Wizard's First Rule tsot-1

by Terry Goodkind

  Near dawn, at the edge of a descent into a dark wood, Samuel’s long arm pointed downward. “Agaden Reach,” he gurgled. He looked back over his shoulder with a taunting grin. “Mistress.”

  The heat was oppressive in the wood. Richard took off his cloak and put it in his pack, then stuffed Kahlan’s back in hers. Samuel watched without protest. He seemed happy, confident, to be back in the Reach. Richard pretended he could see where they were going, not wanting to give the companion any idea that he was almost blind in the thick darkness. Richard let himself be guided along by the rope, like a blind man. Samuel loped along as if it were bright as midday. Whenever he turned his hairless head back to Richard, his yellow eyes shone like twin lanterns.

  As the light of dawn slowly suffused the wood, Richard could begin to see large trees all about, trailers of moss wafting down, boggy patches with vapor rising from the black, murky water, pairs of eyes that watched and blinked from the shadows. Hollow calls echoed through the mist and vapor as he stepped carefully over the tangle of roots. The place reminded him a little of the Skow Swamp. It smelled just as rank.

  “How much farther?”

  “Close.” Samuel grinned.

  Richard took up the slack on the rope. “Just remember, if anything goes wrong, you die first.”

  The grin faded from the bloodless lips.

  Here and there in the mud Richard could see the same pair of footprints that he had seen in the snow. Kahlan was still walking. Dark forms followed, keeping to the shadows, the thick brush, sometimes letting out whoops and howls. Richard wondered, and worried, if they were more things like Samuel. Or worse. Some followed in the treetops, just beyond sight. Despite his best efforts to halt it, a shiver went up his spine.

  Samuel skirted off the path, around the twisted roots of a squat, fat-trunked tree.

  “What’re you doing?” Richard asked, pulling the companion to a halt.

  Samuel grinned back at him. “Watch.” He picked up a stout stick, big as his wrist, and threw it with an underhand swing into the roots of the tree. The roots whipped out, knotting around the stick, pulling it under the tangled mass. Richard heard it snapping apart. Samuel gurgled with laughter.

  As the sun climbed higher, the woods of Agaden Reach seemed to become even darker. Dead branches twisted together overhead, and mist occasionally drifted across their way. At times Richard couldn’t even see Samuel on the other end of the wet rope. But always he could hear things: scratching, clawing, whistling, things clicking at them from just out of sight. Sometimes the mist twirled and spun at the passing of creatures darting by, near but unseen.

  Richard remembered what Kahlan had said: they were going to die. He tried to put the thought out of his head. She had told him she had never met the witch woman, only heard others speak of her. But what she had heard had terrified her. Those who went in never came out. Not even a wizard would go into Agaden Reach, she had said. But still, it was secondhand knowledge—she hadn’t ever met Shota. Maybe the stories were exaggerated. His eyes scanned the menacing, forbidding woods. And maybe not.

  From ahead, through the tangles mass of trees, came light, sunlight, and the sound of rushing water. The farther they went, the brighter it became. Soon they reached the edge of the dark wood. The trail simply ended. Samuel gurgled with glee.

  Spread out far below was a long valley, green, bright, lit by the sun. Gigantic rocky peaks soared almost straight up all around it. Fields of golden grasses among stands of oak, beech, and maple set in rich autumn colors rippled in the breeze. In the dark forest where they stood, it felt like standing in night, looking out on day. Water tumbled off the rocks beside them, down the vertical drop, disappearing soundlessly through the air until it reached the clear pools and streams below, where it made a distant roar and a hiss. Spray drifted up past them, wetting their faces.

  Samuel pointed down into the valley. “Mistress.”

  Richard nodded and had him move on. Samuel led them through a labyrinth of brush, tight trees, and fern-covered boulders, to a place Richard would never have found without his little guide: a trail hidden behind rocks and vines, at the edge of the precipice, leading down the wall of the valley. As they descended, the trail offered panoramic views of the beautiful country below: the trees looking small in patches over the gentle hills, the streams meandering among the fields and banks, the sky a bright blue overhead.

  In the center of it all, set among a carpet of grand trees, was a beautiful palace of breathtaking grace and splendor. Delicate spires stretched into the air, wispy bridges spanned the high gaps between towers, stairs spiraled around turrets. Colorful flags and streamers atop every point snapped lightly and flew lazily in the wind. The magnificent palace seemed to be reaching joyously to the sky.

  Richard stood silent for a moment, mouth agape, staring, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. He loved his home of Hartland, but there was no place there to compare to this. This was, quite simply, the most beautiful place he had ever seen. He never would have imagined that a vision of such exquisite loveliness even existed.

  The two of them started off again, down the valley’s edge. In places, there were steps, thousands of them, cut from the stone of the wall, twisting, tunneling and turning downward, sometimes spiraling back on themselves, going underneath the ones above. Samuel sprang down them as if he had done it a thousand times before. He was obviously thrilled to be home again, near the protection of his mistress.

  At the bottom, in the sunlight, a road led off through the tree dotted hills and warm grass fields. Samuel bounded along in his odd gait, gurgling to himself. Richard took in the slack once in a while to remind him who still held the other end of the rope.

  As they crossed the valley floor, following a clear stream for a time, moving ever closer to the palace, the trees became a little thicker, closer together, each a magnificent specimen, shading road or field from the bright sun. The road took them gently uphill. At the top of a rise, the trees seemed as if they were gathered, sheltering, surrounding a place before them. Richard could see the spires of the palace off through the branches ahead.

  They entered a shady, still, enveloping cathedral of trees.

  Richard could hear the gentle sound of water running through mossy rock. Hazy streamers of sunlight penetrated the quiet, muted area. There was the sweet smell of grass and leaves.

  Samuel’s arm stretched out. Richard looked where he pointed, to the center of the open, sheltered place. There sat a rock—water bubbling up from a spring in its center ran down the sides into a little stream dotted with rich, green, mossy rocks. A woman in a long white dress, soft brown hair, with her back to him, sat on the edge of the rock, in the dappled sunlight, running her fingers through the clear water. Even from the back, she looked somehow familiar.

  “Mistress,” Samuel said, glassy-eyed. He pointed again, off to the side of the road, closer to them. “Pretty lady.”

  Richard could see Kahlan standing stiffly. There was something odd about her. Something was on her, moving. Samuel turned his blotchy head back, pointing a long gray finger at the rope. He looked up at Richard with one yellow eye.

  “Seeker promises,” he said in a low growl.

  Richard untied the rope, took Kahlan’s pack off the companion’s shoulder, and laid it on the ground. Samuel curled his bloodless lips up at Richard, hissing, then abruptly skittered off into the shadows, sitting in a squat to watch.

  Richard swallowed hard as he walked to Kahlan, a tight knot in his stomach. With a jolt, he saw at last what it was that was moving on her.

  Snakes.

  Kahlan was covered by a writhing mass of snakes. The ones he recognized were all poisonous. Big, fat ones were wrapped around her legs, one coiled tightly around her waist, constricting—others were wrapped around her arms, which hung at her sides.

  Small snakes squiggled, tunneling through her thick hair, flicking their tongues out—others curled around her neck—still more slithered down the front of her shir
t, poking their heads out between the buttons. He struggled to control his breathing as he approached her. His heart was pounding. Tears ran down Kahlan’s cheeks, and she shook the slightest bit.

  “Be still,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’ll get them off.”

  “No!” she whispered back. Her eyes, wide with panic, met his. “If you touch them, or if I move, they will bite me.”

  “It’s all right,” he tried to reassure her, “I’ll get you out of this.”

  “Richard,” she said in a pleading whisper, “I’m dead. Leave me. Get out of here. Run.”

  He felt as if an invisible hand were constricting his throat. In her eyes, he could see how she was struggling to control her panic. He tried to look as calm as he could, to hearten her. “I’m not leaving you,” he breathed.

  “Please, Richard,” she whispered hoarsely, “for me, before it’s too late. Run.”

  A thin, poisonous banded viper, its tail coiled in her hair, dropped its head down in front of her face. The red tongue flicked at her. Kahlan closed her eyes, and another tear ran down her cheek. The snake wriggled around the side of her face, down over her collarbone. The banded body disappeared into her shirt. She gave out the slightest whimper.

  “I’m going to die. You can’t save me now. Please, Richard, save yourself. Please. Run. Run while you still have a chance.”

  Richard was afraid she would move deliberately, to be bitten, to try to save him, thinking he then would have no reason to stay. He had to convince her that that would do no good. He gave her a sober look.

  “No. I came here to find out where the box is. I’m not leaving until I know. Now be still.”

  She opened her eyes wide at what the snake was doing in her shirt. She bit her bottom lip—her eyebrows wrinkled together. Richard swallowed back dryness in his mouth.

  “Kahlan, just hold on. Try to think of something else.”

  In a rage, he strode over to the woman sitting on the rock with her back still to him. Something inside warned him not to pull the sword, but he could not, would not, hold back his anger at what she was doing to Kahlan. He breathed through gritted teeth.

  When he reached her, she stood and gently turned to him, speaking his name in a voice he recognized.

  His heart leapt into his throat when he saw the face that matched the voice.

  Chapter 31

  It was his mother.

  Richard felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. His whole body went rigid. His rage flinched, and the anger dropped its grip from him, recoiling at the idea of lethal intent and his mother in the same mental image.

  “Richard.” She smiled sadly at him, showing in that smile how much she loved and missed him.

  His mind raced, trying to grasp what was happening, unable to fit what he was seeing with what he knew. This couldn’t be. It was simply impossible.

  “Mother?” he breathed in a whisper.

  Arms he knew, remembered, slipped around him, comforted him, brought tears to his eyes, a lump to his throat.

  “Oh, Richard,” she said soothingly, “how I’ve missed you.” She ran her fingers through his hair, gentling him. “How I’ve missed you so.”

  Reeling, he fought to regain control of his emotions. He struggled to focus his mind an Kahlan. He couldn’t let her down again, let himself be fooled again. She was in this trouble because he had allowed himself to be fooled. This wasn’t his mother, it was Shota, a witch woman. But what if he was somehow wrong?

  “Richard, why have you come to me?”

  Richard put his hands on her small shoulders, gently pushing her back a little. Her hands slipped to his waist, squeezing with familiar affection. She was not his mother, he forced himself to say in his mind, she was a witch woman, a witch woman who knew where the last box of Orden was, and he had to know the answer to that. But why would she be doing this? And what if he was wrong? Could this somehow be true?

  His finger went to the little scar above her left eyebrow, tracing the familiar bump. A scar he had put there. He had been at swordplay with Michael, with their wooden swords, and had just jumped off the bed, taking a foolish and wild swing at his older brother, when his mother came through the door. His sword had caught her across the forehead. Her cry had terrified him.

  Even the whipping his father had given him didn’t hurt as much as the thought of what he had done to his mother. His father had sent him to bed without supper, and that night, when it was dark, she had come to sit on the side of his bed, run her fingers through his hair as he cried. He had sat up and asked her if it hurt a lot. She had smiled at him and said . . .

  “Not as much as it hurts you,” the woman in front of him whispered.

  Richard’s eyes went wide—bumps ran up his arms. “How do you . . .”

  “Richard,” came an even, cautioning voice from behind him, jolting him again. “Stand away from her.” It was Zedd’s voice.

  His mother’s hand cupped the side of his face. He ignored it and turned his head, looking back up the road, to the top of the rise. It was Zedd, or at least he thought it was Zedd. It looked just like Zedd, but then, this looked just like his mother. Zedd was standing there, with a look he recognized, a look of cold danger, warning.

  “Richard,” came Zedd’s voice again. “Do as I say. Stand away from her. Now.”

  “Please, Richard,” his mother breathed, “don’t leave me. Don’t you know me?” Richard turned to her soft face.

  “Yes. You are Shota.”

  He took her wrists, pulled her hands from his waist, and stepped back from her. Near tears, she watched him move away.

  Suddenly, she spun toward the wizard. Her hands snapped up. With an earsplitting crack, blue lightning erupted from her fingers, streaking toward Zedd, The wizard’s hands instantly brought up a shield, like glass, reflecting light in its gloss. The lightning from Shota hit it with a thunderous peal and glanced off, striking a huge oak, snapping its trunk in a shower of splinters. The tree crashed to earth. The ground shuddered.

  Zedd’s hands were already up. Wizard’s fire shot from his curled fingers. It shrieked as it came, tumbling through the air with howling fury.

  “No!” Richard screamed.

  The ball of liquid flame harshly illuminated the shady area with intense blue and yellow light.

  He couldn’t let this happen! Shota was the only way to find the box! The only way to stop Rahl!

  The fire wailed as it expanded, heading right for Shota. She stood motionless.

  “No!” Richard yanked the sword free and jumped in front of her. Gripping the hilt in one hand, the point in the other, with arms locked, he held it up horizontally in front of himself, as a shield.

  The magic raced through him. Wrath took him. The fire was upon him. The roar filled his ears. He turned his face, closed his eyes, held his breath and gritted his teeth, fully expecting that he might die. But there was no choice. The witch woman was their only chance. He couldn’t let her be killed.

  The impact staggered him back a step. He felt the heat. Even with his eyes tightly closed, he could see the light. The wizard’s fire wailed in rage as it struck the sword, exploding around him.

  And then there was silence. He opened his eyes. The wizard’s fire was gone. Zedd wasted no time. Already he was throwing a handful of magic dust. It sparkled as it came. Richard saw something coming from behind him, magic dust from the witch woman. It shimmered like ice crystals, taking the sparkle from Zedd’s dust, and slammed into him.

  Zedd stood frozen, unmoving, one hand in the air.

  “Zedd!”

  There was no reply. Richard spun to the witch woman. She was no longer his mother. Shota wore a wispy dress with variegated shades of gray across its gauzy surface, its folds and loose points floating in the light breeze. Her full, thick hair was a wavy auburn, her smooth skin flawless. Almond eyes shone up at him. She was as beautiful as the palace that stood behind her, the valley around her. She was so attractive, it almost took his breath away, and
would have, were it not for the rage he was feeling.

  “My hero,” she said in a voice that was no longer his mother’s, but silky, clear, easy. A sly smile came to her full lips. “Totally unnecessary, but it’s the thought that counts. I am impressed.”

  “And who is this supposed to be? Another vision from my mind? Or is this the real Shota?” Richard was enraged. He recognized all too well the anger from the sword, but decided to keep the weapon out.

  Her smile widened. “Are those clothes really you?” she teased. “Or are they something you wear for a time, to serve a purpose?’

  “What’s the purpose of who you are now?”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “Why, to please you, Richard. That’s all.”

  “With some illusion!”

  “No.” Her voice softened. “This is no illusion, it’s the way I appear to myself, most of the time anyway. This is real.”

  Richard ignored her answer, pointing up the road with the sword. “What have you done to Zedd?”

  She shrugged, looking away with a demure smile. “Merely prevented him from harming me. He is all right. For the moment anyway.” Almond eyes sparkled up from under her eyebrows. “I will kill him later, after you and I have talked.”

  His grip on the sword tightened. “And Kahlan?”

  Shota redirected her gaze to Kahlan, who stood still, pale, her mouth trembling, her eyes locked on Shota’s every move. Richard knew Kahlan feared this woman more than she feared the snakes. Shota frowned—then it melted back into her coy smile as she returned her gaze to him.

  “She is a very dangerous woman.” Her eyes flashed with knowing that went well beyond the years she appeared to be.

  “More dangerous than even she knows. I have to protect myself from her.” She shrugged again, deftly catching the corner of a floating wisp of her dress. When she did, the rest of the dress settled down, as if the breeze had died. “So I did that to keep her still. If she moves, they will bite her. If she doesn’t, they won’t,” Shota thought a moment. “I will kill her later, too.” Her voice seemed too gentle, too pleasant for the words she spoke.