“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.
47
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?
Worse, though, was that he had made the blade turn white. When Zedd had seen that, he had almost parted company with his skin. The prophecies spoke of the one who would turn the Sword of Truth white. Spoke with great caution. That it would be Darken Rahl gave him a fright to his very core. That it might have been Richard who would turn the sword white had caused him a dread all its own, but for it to be Rahl…
The veil, the prophecies called it, the veil between the world of life and the underworld. If the veil was torn by the magic of Orden, through an agent, the prophecies foretold, only the one who had turned the Sword of Truth white could restore it. Unless he was able to, the underworld would be loosed on the world of the living.
The word agent had terrible significance that worried Zedd greatly. It could mean that Darken Rahl was not acting on his own, but was an agent. An agent of the underworld. That he had gained mastery of the subtractive magic, the underworld magic, implied that he was. It also implied that even if Rahl failed, and was killed, the magic of Orden would still tear the veil. Zedd tried not to think of what these prophecies meant. The idea of the underworld being loosed made his throat clench shut. Better for him to be dead first. Better for everyone to be dead first.
Zedd rolled his head to the side, watching Kahlan sleep. The Mother Confessor. The last of the ones created by the old wizards. His heart ached for her pain, ached because he hadn’t been able to help her when Rahl held the sword at her throat; ached for what she felt for Richard, and for what he couldn’t tell her.
If only it had not been Richard. Anyone but Richard. Nothing was ever easy.
Zedd sat up in a rush. Something was wrong. It was too light out for Chase not to be back. With a finger to Kahlan’s forehead, Zedd brought her wide awake.
Kahlan reflected his worry in her face. “What is it?” she whispered.
Zedd sat still, feeling for life around him. “Chase isn’t back, and he should be.”
She looked about. “Maybe he fell asleep.” Zedd lifted an eyebrow. “Well, maybe there is a good reason. Maybe it’s nothing.”
“Our horses are gone.”
Kahlan came to her feet, checking her knife. “Can you sense where he is?”
Zedd flinched. “There are others about. Others touched by the underworld.”
He jumped to his feet. As he did, Chase, having been pushed, stumbled and fell face first into the camp. His arms were tied securely behind his back, and there was blood on him. A lot of blood. He groaned in the dirt. Zedd felt the presence of men around them. Four men. He recoiled at what he felt of them.
The big man who had pushed Chase stepped forward. His short blond hair stood up in spikes, and a black streak ran back through it. His cold eyes, his smile, sent a chill through the wizard.
Kahlan was in a half crouch. “Demmin Nass,” she hissed.
He hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Ah. You’ve heard of me, Mother Confessor.” His wicked smile widened. “I’ve certainly heard of you. Your friend here has killed five of my best men. I’ll execute him later, after the festivities. I’d like him to have the enjoyment of watching what we do to you.”
Kahlan looked about as three other men, not as big as Demmin Nass, but bigger than Chase, stepped out of the woods. They were surrounded, but that was not a problem for a wizard. Each of the men was blond-haired, heavily muscled, and covered in sweat despite the chill to the air. Chase had obviously given them trouble. For now, their weapons were put away; they had no fear of their control of the situation.
Their confidence irritated Zedd. Their grins made him furious. The early light made the four pairs of blue eyes all the more penetrating.
Zedd knew very well that this was a quad, and he knew very well what it was that quads did to Confessors. Very well. His blood boiled at the knowing. There was no way he was going to let that happen to Kahlan. Not as long as he was alive.
Demmin Nass and Kahlan stared at one another.
“Where is Richard? What has Rahl done with him?” she demanded.
“Who?”
She gritted her teeth. “The Seeker.”
Demmin smiled. “Well now, that is Master Rahl’s and my business. Not yours.”
“Tell me,” she glared.
His smile widened. “You have more important things to worry about right now, Confessor. You are about to give my men a very good time. I want you to keep your mind on that, and make sure they enjoy themselves. The Seeker does not concern you.”
Zedd decided that it was time to stop this, before something more happened. He brought his hands up, and released the most powerful paralysis web he could marshal. The camp lit with a loud crack of green light as it flashed in four directions at once, toward each of the blue-eyed men. The green light hit each man with a hard thud.
Before the wizard had time to react, things went terribly wrong.
As fast as the green light hit them, it reflected back from each. Too late, Zedd realized that they were protected by a spell of some sort—an underworld spell that he hadn’t been able to see. From four directions at once, the green light hit him. His own web paralyzed him in place. He was frozen tight as stone. Helpless. Try as he might, he could not move.
Demmin Nass took his thumb out of his belt. “Problem, old man?”
Kahlan, a look of rage on her face, stretched her arm out and planted her hand against his smooth chest. Zedd braced for the release of her power, for the thunder with no sound.
It didn’t come.
By the look of surprise on Kahlan’s face, he knew it should have.
Demmin Nass brought his fist down and broke her arm.
Kahlan fell to her knees with a cry of pain. She came back up with her knife in her other hand, slashing at the man before her. He grabbed her hair with his fist, holding her away. She drove the knife up into the arm that held her. He pulled the knife out and twisted it from her hand. With a toss, he stuck it in a tree. Holding her by the hair, he backhanded her across the face a few times. She kicked and clawed and screamed at him while he chuckled. The other three closed in.
“Sorry, Mother Confessor, I’m afraid you’re not my type. But not to worry, these fellows here will be only too happy to do the honors. Try to wiggle your bottom, though,” he sneered. “I’ll enjoy that much of it.”
Demmin tossed her by her hair to the other three. They shoved her back and forth among them, slapping her, hitting her, spinning her around roughly until she was too dizzy to stand and fell from one pair of arms to another.
She was as helpless as a mouse held by three cats. Her hair fell across her face. Kahlan swung her fist at them, too disoriented to make contact. They laughed all the more.
One of them slammed his fist into her stomach. Kahlan doubled over, dropping to her knees, convulsed in pain. Another lifted her by her hair. The third ripped the buttons off the front of her shirt. They threw her violently back and forth, tearing her shirt, yanking it off with each throw. When it pulled over her broken arm, she screamed in pain.
Zedd couldn’t even shake with the rage storming through him. He couldn’t even close his eyes against the sight of it, close his hearing against the sound of it. Painful memories of having seen this before overlaid themselves on the reality of what was happening now. He couldn’t breathe with the pain of those memories. He couldn’t breathe with the pain of what was happening now. He would have given his life to free himself. He wished she wouldn’t fight them; it was only going to make it worse. But he knew Confessors always fought it. Fought it with everything they had. And what she had, he knew, was not going to be enough.
From the prison of his body, as if frozen into stone, Zedd railed against his helplessness with everything he had, every spell, every trick, every power he possessed. It was not enough. He felt tears running down his cheeks.
Kahlan screamed when one of the men tossed her by her broken arm into the powerful arms of the other two. With her lips pulled back over gritted teeth, she twisted and kicked against them while they held her tight by her arms and hair. The third man unbuckled her belt and tore open the buttons. She spat at him, screamed curses at him. He laughed as he yanked and pulled her pants down her legs, stripping them inside out over her feet. The other two had their arms full holding her; she was almost more than they could handle. Had her arm not been broken, they might not have been able to hold her. One of them twisted it brutally, making her scream.
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