in his gray eyes a moment before lying back in his arms to sway gently to the sounds of the drums and the boldas.
Paddles scraped up and down ridges carved on the hollow, bell-shaped boldas produced an eerie, haunting melody that seeped through the solitude of the spirit house on its way out onto the grasslands, welcoming spirit ancestors to the celebration.
Richard stretched to the side and retrieved a round, flat piece of tava bread from the platter Zedd, his grandfather, had brought them. “It’s still warm. Want some?”
“Bored with your new wife so soon, Lord Rahl?”
Richard’s contented laugh brought a smile to her lips. “We really are married, aren’t we? It wasn’t just a dream, was it?”
Kahlan loved his laugh. So many times she had prayed to the good spirits that he would be able to laugh again—that they both would.
“Just a dream come true,” she murmured.
She urged him from the tava bread for a long kiss. His breathing quickened as he clutched her in his powerful arms. She slid her hands across the sweat-slick muscles of his broad shoulders to run her fingers through the thick tangle of his hair as she moaned against his mouth.
It had been here in the Mud People’s spirit house, on a night that now seemed lifetimes ago, that she had first realized she was hopelessly in love with him, but had to keep her forbidden feelings secret. It was during that visit, after battle, struggle, and sacrifice, that they had been accepted into the community of these remote people. On another visit, it was here in the spirit house, after Richard accomplished the impossible and broke the spell of prohibition, that he had asked her to be his wife. And now they had at last spent their wedding night in the spirit house of the Mud People.
Though it had been for love and love alone, their wedding was also a formal joining of the Midlands and D’Hara. Had they been wedded in any of the great cities of the Midlands, the event undoubtedly would have been a pageant of unparalleled splendor. Kahlan was experienced in pageantry. These guileless people understood their sincerity and simple reasons for wanting to be married. She preferred the joyous wedding they had celebrated among people bonded to them in their hearts, over one of cold pageant.
Among the Mud People, who led hard lives on the plains of the wilds, such a celebration was a rare opportunity to gather in merriment, to feast, to dance, and to tell stories. Kahlan knew of no other instance of an outsider being accepted as Mud People, so such a wedding was unprecedented. She suspected it would become part of their lore, the story repeated in future gatherings by dancers dressed in elaborate grass-and-hide costumes, their faces painted with masks of black and white mud.
“I do believe you’re plying an innocent girl with your magic touch,” she teased, breathlessly. She was beginning to forget how weak and weary her legs were.
Richard rolled onto his back to catch his breath. “Do you suppose we ought to go out there and see what Zedd is up to?”
Kahlan playfully smacked the back of her hand against his ribs. “Why Lord Rahl, I think you really are bored with your new wife. First the chickens, then tava bread, and now your grandfather.”
Richard was watching the door again. “I smell blood.”
Kahlan sat up. “Probably just some game brought back by a hunting party. If there really was trouble, Richard, we would know about it. We have people guarding us. In fact, we have the whole village watching over us. No one could get past the Mud People hunters unseen. There would at least be an alarm and everyone would know about it.”
She wasn’t sure if he even heard her. He was stone still, his attention riveted on the door. When Kahlan’s fingers glided up his arm and her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, his muscles finally slackened and he turned to her.
“You’re right.” His smile was apologetic. “I guess I can’t seem to let myself relax.”
Nearly her whole life, Kahlan had trod the halls of power and authority. From a young age she had been disciplined in responsibility and obligation, and schooled in the threats that
always shadowed her. She was well steeled to it all by the time she had been called upon to lead the alliance of the Midlands.
Richard had grown up very differently, and had gone on to fulfill his passion for his forested homeland by becoming a woods guide. Turmoil, trial, and destiny had thrust him into a new life as leader of the D’Haran Empire. Vigilance was his valuable ally and difficult to dismiss.
She saw his hand idly skim over his clothes. He was looking for his sword. He’d had to travel to the Mud People’s village without it.
Countless times, she had seen him absently and without conscious thought reassure himself that it was at hand. It had been his companion for months, through a crucible of change—both his, and the world’s. It was his protector, and he, in turn, was the protector of that singular sword and the post it represented.
In a way, the Sword of Truth was but a talisman. It was the hand wielding the sword that was the power; as the Seeker of Truth, he was the true weapon. In some ways, it was only a symbol of his post, much as the distinctive white dress was a symbol of hers.
Kahlan leaned forward and kissed him. His arms returned to her. She playfully pulled him back down on top of her.
“So, how does it feel being married to the Mother Confessor herself?”
He slipped onto an elbow beside her and gazed down into her eyes. “Wonderful,” he murmured. “Wonderful and inspiring. And tiring.” With a gentle finger he traced the line of her jaw. “And how does it feel being married to the Lord Rahl?”
A throaty laugh burbled up. “Sticky.”
Richard chuckled and stuffed a piece of tava bread in her mouth. He sat up and set the brimming wooden platter down between them. Tava bread, made from tava roots, was a staple of the Mud People. Served with nearly every meal, it was eaten by itself, wrapped around other foods, and used as a scoop for porridge and stews. Dried into biscuits, it was carried on long hunts.
Kahlan yawned as she stretched, feeling relieved that he was no longer preoccupied by what was beyond the door. She kissed his cheek at seeing him once again at ease.
Under a layer of warm tava bread he found roasted peppers, onions, mushroom caps as broad as her hand, turnips, and boiled greens. There were even several rice cakes. Richard took a bite out of a turnip before rolling some of the greens, a mushroom, and a pepper in a piece of tava bread and handing it to her.
Temple of the Winds Page 84