Wizard's First Rule tsot-1

by Terry Goodkind

  Zedd stepped around Kahlan, turned to her, bowed deeply, as if to excuse himself for stepping in front of her, then turned to the captain.

  “What’s the matter with you? Are you blind, man? Open the gates!”

  The captain’s dark eyes shifted between Kahlan and Zedd. “I’m sorry, but no one is to enter. And your name is . . .”

  Zedd’s face turned bright red—Richard had to work at keeping his own face straight. The wizard’s voice was a low hiss. “Are you telling me, Captain, that you were told ‘If the Mother Confessor comes by, don’t let her in’?”

  The captain’s eyes looked less sure. “Well . . . I was ordered . . . I’m not . . .”

  “Open the gates right now!” Zedd bellowed, fists at his side. “And get a proper escort here this instant!”

  The captain almost jumped out of his armor. He yelled orders and men started running at his direction. The gates swung inward. Horses thundered up from behind and came around the little company, forming a rank in front of Kahlan with their banners at the lead. More horsemen formed up behind. Foot soldiers came at a run, falling in beside her, but not too close.

  Richard was seeing her world for the first time, the loneliness of it. What had his heart gotten him into? With cold pain, he understood her need for a friend.

  “You call this a proper escort?” Zedd roared. “Well, it will have to do.” He turned to Kahlan and bowed deeply. “My apologies, Mother Confessor, for this man’s insolence, and his feeble effort at an escort.”

  Her eyes went to Zedd and she gave a slight bow of the head.

  Though he knew he had no right, the shape of her in that dress was making Richard sweat.

  As best they could, the men in the ranks kept a wary eye to Kahlan, waiting, and when she started forward they stepped in with her. Dust rose around the horses as they started through the gates.

  Zedd fell in next to Richard as the procession started moving, leaning toward the captain as he passed. “Count your blessings the Mother Confessor doesn’t know your name, Captain!” he snapped.

  Richard saw the captain sag with relief when they moved well past him. Richard smiled to himself. He had wanted to give them a worry, but he had no idea it would be so effective a worry.

  There was as much order to the city inside the walls as there was disorder outside its gates. Shops with their wares displayed in windows lined the paved streets radiating out from the fortress castle. The streets lacked the dust and smells of those outside. There were inns that looked to be finer than any Richard had ever seen before, much less stayed in. Some had doormen standing at attention in red uniforms and white gloves. Elaborately carved signs hung above the doors: The Silver Garden Inn, The Collins Inn, The White Stallion, and The Carriage House.

  Men in fine, richly colored coats, escorting ladies in elaborate dresses, went about their business with calm grace. One thing that wasn’t different about the people inside the walls was that they, too, bowed deeply when they saw the Mother Confessor approaching. As the sound of the horses’ hooves on the stone, and armor clanking, drew their attention, and they saw Kahlan, they backed away and bowed, although not as quickly. There was no snap in their deference, no sincerity in their submission. There was a wisp of contempt in their eyes. Kahlan ignored them. The people inside the walls also noticed the sword more than those outside had noticed it. Richard saw the men’s eyes glide over it as he passed, saw the women’s cheeks color with disdain.

  Women’s hair was still short, but occasionally there was some that touched the shoulders. None longer. That, too, made Kahlan stand out all the more, the way her hair cascaded off her shoulders and partway down her back. There was no woman with hair that even approached it. Richard was glad he hadn’t cut it for her.

  One of the horsemen was given orders, and he broke rank in a dead run toward the castle to announce the arrival of the Mother Confessor. As she proceeded, Kahlan wore the calm expression that showed nothing, an expression he was used to seeing on her. He now realized what it was. It was the expression worn by a Confessor.

  Before they reached the castle gates, trumpets announced the arrival of the Mother Confessor. The tops of the walls were alive with soldiers: lancers, bowmen, and swordsmen. All stood in ranks, bowed as one when Kahlan was close enough, and stayed bowed until she passed through the iron gates that stood open for her. Inside the gates, soldiers standing at attention lined each side of the road, and bowed in unison as she passed.

  Some of the terraces held stone urns that marched off to either side, some of them still holding greenery, or flowers that must have been brought out daily from greenhouses. Broad flat areas displayed hedges trimmed in intricate patterns, even mazes. Closer to the castle walls, hedges were larger, cut to mimic objects, or animals. They extended off to the sides as far as the eye could see.

  The walls of the castle soared into the air above them. The complicated stonework left Richard awestruck. He had never been this close to anything man-made that was this huge. Shota’s palace was big, but not this big, and he had never gotten close to it. Towers and turrets, walls and ramps, balconies and niches, all rose high into the air above them. He marveled at what Kahlan had told him, that this was an insignificant kingdom, and wondered at what the castles in the more important lands must be like.

  The horsemen had left them at the rampart, and as they were swallowed into the castle the foot soldiers, six abreast with room for another six to each side, marched through the enormous pair of brass-clad doors and fanned out to the sides, leaving the three to walk on—Kahlan in the lead.

  The room was immense. A gleaming sea of black and white marble tiles swept away ahead of them. Polished stone columns, so large it would take ten people holding hands to reach around each, and fluted with spiraling, carved roping, rose in a line to both sides of the room, supporting row upon row of arches at the edge of the ribbed, vaulted center ceiling. Richard felt as little as a bug.

  Huge tapestries depicting heroic scenes of vast battles hung on the side walls. He had seen tapestries before—his brother had two. Richard rather favored them, and had always thought they were a grand extravagance. But Michael’s tapestries were to these as a stick drawing in the dirt was to a fine oil painting. Richard hadn’t even known such majestic things as these existed.

  Zedd leaned a little closer to him and whispered. “Put your eyes back in your head, and shut your mouth.”

  Chagrined, Richard snapped his mouth closed and put his eyes to the front. He leaned close to Zedd, and asked in a low whisper, “Is this the kind of place she is used to?”

  “No. The Mother Confessor is used to much better than this.”

  Overwhelmed, Richard straightened himself.

  Ahead lay a grand stairway. By Richard’s estimation, his entire house would fit, with room to spare, on its central landing. Carved marble railings swooped down each side. Between themselves and the stairs waited a knot of people.

  At their front stood Queen Milena, an amply fed woman in layered silks of garish colors. She wore a cape trimmed in rare spotted fox. Her hair was as long as Kahlan’s. At first, Richard couldn’t figure out what she was holding, but when he heard the yapping, he realized it was a small dog.

  As they approached, everyone but the Queen dropped to a knee in a deep bow. When they stopped, Richard stared openly—he had never seen a queen before. Zedd gave him a sideways kick. He dropped to one knee and, following Zedd’s example, bowed his head. The only two who did not kneel or bow were Kahlan and the Queen. No sooner was he down than everyone was back up, with him coming to his feet last. Richard guessed that the two women must not have to bow to each other.

  The Queen stared at Kahlan, who, with her head held high, didn’t break her calm countenance and didn’t even look at the Queen. No one spoke a word.

  Kahlan lifted her hand a little, only about a foot away from her body, with her arm held unbending, her hand held limply in place. The Queen’s expression turned darker. Kahlan’s didn’t
change. Richard figured that if anyone had blinked, he would have heard it. The Queen turned slightly to the side and handed the little dog to a man in a bright green, sleeved doublet and black tights with red-and-yellow striped pantaloons. There was a whole gaggle of men behind the Queen dressed in similar fashion. The dog growled viciously and bit the man’s hand—he did his best not to notice.

  The Queen lowered herself to both knees in front of Kahlan. A young man in plain black clothes immediately came to the Queen’s side, holding a tray out in front of himself. He bowed, head bent impossibly low, holding the tray out to the Queen. She took a small towel from the tray, dipped it in a silver bowl of water, and used it to wipe her lips. She returned the towel to the tray . . .

  The Queen took the Mother Confessor’s hand lightly in her own, and kissed it with her freshly cleaned lips.

  “Fidelity sworn to the Confessors, on my crown, on my land, on my life.”

  Richard had heard few people lie as smoothly.

  Kahlan at last moved her eyes. She looked down at the Queen’s bowed head. “Rise, my child.”

  More than a queen, indeed, Richard thought. He remembered teaching Kahlan to make a snare, to read tracks, to dig roots, and felt himself turning crimson.

  Queen Milena laboriously pushed herself to her feet. Her lips smiled. Her eyes didn’t. “We have not requested a Confessor.”

  “Nonetheless, I am here.” Kahlan’s voice could have frozen water.

  “Yes, well, this is . . . grand. Simply . . . grand.” Her face brightened. “We will have a banquet. Yes, a banquet. I will send out runners with invitations immediately. Everyone will come. I’m sure they will be most pleased to dine with the Mother Confessor. This is quite an honor.” She turned, indicating the men in the red-and-yellow pantaloons. “These are my barristers.” The men all bowed deeply again at the introduction. “I don’t remember all their names.” She held her hand out to two men in gold robes. “And this is Silas Tannic, and Brandin Gadding, the chief advisors to the crown.” The two gave a nod. “And my minister of finance, Lord Rondel—my star guide, Lady Kyley.” Richard didn’t see a silver-robed wizard among the Queen’s entourage. The Queen waved her hand at a shabbily dressed man in the back. “And James, my court artist.”

  From the corner of his eye, Richard saw Zedd stiffen. James kept his lecherous eyes on Kahlan as he gave a shallow bow. He was missing his right hand at the wrist. The oily smile he gave her made Richard reach for his sword instinctively before he realized what he was doing. Without looking over, Zedd’s hand grabbed his wrist and took the hand away from the sword. Richard glanced around at the other people to see if anyone had noticed. No one had. They were all watching the Mother Confessor.

  Kahlan turned to the two of them. “Zeddicus Zorander, cloud reader, trusted advisor to the Mother Confessor.” Zedd bowed dramatically. “And Richard Cypher, the Seeker, protector to the Mother Confessor.” Richard imitated Zedd’s bow.

  The Queen looked at him, lifting an eyebrow with a sour look. “Pretty pathetic protection for a Mother Confessor.”

  Richard made no change in his expression. Kahlan remained unruffled. “It is the sword that cuts—the man is unimportant. His brain may be small, but his arms are not. He tends to use the sword too often, though.”

  The Queen didn’t seem to believe her. Behind the royal party, a small girl came gliding down the stairs. She wore a pink satin dress and jewelry that was too large for her. She strode up beside the Queen, flipping her long hair back over her shoulder. She did not bow.

  “My daughter, the Princess Violet. Violet, dear, this is the Mother Confessor.”

  Princess Violet scowled up at Kahlan. “Your hair is too long. Perhaps we should cut it for you.”

  Richard detected the slightest smile of satisfaction on the Queen’s face. He decided it was time to elevate her level of worry.

  The Sword of Truth came out, sending its distinctive ring around the huge room, the stone amplifying the sound. With the sword point an inch from Princess Violet’s nose, he let the anger of it rage through him, to make his words more dramatic.

  “Bow to the Mother Confessor,” he hissed, “or die.”

  Zedd acted bored. Kahlan waited calmly. No one else had eyes as wide as the Princess as she stared at the sword point. She dropped to her knees and bowed her head. Standing back up, her eyes went to him, as if asking if the bow was all right.

  “Be careful how you use that tongue,” Richard sneered. “The next time I will separate it from you.”

  She nodded and walked around her mother, standing on the far side of her. Richard sheathed his sword, turned, bowed deeply to Kahlan, who didn’t look at him, and returned to his station behind her.

  The demonstration had the desired effect on the Queen, her voice becoming a bright singsong. “Yes, well, as I was saying, it is grand having you here. We are all simply delighted. Let us show you to our finest room. You must be tired from your journey. Perhaps you would like to rest before dinner, and then after dinner we can all have a nice long . . .”

  “I am not here to eat.” Kahlan cut her off. “I am here to inspect your dungeon.”

  “Dungeon?” She made a face. “It’s filthy down there. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather . . .”

  Kahlan started walking. “I know the way.” Richard and Zedd fell in behind her. She stopped, and turned back to the Queen. “You will wait here”—her voice was like ice—“until I am finished.” As the Queen began bowing her assent, Kahlan strode off with a swish of her dress as she turned on her heels.

  If Richard hadn’t known her as well as he did, the entire encounter would have scared the breath out of him. In fact, he wasn’t sure it hadn’t.

  Kahlan led them downstairs and through rooms that became less and less grandiose the deeper they went into the castle. Richard was amazed at the size of the place.

  “I was hoping Giller would have been there,” Kahlan said. “Then we wouldn’t need to do this.”

  “Me too,” Zedd grumbled. “You just make a quick inspection, ask if anyone wants to give a confession, and when they say no, we go back up and ask to see Giller.” He gave her a smile. “You’ve handled it well so far, dear one.” She returned the smile to the two of them. “And Richard,” he cautioned, “you keep away from that artist, James.”

  “Why? He might draw a bad likeness of me?”

  “Wipe that grin off your face. You stay away from him because he might draw a spell around you.”

  “A spell? Why would you need an artist to put a spell on someone?”

  “Because there are many different languages in the Midlands, though the main one is the same as is spoken in Westland. To be spelled, you have to be able to understand it. If you can’t speak their language, you can’t put a spell on them. But everyone can understand a drawing. He can draw a spell on almost anyone, not Kahlan or me, but he can on you. Stay away from him.”

  Their footsteps echoed as the three quickly descended stone steps. The walls, far belowground, leaked water and were covered in places with slime.

  Kahlan indicated a heavy door to the side. “Through here.”

  Richard pulled it open by the iron ring, the strap hinges creaking. Torchlight lit the way down a narrow stone corridor with a ceiling he had to stoop to avoid hitting with his head. Straw covered the wet floor, and smelled of decay. Near the end she slowed to a walk and approached an iron door with a grille in it. Eyes peered out at them when she stopped.

  Zedd leaned around her. “The Mother Confessor here to see the prisoners,” he growled. “Open the door.”

  Richard could hear the echo of a key turning in the lock. A squat man in a filthy uniform pulled the door inward. An axe hung from his belt next to the keys. He bowed to Kahlan, but looked to be annoyed by it. Without a word, he led them through the little room just inside the door, where he had been sitting at a table, eating, and down another dark hall to another iron door. He pounded on it with his fist. The two guards inside bowed i
n surprise. The three guards took torches from iron stanchions and led them down a short hall and through a third iron door that they all had to duck through.

  Flickering torchlight pierced the darkness. Behind cross-hatched, flat iron bars to each side, men pushed themselves back into the corners, shielding their eyes with their hands from the sudden light. Kahlan spoke Zedd’s name quietly, indicating that she wanted something. He seemed to understand, and took a torch from one of the guards and held it up in front of Kahlan so all the men in the cells could see her.

  There were gasps from the darkness when they recognized who she was.

  Kahlan addressed one of the guards. “How many of these men are sentenced to die?”

  He stroked his round, unshaven jaw. “Why, all of them.”

  “All of them,” she repeated.

  He nodded. “Crimes against the Crown.”

  She pulled her gaze away from him after a moment, turning to the prisoners. “Have all you men committed capital offenses?”

  After a moment of silence, a hollow-faced man came and gripped the bars. He spat at her. Kahlan swept her hand back to stop Richard before he had a chance to move.

  “Come to do the Queen’s dirty work, Confessor? I spit on you and your filthy queen.”

  “I do not come here on behalf of the Queen. I come here on behalf of the truth.”

  “The truth! The truth is none of us has done a thing! Except maybe speaking up against the new laws. And since when is speaking up against your family starving, or freezing to death, a capital crime? The Queen’s tax collectors came and took most of my crops, they barely left enough to feed my family. When I sold the precious little I could spare, they said I was overcharging people. The prices of everything are going wild. I’m doing nothing more than trying to survive. Yet I am to be beheaded for price gouging. These men in here with me are all innocent farmers, or tradesmen, or merchants. We are all to die for trying to earn a living from our work.”