She rooted in the bag and found another. Her fingers blindly felt the scratches. They went in a circle. She slipped her fingers along the horn and found another circle. She felt a heavily scratched straight line between them.
Kahlan held the horn in her fingertips and twisted, trying to see if she was right. Cara screamed and Kahlan dropped the horn. She scooted to the side so she could see it on the floor.
It had two circles scratched into the patina of the horn. A horizontal line ran through both circles. It was the right one: canin pepper.
Nadine had warned her about taking off the wooden stopper, warned her about getting it in your face, your eyes. It would immobilize a person for a time, Nadine had said. Make them helpless, for a time.
Kahlan worked the horn back into her fingers. She wiggled the wooden stopper, trying to loosen it. It was cut to fit tightly, to keep the dangerous substance from leaking out.
Kahlan’s fingers were so numb they had no strength. She gritted her teeth as she tried to work the stopper loose. She didn’t want it off, yet, but she had to know she could get it off.
With her hands behind her back, she couldn’t throw it. She frantically tried to think of what she was going to do. She had to do something. If she didn’t, Cara would soon be dead. And then Drefan would start in on his loving wife. Cara wailed in agony.
“Please, mama, get the rats away from Cari. Please, mama, please. Help me, please help me.”
The pleading cries of hopeless terror ripped at Kahlan’s heart. She could wait no longer. She would just have to figure out what to do when the time came. She had to act.
“Drefan!”
His head twisted around. “Are you ready to tell me where Richard is?”
Kahlan remembered something Nathan had told her. You must offer Richard’s brother what he truly wants, if you are to save Richard. Maybe it would save Cara.
“Richard? What would I want with Richard? You know that it’s you I want.”
He smiled a knowing, satisfied smile. “Soon, my dear. In a little while. You can wait.”
He turned back to Cara.
“No, Drefan! I can’t wait. I need you now. I want you now. I can’t resist any longer. I can’t pretend any longer. I need you.”
“I said—”
“Just like your mother.” He froze at her words. “I need you like your whore of a mother needed your father.”
His expression darkened. Like a provoked bull, he turned toward her, his piercing eyes riveted on her. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. I need to be taken, like your father took your mother. I want you to take me like that. Only you can satisfy me. Do it. Do it now. Please.”
He rose up, huge and imposing. His muscles rippled and knotted. His brow drew down in that grim Rahl glare.
“I knew it,” he breathed. “I knew it. I knew you would finally give in to your filthy perversion.” He hesitated, looking back at Cara.
“Yes. You’re right. You’re always right, Drefan. You’re smarter than me. You were right all along. I can’t fool you any longer. Give me what I want. Give me what I need. Please, Drefan, I’m begging you. I need you.”
The look on his face was frightening. It was madness. If she could have shrunk back into the stone, she would have.
Drefan slipped free the knife at his belt as his tongue wet his lips. He started toward her.
She had had no idea just how effective her words had been. In sudden panic, Kahlan wiggled the wooden stopper. Drefan’s whole face, the whole way he carried his body, changed. He was a seething monster coming at her. His eyes narrowed with bestial loathing, savage hatred. Hatred for her.
Kahlan swallowed back the sudden terror welling up in her throat. Dear spirits, what had she just done? She scuffed her feet against the stone floor, trying to back away. She was already against the wall. How was she going to get the powder in his face? Dear spirits, what do I do?
Kahlan wiggled the stopper with all her might. It popped off. Drefan went to a knee beside her.
“Tell me how much you want me to please you.”
“Yes! I want you. Now. Give me the pleasure only you can give me.”
He brought the knife up as he leaned toward her.
Kahlan heaved herself toward him, twisting, rolling to the side as hard as she could, flinging the horn full of powder at his face as she rolled onto hers.
She couldn’t see, facedown on the stone. She didn’t know if she had missed, if the oily powder had come out, if she had the horn turned the right way, if he was close enough. She held her breath, bracing for the thrust of his knife, imagining it coming, knowing it was coming. She could almost feel the sharp edge slicing her. She struggled against the panic of not knowing just where he was going to cut her.
Drefan staggered back. She turned her face and saw him fall on his back, writhing, gasping for breath.
Kahlan flipped herself over and started scooting toward Cara. She tried to move around Drefan, but she didn’t have much room to maneuver. His groping hand caught her ankles. She kicked, trying to pull away from his grip.
His fingers tightened around her ankles. His powerful arm dragged her toward him. He gasped for air, his other hand flailing about, trying to feel what was around him. He was blind.
Kahlan saw yellow powder on his cheek and neck. She hadn’t gotten it in his eyes as she had hoped. She hadn’t gotten it directly in his mouth, or nose. Just the side of his face. Most had missed. She didn’t know how long that would stop him, but she didn’t think for long. Dear spirits, let it be enough.
The horn was on the other side of him. She couldn’t get to it. With all her strength, when he tugged on her leg, she used his pull to add momentum and kicked as hard as she could at his face. She caught his ear, tearing it partly away from his head. He bellowed and released her ankle.
Desperately, Kahlan pushed with her feet, to get away from his grasping fingers. She made it out of his reach. She bumped into Cara. Kahlan sat up and scooted back toward the woman.
“Hold on, Cara. Please hold on. I’m here. I’m going to get them off you. I swear I’ll get them off you.”
“Please, mama,” Cara wailed, “It hurts so much . . . It hurts. It hurts.”
Kahlan pulled her feet under herself so she could raise up enough. She craned her neck, looking over her shoulder, trying to see what she was doing. She seized the chain. It burned her fingers, making her recoil. She made herself grab the chain again. She tugged on the iron knot, shaking, twisting, pulling.
Through burning fingers, she felt a link slip and the chain loosen. She stole a quick glance. Drefan was still struggling to breathe, but he had straightened his legs. He put his arms at his sides. What was he doing?
Kahlan felt a link pull past resistance. She wiggled the chain to loosen the knot, to give it more room to come undone. Another link slipped free. The chain loosened further. She tugged at it, refusing to let go, even though the hot iron was burning her fingers.
Drefan’s breathing was evening out. He was laying perfectly still. What was he doing?
Kahlan cried out with joy when the chain rattled off the side of the pot. With her back to Cara, Kahlan hooked her fingers under the rim of the scalding pot and heaved it up and back, flipping it off Cara.
Bloody rats tumbled to the floor, squirming and wriggling, trying to get their feet as they scurried away.
Kahlan was near tears with joy. “I got them off, Cara. I got them off you.”
Cara’s head lolled from side to side. Her eyes rolled. She mumbled incoherently. When she looked over her shoulder and saw Cara’s stomach, Kahlan had to look away, or be sick.
She scooted up toward Cara’s hands. With frenzied effort, Kahlan dug at the knot of rope, but the knots were pulled impossibly tight from Cara’s thrashing. Kahlan couldn’t budge them. She wasn’t going to be able to untie them. She would have to cut them.
Drefan’s knife lay on the floor, near him. He was lying there, perfectl
y still. She had to hurry. She had to get the knife and cut Cara’s ropes. She had to cut her own. Before he recovered.
Kahlan dug in her heels and scooted toward the knife. She turned around, feeling for it with her fingers.
Drefan rose up and seized her. Holding her around the middle, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing. He brought the knife around in front of her face.
“Nasty stuff, powdered canin pepper. Lucky for me I know how to use my auras to overcome it. Now, my whore of a wife, it’s time you paid the price for your perversion.”
Chapter 67
Richard staggered toward the sliph’s room. From a room not far away, where Cara and Berdine had put him, he had heard the screams. He had no idea how long he had been insensate, no idea how long it had been since they had taken him there, but the screams had brought him awake. Someone needed help. And the last scream, he knew—Kahlan. His head pounded in violent pain. He hurt everywhere. He hadn’t thought he would be able to stand, but he did. He hadn’t thought he would be able walk, but he did. He had to.
He was barefooted, and without a shirt. He had on only his pants. He knew that the lower Keep was cool, but he was covered in a sheen of sweat, hardly able to breathe through the heat he felt. He used all his willpower to force himself to move.
He straightened, put a hand to the side of the door into the sliph’s room, and walked in.
Drefan looked up. He had his arm around Kahlan’s middle. He had a knife in his other hand. To the side, Cara was lying on the floor, tied in ropes. Her middle was ripped open. She was still alive, but shivering in agony. Richard couldn’t make sense of it.
“What in the name of all that’s good is going on, Drefan?”
“Richard,” he sneered. “Just the man I’m looking for.”
“Well, now I’m here. Let Kahlan go.”
“Oh, I will, dear brother. Soon. It is you I need.”
“Why?”
Drefan’s eyebrows lifted. “So that I can be reinstated as Lord Rahl. It’s my rightful place. The voices told me. My father told me. I am to be Lord Rahl. I was born to it.”
The plague was a far distant drone in Richard’s mind and body, yet this all seemed a dream, too.
“Drop the knife, Drefan, and give up. It’s over. Let Kahlan go.”
Drefan laughed. He threw his head back and roared with laughter. When it died out, Drefan’s eyes narrowed with frightening resolve.
“She wants me. She begs for it. You know the truth of that, my dear brother. You saw what she is. She is a whore. She is just like all the others. Just like Nadine. Just like my mother. She must die, like all the rest.”
Richard looked into Kahlan’s eyes. What was going on? Dear spirits, how was he going to get her away from Drefan?
“You’re wrong, Drefan. Your mother loved you: she took you to a place where you would be safe from Darken Rahl. She loved you. Please, let Kahlan go. I’m begging you.”
“She is mine! My wife! I will do with her what I will!”
Drefan slammed the knife into Kahlan’s lower back. Richard flinched at hearing it hit bone. Kahlan grunted with the impact, her eyes going wide in shock. Drefan released her. She dropped to her knees and crumpled to her side.
Richard tried with all his might to make sense of this. He couldn’t decide if this was real, or a dream. He had been having so many dreams, so many nightmares. This seemed like all the rest, but different. He didn’t even know if he was alive anymore. The whole room swam before him.
Drefan drew the Sword of Truth. The ring of steel that Richard knew so well echoed around the stone room, a chime that seemed to awaken him into a nightmare. Richard could see the rage from the sword, the magic, take Drefan’s eyes.
“I’m all right, Richard,” Kahlan panted as she stared up at him. “You don’t have a weapon. Get out of here. Get away. I love you. Please, for me. Run.”
The rage in Drefan’s eyes was nothing to match the rage thundering into Richard’s heart.
“Drop the sword, Drefan, now. Or I will kill you.”
Drefan swept the sword around. “How? With your bare hands?”
Richard vividly remembered what Zedd had told him when first giving him the Sword of Truth: the sword was only a tool; the Seeker was the weapon. A true Seeker didn’t need the sword.
Richard started forward. “And with hate in my heart.”
“I will enjoy killing you, at last, Richard. Even if you don’t have a weapon.”
“I am the weapon.”
Richard was running. The distance between them shrank at an alarming rate. Kahlan screamed for him to get away. He hardly heard her. Richard was committed. Drefan lifted the sword overhead, pulling a breath in preparation to cleave Richard. That was the opening. Richard knew that a thrust was faster than a cut. He was in the iron grip of deadly determination. Richard was lost in the dance with death. Drefan bellowed in rage as the sword started down.
Richard dropped to his left knee, through the opening, using his forward momentum and a twist of his torso to add force to his strike. Fingers straight and stiff, he drove his arm ahead with all his might.
Before the sword could touch him, Richard struck like lightning, driving his hand through Drefan’s soft middle. In the blink of an eye, he had seized Drefan’s spinal column and yanked it back out, ripping it apart.
Drefan pitched backward, crashing against the sliph’s well, slumping down in a spreading, crimson flood.
Richard bent to Kahlan, cupping her face with his left hand. He didn’t want to touch her with Drefan’s blood. She was panting in pain. From the corner of his eye, Richard could see Drefan’s arm move.
“I can’t feel my legs. Richard, I can’t feel my legs. Dear spirits, what did he do to me?” Her voice quivered with panic. “I can’t make them move.”
Richard was already lost in need. He had forgotten how to use his power as the price of returning from the Temple of the Winds, but he had used it before. He had healed before. He was a wizard.
He ignored his dizzy head, his sick stomach; he couldn’t allow that to stop him. From Nathan, Richard had learned that his power was called through need, if the need was great enough, or through anger, if the anger was great enough. He had never had more need than he had at that moment, nor more anger.
“Richard. Oh, Richard, I love you. I want you to know, if we, if we . . .”
“Hush,” he said in a gentle voice. Her face was cut and bloody. It made him ache to see her pain, her panic. “I will heal you. Lie still, and I will make you whole again.”
“Oh, Richard, I had the book. I lost it. Oh, Richard, I’m so sorry. I had it. I had it, but it’s gone.”
With a sinking feeling, he grasped what she was saying: he was going to die. There was nothing to be done, now. He was lost.
“Richard, please, heal Cara.”
“No. I don’t think I have enough strength to heal both of you.” To heal, he had to take the pain from the one injured. Killing Drefan had taken nearly all the strength he had. “I must heal you.”
Kahlan shook her head. “Please, Richard, if you love me, do as I ask. Heal Cara. It’s my fault—what he did to her. My fault.” A tear ran down her cheek. “I lost the book. I can’t save you. Heal Cara.” She stifled a cry. “We will be together soon, for all time, then.”
He understood. They were both to die. They would be together in the spirit world. She didn’t want to live without him.
Richard kissed her brow. “Hold on. Don’t give up. Please. Kahlan, I love you. Don’t give up.”
Richard turned to Cara. He already felt so sick that the sight didn’t affect him the way it normally would have. Her suffering, though, bent him with pain for her. He laid his hands across Cara’s bloody, torn middle. “Cara, I’m here. Hold on. For me, hold on, so I can help you.” She didn’t seem to hear his words as she mumbled, her head lolling from side to side.
Richard closed his eyes and opened his heart, his need, his soul. He released himself into the
current of empathy. He wanted nothing but to make Cara whole again. She had given her all for them. He didn’t know if he had strength enough, but he gave all of himself over to it.
He descended into the swirl of her agony. He felt everything she felt, suffered with her. He gritted his teeth, held his breath, and pulled her pain into himself, onward, ever onward, without sparing anything to protect himself.
He shook with the suffering, and his mind wailed with it. He absorbed it into himself, and then asked for more. He asked for all of it. He demanded it.
The world was liquid, twisting, coursing pain. He was swept away in a molten river of it. Its fiery heat consumed his being. Time lost all meaning. There was only the pain.
When he felt it all gathered into himself, he let flow his empathy, his power: healing strength; healing heart.
He didn’t know how to direct it, he just let it flow into her. It felt as if his whole self drained away into her need. She was baked, barren earth, soaking in life-giving rain.
When at last he opened his eyes and lifted his head, his arms were lying across the smooth skin of her midriff. She was whole again. Though she seemed still unaware of it, she was whole.
Richard turned. Kahlan was lying on her side, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. Her face was ashen and covered with sweat and blood, her eyes half closed.
“Richard,” she whispered when he bent to her, “free my hands. I want to be hugging you, when . . .”
When she died. That was what she was going to say.
Richard snatched up a knife lying nearby, and sliced through the ropes. The anger was back, but only as a distant glow now. He could hardly see the room anymore. Hardly hear her. Hardly see her.
Her wrists finally free, she threw an arm over his neck and drew him to her. Richard struggled to keep from falling on her.
“Richard, Richard, Richard,” she whispered. “I love you.”
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