[Sword of Truth 9] - Chainfire

by Terry Goodkind

  Richard spotted his sword and worked it out from under broken boards. He propped it up against the windowsill where it would be handy if he needed it, although he wasn't sure what his sword could have done against whatever it was that had come through the wall only to dissolve into the night.

  Men coughed from the thick dust still swirling through the air. Richard saw in the lanternlight that they were all covered with the white dust, making them look like a gathering of ghosts. He saw that he, too, was covered in the white plaster. The only difference was that he was also bleeding from dozens of small cuts. The blood looked all the more stark against the white powder. He briefly brushed some of the plaster dust from his hair, face, and arms.

  Worried about others who might have been buried or hurt, Richard took one of the lanterns from a man standing nearby and then scrambled to the top of the rubble. He held up the light, peering into the darkness beyond the hole. The sight was astounding, although not unexpected because he had heard and felt, each one of those walls being violently breached.

  Each wall, in a straight line all the way back through the building, had a hole smashed through it. All the holes were similar to the one in the wall lo his room. At the end, Richard could see stars through the round opening in the far, outside wall.

  He stepped carefully over long, jagged fragments of wood. Some of the pile caved in under his weight and it was a struggle to get his foot back out. Other than sporadic coughing, the men were mostly silent as they looked around in awe at the damage wrought by something unknown, something powerful that had vanished into the night.

  Through the swirling dust, Richard saw, then, Cara standing in the middle of her room looking off in the same direction as he, off toward the hole to the outside. Her back was to him, her feet spread in a defensive stance. Her Agiel was gripped tightly in her right fist.

  Nicci, a flame dancing above her upturned palm, rushed into Richard's loom through the broken doorway.

  "Richard! Are you all right?"

  From atop the wreckage, Richard rubbed his left shoulder as he moved his arm. "I guess so."

  Nicci murmured angrily under her breath as she stepped carefully over debris.

  "Any idea what's going on?" one of the men asked.

  "I'm not sure," Richard said. "Was anyone hurt?"

  The men all peered around at each other. A few offered that they didn't think so, that everyone they knew was accounted for and safe. Another man said that the other rooms on the top floor had been unoccupied.

  "Cara?" Richard called as he leaned into the dark hole. "Cara, are you all right?"

  Cara didn't answer, nor did she move. She stood fixed in the same stance.

  His anxiety growing, Richard scrambled the rest of the way over the angled boards and crumbled plaster. Using one hand against the ceiling to help him balance atop the unstable debris, he stepped through the hole into Cara's room. The destruction was much the same as it had been in his room. Two walls, rather than just one, were holed, but the impact had thrown the material from the second wall into Richard's room. The glass in her window, too, was blown out, but the door still hung, if crookedly, in place.

  Cara stood directly in the centerline between the two holes, but she was backed closer to the void in the wall into Richard's room. Wreckage lay all around her. Her leather outfit appeared to have kept her from being shredded by the flying debris.

  "Cara?" Richard called again as he made his way down the shifting pile of rubble.

  Cara stood unmoving in the dark room, still staring off into the distance. Nicci scrambled over the broken boards and plaster and through the hole in the wall. She seized Richard's arm briefly for support as she caught up with him.

  "Cara?" Nicci said as she brought her hand holding the flame around in front of Cara's face.

  Richard held up the lantern. Cara's eyes were opened wide, staring, yet unseeing. Tears had left damp trails through the dust on her face. She still hadn't moved from her defensive stance, but now that he was close, Richard could see that her entire body trembled.

  He gripped her arm but, startled, drew back.

  She was as cold as ice.

  "Cara? Can you hear us?" Nicci touched Cara's shoulder and with the same surprise as Richard drew back.

  Cara didn't react. It was as if she really were frozen in place. Nicci held the flame up close to the Mord-Sith's face. Her skin looked almost pale blue, but with the way she was covered in a layer of white dust, he wasn't sure if that was really true or not.

  Richard slipped an arm around Cara's waist. It was like putting his arm around a block of ice. His instinct was to draw back, but he refused to allow himself to do so. He realized by how his shoulder hurt that he wasn't going to easily be able to lift her by himself.

  He looked back at the faces framed in the ragged round hole in the wall, "Could some of you help me with her?"

  Men scrambled over the wreckage, spilling into Cara's room, causing yet more dust to billow up. With others bringing light close, Nicci let the small flame extinguish as she stepped close to the Mord-Sith. The men gathered into a knot as they silently watched the sorceress.

  Frowning in concentration, she pressed the flats of her hands lo Cara's temples.

  With a cry Nicci staggered back. Richard reached out with his free hand and caught her elbow to prevent her from tumbling backwards over the tangled rubble.

  "Dear spirits," Nicci whispered, panting to catch her breath as if from unexpected pain.

  "What?" Richard asked. "What is it?"

  The sorceress placed her hands over her heart, still gulping air as she recovered from the unexpected. "She's barely alive."

  With his chin, Richard pointed to the door. "Let's get her out of here."

  Nicci nodded. "Downstairs—my room."

  Richard, without thinking, swept Cara up in his arms. Fortunately, the men were right there to help when they saw him wince in pain.

  "Dear Creator," one of the men exclaimed as he lifted her leg, "she's as cold as the Keeper's heart."

  "Come on," Richard said, "help me get her downstairs."

  Once they lifted her, Cara's limbs were easily moved, although they wouldn't go limp. The men helping Richard carry Cara shuffled through the rubble. One of the men kicked the broken door out of the way. They earned her down the narrow stairs feet first. Richard held her shoulders.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Nicci directed them into her room and to the bed. They gently laid Cara down as Nicci first yanked the covers out from under the stricken woman. Once Cara was settled into the bed, Nicci immediately covered her with the blankets.

  Cara's blue eyes were still opened wide, staring, it seemed, into some distant nothingness. Occasionally, a tear set out from the corner of her eye on a slow journey across her cheek. Her chin, her shoulders, her arms trembled.

  Richard pried Cara's fingers open, making her release the Agiel she still had in a death grip. Her eyes showed no reaction. He endured the excruciating pain of touching her Agiel until he got it out of her grip and was able to release it to hang by the chain around her wrist.

  "Why don't you all wait outside?" Nicci said in a quiet voice. "Give me some lime to see what I can do?"

  The men made their way out, saying that they were going back on patrol, or to stand guard, in case they were needed.

  "If that thing comes back," Richard told them, "don't try to stop it. Come get me."

  One of the men cocked his head in puzzlement. "What thing, Lord Rahl? What is it we're supposed to be looking for?" ■

  "I'm not sure. All I was able to see was a huge shadow as it came through the wall and then went out the window."

  The man looked upward. "If it broke that hole through the wall to get through, then how did it get out a small window?"

  "I don't know," Richard admitted. "I guess I didn't really get a good look at it."

  The man glanced up again, as if he could see the wreckage above, "We'll keep our eyes wide open. You can be sure of
that."

  It was then that Richard remembered that he'd left his sword up in his room. It made him uneasy to be without it. He wanted to go get it, but he didn't want to leave Cara's side.

  After the last man had left, Nicci sat on the side of the bed as she held a hand over Cara's forehead. Richard knelt close.

  "What do you think is wrong?" he asked.

  Nicci let the hand settle on Cara's forehead. "I have no idea."

  "But you can do something to make her better?"

  Nicci's answer was a long moment in coming. "I'm not sure. Whatever I can do, though, I will."

  Richard took hold of Cara's still trembling, frigid hand. "Do you think we should shut her eyes? She hasn't even blinked."

  Nicci nodded. "Probably not a bad idea. I think it's the dust making her tears run."

  One at a time, Nicci carefully shut Cara's eyes. It somehow made Richard feel better that Cara wasn't staring at nothing.

  Nicci returned her hand to Cara's forehead as she placed her other hand high on her chest. While Nicci held a wrist, an ankle, and slipped a hand under the back of Cara's neck, Richard went to the washbasin and returned with a wet cloth. He carefully washed Cara's face and brushed some of the dust and bits of plaster out of her hair. Through the wet cloth, he could feel the icy cold of her flesh.

  With as warm and humid as it was, Richard couldn't understand how she could be this cold. He remembered, then, how when the black thing had come crashing into his room the air had suddenly gone icy cold, he remembered the painfully cold touch as he brushed past it as he leaped out the window.

  "Don't you have any idea what's wrong with her?" Richard asked.

  Nicci absently shook her head as she concentrated on pressing the palms of both hands against Cara's temples.

  "Any idea what that thing was that came through the walls?"

  Nicci turned to look up at him. "What?"

  "I asked if you had any idea what could have done this? What crashed through the walls?"

  Nicci looked exasperated by the question. "Richard, go wait outside. Please."

  "But I want to be in here, with her."

  Nicci gently took his wrist and lifted his hand off of Cara's. "You are interfering. Please, Richard, let me do this alone? It's easier without you watching over my shoulder."

  Richard felt awkward being in the way. "If it will help Cara."

  "It will," she said as she turned back to the woman in her bed.

  He stood and watched briefly. Nicci was already absorbed in slipping a hand under Cara's back.

  "Go," the sorceress murmured.

  "The thing that came through our rooms was cold."

  Nicci looked back over her shoulder. "Cold?"

  Richard nodded. "It was so cold that I could see my breath. If felt painfully cold to be near it."

  Nicci considered his words briefly before turning back to Cara. "Thank you for the information. When I can, I will come out and let you know how she is doing. I promise."

  Richard felt helpless. He stood in the doorway for a moment watching the almost imperceptible movement of Cara's shallow breathing. The lamplight lit Nicci's fall of blond hair as she leaned over the Mord-Sith, working to find out what was wrong.

  Richard had the awful feeling that he knew what was wrong with Cara. He feared that she had been touched by death itself.

  CHAPTER 17

  After pulling his pack from the rubble, Richard briefly cleaned him self up and put on a shirt. He also put on his sword.

  He didn't know what had crashed into the building, but it seemed pretty likely that it had been coming for him. He had no idea if his sword would help him fight such a thing, but it did make him feel a little better having it at hand.

  Outside the night air was still and warm. One of the men saw him emerge from the door and stepped closer.

  "How is Mistress Cara?"

  "We don't know, yet. She's alive—that's encouraging, at least."

  The man nodded.

  Richard recognized the man's hat. "You were the one who saw me hanging from the window?"

  "That's right."

  "Did you get a look at the thing that attacked us?"

  "I'm afraid not. I heard all the commotion, looked up, and there you were hanging by one arm. I thought you might fall. That's all I saw."

  "No dark thing coming out of the window?"

  The man clasped his hands behind his back as he thought about it a moment. "No… except maybe I might have just caught the shadow of something. At the most, that's all I might have seen, a glimpse of a shadow. I was more concerned with getting up there before you fell."

  After thanking the man, Richard walked for a time without really thinking about where he was going. He felt as if he were in a daze, his thoughts as heavy and dark as the muggy night. Everything he knew and cared about seemed to be disintegrating. He felt helpless.

  The murky humidity obscured the stars and the moon hadn't come up yet, but the lights burning in the city all around reflecting off the haze provided enough light for him to make his way to the edge of the hill. He fell useless, not being able to help Cara. She had so many times been there to help him. This time she had faced something that was more than she could handle.

  At the brink of the drop, Richard stood for a time gazing off at the statue of Spirit in the distance. Victor had made the ring of iron stanchions that held the torches. Kahlan, fascinated by the process, had stood for must of a day in the blacksmith's sweltering shop watching him shape the white hot iron. Victor had not frowned once that day, but had smiled at her genuine interest as he showed her how he worked the metal to achieve what he wanted.

  Richard also remembered Kahlan's awe at seeing that carving of hers being reproduced in towering white marble. He remembered when that small statue in buttery smooth, rich, aromatic walnut was finally returned to her and she had clutched it to her breast. He had watched the way her lingers had glided lovingly over the flowing robes. Richard remembered, too, the way her green eyes had then looked up into his eyes.

  Having no one believe him about Kahlan made him feel completely alone and isolated. He'd never been in a situation like this before, where people—people who sincerely cared about him—thought that he was only imagining the things he told them. It was a frightening, helpless feeling to have people think he was out of touch with reality.

  But even that was not nearly as frightening as his worry about what might have become of Kahlan.

  He didn't know what to do to find her. All he knew for sure was that he had to get help. He didn't know if that help would be forthcoming, but he fully intended to do whatever was necessary to make sure he got it.

  After a time, he made his way back to the inn. Jamila was at the bottom of the stairs sweeping up dust and bits of plaster.

  She eyed him as he walked in. "You must pay for this."

  "What do you mean?"

  With the handle of her broom, she pointed up the stairs. "The damage. I have seen the place up there. You must pay for fixing it."

  Richard was taken aback. "But I didn't do it."

  "It is your fault."

  "My fault? I was in my room. I didn't cause the damage and I don't know what did."

  "You and the woman were the only two in rooms up there. The rooms were line when you look them. Now they are a mess. It will cost a lot to fix them. I didn't cause the damage—why should I have to pay? The damage is your fault so you must pay—including for the loss of rent while they an being repaired."

  She had demanded he pay for fixing the rooms without first asking how Cara was, or even expressing concern for her.

  "I will give Ishaq my permission to deduct the cost from what he owe me." Richard glared at the woman. "Now, if you will excuse me."

  With the back of his hand he pushed her aside as he stepped past her into the dark hall. She huffed at him before turning back to her sweeping Not knowing where else to go, he paced slowly up and down the hall Jamila finally finished collecting the
debris from the first floor and trim died off to other business as he continued to pace. He finally sat with his back against the wall opposite the door to Nicci's room. He didn't know what else to do, where else to go. He wanted to see Cara.

  Richard drew his knees up and locked his fingers over them. He rested his chin on the back of his hands as he thought about what Jamila had said.

  In a way, she was right. The thing had been coming for him. Had he not been there it wouldn't have happened. If anyone else had been hurt or killed he would really be to blame for bringing danger near them. If not for him, Cara wouldn't be hurt.

  He cautioned himself to put the blame on the guilty. That was Jagang and those working toward his goals. It was Jagang who had ordered the creation of the beast that was coming after Richard. Cara had simply been in the way. Cara had been trying to protect him from what Jagang and the Sisters of the Dark had created.

  As Richard thought about Victor's men who had been killed a few days back, probably by that same beast, he couldn't help but to feel the awful weight of guilt.

  And yet, the thing that had come into the inn had not harmed him. Richard had no doubt that it would have, but then it had simply vanished before its sinister work was finished. He couldn't imagine why it would do such a thing. Or why it had come through the walls the way it had. After all, if it went out the window, why didn't it just break in through the window in the first place? Whatever it was had demonstrated awareness by heading right for his room. Had it come in the window it would likely have had him before he knew what was happening. The thing that had killed Victor's men had behaved differently. Cara had not been ripped to shreds in the way they had, although it was clear that she had been seriously hurt.

  He began to question that it really had been the same creature that had killed Victor's men. What if Jagang had created more than one beast, more then one weapon to come after him? What if the Sisters of the Dark had spawned an army of creatures to hunt him? All the questions seemed to swirl around in his mind, unable to form into answers.