Stone of Tears

by Terry Goodkind

  Richard hung the Stone of Tears back around his own neck. Darken Rahl came to his feet in alarm.

  "Richard... you don't know what you are saying. Punish me. Hang the stone around my neck. Have your vengeance!"

  Richard turned partway toward the center of the garden of life and held out his hand. The round skrin bone, in the pool of blue fire, hurtled to his palm. His magic protected him.

  He held the skrin up high. In the grip of rage, in the grip of calm, he called the power onward. It erupted from his fist.

  Lightning, yellow and hot, shot forth into Darken Rahl.

  Lightning, black and cold, shot forth into Darken Rahl.

  They twisted together in the unleashed wrath of the skrin.

  A ripple of total darkness swept across the room, and when it lifted, the lightning, and Darken Rahl, were gone. The skrin bone felt cool in his fist.

  The green light from the box glowed brighter, making the room hum. Richard pulled the Stone of Tears from his neck. The leather thong fell away as the stone turned to black in his palm.

  Richard thrust out his hand. The Stone of tears flew to the green light, floating in it a moment, rotating in the beam. The green light faded as the Stone of Tears sank toward the box, becoming transparent, until it passed from existence. The beacon of green light vanished, plunging the garden of life into silence.

  Richard held the skrin bone out in his fist, and once again, the twin lightning erupted, thundering across the distance. Flashes of white-hot light, and ice cold blackness washed over him. When it ended, and silence rang in his ears once more, the three boxes sat on the altar.

  Each was closed.

  Richard knew they could not be opened again without the book, and the book existed only in his head. The boxes of Orden, and the gateway they represented, would remain closed for all time.

  Richard heard a metallic snap. He felt something brush at his neck, felt something fall at his feet.

  He looked down to see the collar, the Rada'Han, on the ground. It was off his neck. He was free of it.

  The pain, too, was gone. He felt his chest. The scar was gone.

  In the silence, Richard stood dazed. He wasn't sure what had just happened. He didn't know how he had done it.

  It was over.

  For him, everything was over.

  Kahlan was going to die this day.

  And then he was running. The day wasn't over yet.

  As he emerged from the doors to the garden of life, the five Mord-Sith surrounded him. He ignored them as he ran. In the corridor beyond, a sweaty, dirty, General Trimack waited with hundreds of men just as grimy looking. Many were bloody.

  With a cacophony of clanging armor and weapons, the men as far as he could see down the smoky corridor fell to their knees, fists clapped to hearts. General Trimack returned to his feet. As he took three long strides toward Richard, Cara moved protectively in front of him.

  "Get out of my way, woman!"

  Cara didn't budge "No one touches Lord Rahl."

  "I'm his protection just as much as..."

  "Stop it, both of you."

  Cara relaxed and stepped to the side. General Trimack gripped Richard by the shoulders. "Lord Rahl, you've done it. It took a long time, but you did it."

  "Done what? What do you mean it took a long time?"

  His eyebrows lifted. "You've been in there most of the day."

  Richard's breath faltered. "What?"

  "We fought them fiercely for hours, but we were being pushed back. We were outnumbered ten or fifteen to one. Then you sent the lightning. I've never seen anything like it.

  "Wizard Zorander told me that the Palace is a huge power spell drawn on the ground of the plateau, drawn to protect and give power to the Lord Rahl. I never would have believed it until I saw it myself. The whole of the Palace was alive with lightning. It flickered through every wall in the place.

  "Every one of the those bastard generals who was loyal to Darken Rahl was cut down by the lightning. Their troops who fought on were ripped apart by it, too. Those who laid down their weapons and joined us were unharmed."

  Richard didn't know what to say. "I'm glad, General, but I can't take credit. I was in there the whole time. I'm not even sure what I did in there, much less what happened out here."

  "We are the steel against steel. You did your part. You were the Lord Rahl, the magic against magic. We are all proud of you." General Trimack gave Richard a clap on the shoulder. "Whatever you did, you must have chosen right."

  Richard put his fingers to his forehead, trying to think. "What time is it?"

  "Like I said, you were in there most of the day, while we fought out here. It's near to late afternoon."

  Richard clutched at his chest. "I have to go."

  He started running. Everyone charged off after him. Before long, he was confused by the huge, converging halls. He slid to a stop on the slick marble floor and turned to Cara at his hip.

  "Which way!"

  "To where, Lord Rahl?"

  "Where I came in! The fastest way!"

  "Follow us, Lord Rahl."

  Richard ran behind the five Mord-Sith. Behind him came what seemed to be the entire army of the Palace. The racket of all the armor and boots echoed off the walls and ceilings high overhead. Columns, arches, staircases, devotion squares, and intersections of halls flew past. They raced down halls and down stairs.

  Richard was winded when nearly an hour later he went through the doors between the giant columns and out into the cold air. Soldiers poured out behind. He ran down the steps four at a time.

  Scarlet lay on her side in the snow, the glossy red scales rising and falling with her labored breathing.

  "Scarlet! You're still alive!" Richard rubbed her snout. "I was so worried."

  "Richard. I see you have managed to survive. It must not have been as difficult as you thought." She struggled to give a dragon's grin. It faded. "I'm sorry, my friend, but I cannot fly. My wing is injured. I tried, but until it is healed, I'm afraid I'm stuck on the ground."

  Richard shed a tear on her snout. "I understand, my friend. You got me here. You saved the world of life. You are a heroine more noble than any in history. Will you be all right? Will you be able to fly again?"

  She gave a rumbling half laugh. "I will fly again. But not for a month or so. I will recover. It is not so bad as it seems."

  Richard turned to the officers behind. "Scarlet is my friend. She has saved us all. I want you to bring her food. Whatever she needs, until she is recovered. Protect her as you would me."

  Fists went to hearts.

  Richard grabbed the General's arm. "I need a horse, a strong horse. Right now. And I need to know how to get to Aydindril."

  The General turned. "Get a strong horse, now! You, go get maps to Aydindril for Lord Rahl!"

  Men started running. Richard turned back to the dragon.

  "I'm so sorry you're suffering, Scarlet."

  Scarlet gave a rumbling chuckle. "The injury is not so painful. Look over there, around the side."

  Her head, at the end of her long neck, followed him around. Richard was astonished to see an egg nestled in a crook of her tail.

  A big, yellow eye peered at him. "I just gave birth. That is most of my weakness. Just as well I'm to be aground."

  She played fire over the egg. Tenderly, she stroked her talons over it. As Richard watched, he thought about the beauty of life, and how happy he was that others could continue to have it.

  But the vision of the falling axe kept playing over and over in his head. He couldn't stop the horror of it. His hands shook. It could be happening at that very moment. His breathing came in ragged pulls.

  At last a man came running with a map. He held it out and pointed. "Here, Lord Rahl, is Aydindril. This is the fastest route. But it will still take you several weeks."

  Richard stuffed the map in his shirt as another soldier galloped up on the horse. Richard retrieved his pack and bow from the snow where they had fallen whe
n Scarlet had come to ground.

  General Trimack held the reins to the muscular horse while Richard quickly lashed his things to the saddle. "There is food in the saddle bags. When will you return, Lord Rahl?"

  Richard's mind was in a fog, racing in a thousand directions at once. All he could see was the axe falling.

  He leapt up into the saddle. "I don't know. When I can. Carry on until then. And continue to guard the Garden of life. Don't let anyone go in there."

  "Safe return, Lord Rahl. Our hearts are with you."

  Fists went to chests as he urged the powerful horse into a gallop and charged at full speed through the huge gates that stood open for him.

  69

  Richard cursed under his breath when the horse dropped dead under him. He picked himself up, when he had stopped rolling through the snow, and started pulling his things off the lifeless, lathered beast. He felt a ache of sorrow for the horse, it had given him everything it had.

  He had lost count of how many horses had died under him. Some simply stumbled to a stop and refused to move anymore. Some dropped to a walk and would run no more. Some gave everything until their hearts quit.

  Richard had known he was being too hard on them, and had tried to pace them, but he simply could not bring himself to go slow enough. When a horse died, or quit running, he managed to find another. Some owners were reluctant to sell, thinking they would haggle with him. Richard threw a fistful of gold at them, and took the horse.

  He was near dead with exhaustion himself. He had slept and eaten little. Sometimes he had walked while his mount recovered. When he had had to find a new horse, he had run.

  Richard hoisted the pack onto his back and started trotting off. It had been two weeks since he had left D'Hara. He knew he had to be close to Aydindril.

  The fact that it was two weeks past winter solstice somehow didn't seem as important as his rush to reach Kahlan. It somehow seemed to him that if he could hurry fast enough, it would save her, that if he put in his best effort, it would somehow make time wait for him. He could not accept that he was too late.

  He came to a panting halt at the top of a rise in the road. Ahead, in the sparkling sunlight, lay Aydindril. On the wall of mountains to the far side of the city he could see the gray walls of the Wizard's Keep. Richard ran on through the snow.

  The streets were crowded with people, people hurrying through the cold afternoon air, and people standing about, stomping their feet to keep warm as they hawked their wares. Richard rushed past them all. When he realized people were staring at him because of the Sword of Truth, he pulled the mriswith cape over it.

  A hawker ahead stood by the side of the road with a short pole resting on the ground. It had a crossbar with wispy strips hanging from it. When Richard realized what the man was calling out, he came out of his mental fog with a jolt.

  "Confessor's hair!" the man bellowed. "Get a lock of the Mother Confessor's hair! Right off her vile head! Don't have many left! Show your children the hair of the last Confessor!"

  Richard's eyes locked on the long hair. It was Kahlan's. He swept the lot of it off the pole and stuffed it in his shirt. When the man thought to fight for it, Richard slammed him up against the wall. He gripped the man's shirt in his fists, and lifted him clear of the ground.

  "Where did you get this!"

  "The... the Council. Bought it from them to sell. Bought it fair after they cut it from her. It belongs to me." He shouted for help. "Thief! Thief!"

  When an angry crowd pressed in to defend the man, the sword came out. People scattered. The hawker ran for his life.

  Richard's fury was building despite putting the sword away as he headed for the Confessor's Palace. He saw it rising up on the vast grounds ahead. He remembered Kahlan telling him how magnificent it was. He knew it almost as if he had seen it before.

  He remembered, too, Kahlan telling him about a woman there, a cook. No, the head cook. What was her name? Sand something. Sanderholt, that was it. Mistress Sanderholt.

  The aroma of cooking lead him to the kitchen entrance. He charged through the door. A roomful of working people shrank back at the sight of him. It was obvious that no one wanted any part of whatever he was about.

  "Sanderholt!" he called out. "Mistress Sanderholt! Where is she!"

  People nervously pointed to a hallway. Before he had gone more than a dozen strides down the hall, a thin woman came rushing from the other direction.

  "What's the trouble! Who's calling me?"

  "I am," Richard said.

  Her frown withered to a look of consternation. "What is it I can do for you, young man," she said in an uneasy voice.

  Richard worked at keeping threat out of his tone. He didn't think he was very successful. "Kahlan. Where can I find her."

  Her face turned nearly as white as her apron. "You would be Richard. She told me of you. You look like she said."

  "Yes! Where is she!"

  Mistress Sanderholt swallowed. "I'm sorry, Richard," she whispered. "The Council sentenced her to death. The sentence was carried out at the winter solstice festival."

  Richard stood staring down at the thin woman. He was having difficulty deciding if they were talking about the same person.

  "I think you misunderstood," he managed. "I mean the Mother Confessor. Mother Confessor Kahlan Amnell. You must be talking about someone else. My Kahlan can't be dead. I came as fast as I could. I swear I did."

  Her eyes were filling with tears. She tried to blink them away as she stared up at him. Slowly, she shook her head.

  She put a bandaged hand to his side. "Come, Richard. You look as if you could use a meal. Let me get you bowl of soup."

  Richard dropped his pack, bow, and quiver to the floor.

  "The Central Council sentenced her to death?"

  She gave a weak nod. "She escaped, but was caught. The Central Council reiterated the sentence before the people at the behead... at the execution. And then the members of the Council all stood smiling while the people cheered them."

  "Maybe she escaped again. She's a resourceful woman..."

  "I was there," she said in a broken voice, tears running down her face. "Please don't make me tell you what I saw. I've known Kahlan since she was born. I loved her."

  Maybe there was a way to go back somehow, and get here in time. There had to be a way. He felt hot and dizzy.

  No. He was too late. Kahlan was dead. He had had to let her die to stop the Keeper. The prophecy had beaten him.

  Richard gritted his teeth. "Where is the Council."

  At last she managed to take her eyes from him. She pointed a bandaged hand down the hall and gave him directions.

  She turned back. "Please, Richard, I loved her, too. Nothing can be done now. You can accomplish nothing."

  But he was already moving, the mriswith cape flying behind as he swept down the hall. He saw only enough of what was around him as he moved swiftly along to follow the directions she had given him. He moved toward the Council chambers like his arrows flew to the target when he called it.

  Guards were everywhere, but he paid them no heed. He had no idea if they did him, nor did he care. He flew single-mindedly toward his target. He heard the movement of men at arms around him, in the side halls. He barely noted them on the balconies.

  At the end of a column lined hall stood the doors to the Council room. As he marched down the hall, men moved in front of the doors. He only dimly noticed them. He saw only the doors.

  His sword still hadn't left its scabbard at his hip, but the magic was coursing through him at full fury. The soldiers closed rank before the doors. He didn't slow, the black cape billowing open, his brow set in a glare, as he charged ahead.

  They made their move to stop him. Richard marched on. He wanted them out of his way. The power came by instinct, without conscious effort. He felt the concussion. In his peripheral vision he saw blood hit the white marble.

  Without missing a stride, he emerged from the ball of flame in a gapping hole tw
ice the size the doorway had been. Huge chunks of stone hurtled through the air, trailing smoke. Debris rained down about him. One of the doors spiraled through the air in an arc, the other spun like a top as it skittered across the floor of the Council chamber along with ragged pieces of armor and shattered weapons.

  At the far end of the room, men behind a curved desk rose angrily to their feet. As he advanced relentlessly onward, Richard drew the sword. The unique sound of steel rang in the huge room.

  "I am Supreme Councilor Thurstan!" the one in the center, at the tallest chair, said. "I demand to know the meaning of this intrusion!"

  Richard was still coming. "Be there one of you who did not vote to sentence the Mother Confessor to death!"

  "She was sentenced to death for treason! Legally, and unanimously, sentenced by this Council! Guards! Remove this man!"

  Men came running across the vast floor, but Richard had already closed on the dais. The Councilors drew knives.

  Richard leapt to the top of the desk with a scream of rage. The blade cleaved Thurstan in two, from ear to crotch. A swing to each side took off heads. Several of the men tried to stab him. They weren't close to fast enough. The sword found every robed figure, including the ones who tried to run. It was over in seconds, before the guards had made half the distance.

  Richard leapt back atop the desk. He stood in the grip of unbridled wrath, holding the sword in both hands. He waited for them to come. He wanted them to come.

  "I am the Seeker! These men have murdered the Mother Confessor! They have paid the price of murder! Decide if you wish to be on the side of dead cutthroats, or on the side of right!"

  The ring of men slowed their advance, looking tentatively to one another. Finally they stopped. Richard stood panting.

  One man looked back at the hole in the wall where the doors had been, and then glanced over the debris scattered across the floor. "You are a wizard?"

  Richard met the man's eyes. "Yes. I guess I am."

  The man sheathed his sword. "This is wizard's business. It's not our place to challenge wizards. I'll not die for something that's not my place."

  Another sheathed his weapon. Soon, the room rang with the clatter of steel being returned to hangers and scabbards. They began leaving, the room echoing with the sound of their boots. In a matter of moments, the vast Council chamber was empty but for Richard.