[Sword of Truth 9] - Chainfire Page 11

  Nicci nodded her appreciation of Cara's words.

  Richard let out the breath he had been holding. "What else can you tell me about this thing?"

  "Nothing of any consequence, I'm afraid. The Sister told me that the Sisters who were experimenting with creating weapons out of people had only created Nicholas to work out some of the preliminary details before moving on to their important work. Even so, some of them died in the task of conjuring the Slide—and, with as many as have already died, Jagang is getting to the point where he has few to spare. He has used those he still has, while he still has enough, to accomplish his goal. Apparently, creating the beast was vastly more complex and difficult than creating a Slide, but the results were said to have been worth it. I suspect that along the way he may have directed that shortcuts be taken, shortcuts that involve the underworld.

  "If we're going to fight this thing, we need to find out everything we can about this beast. And we need to find out before it catches us. With what happened to the men, I don't think we have much time."

  Richard knew that what she meant, but hadn't said, was that she wanted him to forget what she thought were his meaningless dreams about Kahlan and to put his full concentration and effort toward this dangerous creation of Jagang's.

  "I have to find Kahlan," he said in a quiet tone meant to convey his conviction and his resolve.

  "You can't do anything if you're dead," Nicci said.

  Richard lifted the baldric over his head. He leaned the polished scabbard holding the Sword of Truth against the rock.

  "Look, we're not even sure that whatever killed those men back there really is this beast you're talking about."

  "What do you mean?" Nicci asked.

  "Well, if it can find me when I use my gift, then why did it attack the men? Sure, it was the place where I'd used my ability, but the attack was three days after the fact. If it was supposed to know me after I used my power then why attack the men?"

  "Maybe it just thought you were among them," Cara offered.

  Nicci nodded. "Cara might be right."

  "Maybe," Richard said. "But if it recognized me by me using my gift and in addition you gave it a taste of my blood, then wouldn't it know that I wasn't among the men?"

  Nicci shrugged. "I don't know. It very well could be that by using your gift you only summoned it to the general area, but when you stopped using your ability then the beast was blind to you, so to speak. Maybe it was so angry that it just missed you it went into a frenzy of killing whoever was there. If that's true, then I would suspect that it needs you to again use your gift, now that it's close, to finally be able to catch you."

  "But she said that once I used my gift it would know me. That doesn't sound to me like I need to use it again for it to find me."

  "Maybe it does now know you," Nicci said. "But maybe it still needs to find you. Since it knows you, now, maybe all the beast needs is for you to again use your gift so that it can pounce."

  That had a frightening kind of logic to it. "I guess it's good that I don't depend on my gift."

  "You'd better make sure you let us protect you," Cara said. "I don't think you had better do anything that might even inadvertently cause you to use your magic."

  "I'm afraid that I agree with Cara," Nicci said. "I'm not sure about it having a taste of your blood, but the one thing we do know for sure is what the Sister told me—that if you use your gift it will find you. As long as the beast is hunting you, and until we can learn more about it and nullify the threat, you must not use your gift for any reason."

  Richard conceded with a nod. He didn't know if that was possible. While he didn't know how to call upon his gift, he wasn't sure that he knew how to prevent it coming forth, either. It was awakened by anger and answered a certain kind of need. He wasn't aware of the specific conditions that invoked his ability; it just happened. While their theory of not using his gift made sense, he wasn't sure he could actually control it enough to prevent it if conditions caused it to spring to life.

  Another frightening thought occurred to him. It was possible that the beast had found him, and knew precisely where he was, and it had only killed the men out of blood lust. For all he knew, the beast could be out in the woods watching, using the noise of the cicadas to cover its footsteps as it approached their shelter.

  In the dim light Nicci watched him. As he pondered the grim possibilities, she reached out again and felt his forehead.

  Drawing back, she said, "We'd better get some rest. You're shivering with the cold. I'm afraid that in your condition you may lapse into a fever. Lie down. We'll all have to keep each other warm. But first, you need to be dry or you'll never get warm."

  Cara leaned past Richard, toward Nicci. "How do you think you can get him dry without a fire?"

  Nicci gestured. "Both of you, lie back."

  Richard lay back; Cara hesitantly complied. Nicci leaned over them, placing a hand just above their heads. Richard felt the warm tingle of magic, but not an uncomfortable sensation like the last time. He could see the soft glow above Cara as well. It struck him how remarkable it was for Nicci to trust Cara enough to use magic on her. Using magic on a Mord-Sith gave them the opportunity to seize that magic in order to control the gifted person. Richard found it even more remarkable that Cara would trust Nicci enough to allow her to use magic on her. Mord-Sith did not like magic one bit.

  Nicci's hands moved slowly downward, just above their bodies. By the time she reached Richard's boots, he realized that he felt dry. He ran a hand over his shirt, then his pants, and found that both were dry.

  "How is that?" Nicci asked.

  Cara was scowling. "I'd rather be wet."

  Nicci arched an eyebrow. "I can arrange that, if you like."

  Cara put her hands under her arms to warm them and remained silent. Satisfied that Richard was pleased, Nicci did the same for herself, moving both hands down her dress as if slowly pressing away the water.

  When she finished, she was shivering and her teeth were chattering, but she and her black dress were dry.

  Concerned by the way she wavered that she might pass out, Richard sat up and gently gripped her arm. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm just exhausted," she admitted. "I've not had much sleep for days, on top of the effort of healing you and then the exertion of the traveling we did after the attack today. I'm afraid that it's all caught up with me. This bit of magic took what strength and warmth I had left. I just need to get some sleep, that's all. But even if you don't realize it, Richard, you need it even more. Lie back and sleep, now. Please. If we all lie close we can keep each other warm."

  Dry, but weary and still cold, Richard wriggled into his bedroll. She was right; he did need rest. He couldn't get help for Kahlan if he wasn't rested.

  Without hesitation, Cara pressed up close on his left to help get him warm. Nicci pushed in on his other side. The warmth was a relief. He hadn't realized how cold he was until the three of them crowded in tight together. He knew by how he felt that Nicci was right, that he wasn't fully well yet. At least he only needed rest and not magic.

  "Do you think this beast could have taken Kahlan in order to get to me? he asked into the dark and quiet shelter.

  Nicci was a moment in answering. "Such a creature needs no perverse method to get to you, Richard. From what the Sister said, and from what I fear I may have done, to say nothing of you having used your gift, the beast will be able to find you. From all those dead men back there, I fear it already has."

  Richard felt the weight of guilt crush down upon him. If not for him, those men would be alive.

  He had difficulty swallowing past the lump in his throat. He wished there were some way to undo what was done, some way to give them their lives and their futures back.

  "Lord Rahl?" Cara whispered. "I would like to make a confession, if you will swear never to repeat it."

  Richard had never heard her say such an odd thing. "All right. What is it that you wish to confess?"


  Her answer was a while in coming, and then it was so soft he would not have been able to hear it were she not so close. "I'm afraid."

  Almost against his better judgment, Richard lifted his arm around her shoulders and held her close. "Don't be. It's coming after me, not you."

  She lifted her head and scowled at him. "That is the reason I'm afraid. After seeing what it did to those men, I'm afraid that it's coming for you and there is nothing I can do to protect you."

  "Oh," Richard said. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm afraid of that, too."

  Cara laid her head back down on his shoulder, content to stay under the protective comfort of his arm. The surrounding strum of the cicadas somehow made him feel more vulnerable. The seventeen-year cycle of the insects was inescapable, inexorable, unstoppable.

  So was Jagang's beast. How could he hide from such a thing?

  "So," Nicci asked, apparently trying to lighten the somber mood in the shelter, "where did you meet this woman of your dreams?"

  Richard didn't know if she was trying to soften the question with a little humor, or if she was being sarcastic. If he didn't know better he would have thought it sounded like jealously.

  He stared up in the darkness as he thought back to that day. "I was out in the woods, looking for evidence of who had killed my father—the man I grew up thinking was my father, George Cypher, the man who'd raised me. That was when I spotted Kahlan moving along a trail around Trunt Lake.

  "Four men were following her. They were assassins sent by Darken Rahl to kill her. He had already killed all the other Confessors. She is the last."

  "So you rescued her?" Cara asked.

  "I helped her. Together we were able to kill the assassins.

  "She'd come to Westland looking for a long-lost wizard. It turned out that Zedd was the great wizard she had been sent to find—he still held the position of First Wizard, even though he had given up the Midlands and fled to Westland before I was born. The whole time I grew up I never knew that Zedd was a wizard, or my grandfather. I only knew him as my best friend in the world."

  He could sense Nicci looking at him, and feel her warm, soft breath against the side of his face. "Why did she want this great wizard?"

  "Darken Rahl had put the boxes of Orden in play. It was everyone's worst nightmare." Richard clearly recalled his dread at hearing that news. "He had to be stopped before he opened the correct box. Kahlan had been sent to ask this long-vanished First Wizard to appoint a Seeker. After that first day when I saw her by Trunt Lake, my life was never again the same."

  Into the silence, Cara asked, "So, was it love at first sight?"

  They were humoring him, trying to take his thoughts off the men who had been slaughtered by a beast sent by Jagang to kill him, trying to take his mind off the monster now coming for him.

  The thought struck him that maybe somewhere back in the woods around where they had camped, somewhere in an undiscovered place where he hadn't looked, lay Kahlan's torn remains.

  Such a thought was so painful to contemplate that it felt like it was crushing his heart.

  Richard didn't reach up and wipe away the tear that ran down his cheek. But with a gentle touch, Nicci did. Her hand briefly, tenderly, caressed his cheek.

  "I think we'd better try to get some sleep," he said.

  Nicci drew back her hand and laid her head against his arm.

  In the darkness, Richard couldn't seem to make his burning eyes close. Before long he could hear Cara's even breathing as she surrendered to sleep. Nicci softly pressed her cheek against his shoulder as she snuggled up close in their shared warmth.

  "Nicci?" he whispered.

  "Yes?"

  "What kind of torture does Jagang use on captives?"

  He could feel Nicci take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Richard, I'm not going to answer that question. I'm sure you have to know that Jagang is a man who needs killing."

  Richard had had to ask the question. He was relieved that Nicci was kind enough not to answer it.

  "When Zedd first gave me the sword, I told him that I would not be an assassin. I have since come to understand the principled value of preserving life through the task of killing evil men. I wish that driving the Imperial Order out of the New World was as simple as killing Jagang."

  "I can't tell you how many times I wished I had killed him when I had the chance, even though you are right about it not ending the war. I wish I could stop thinking about all the opportunities I missed. I wish I could stop thinking about all the things I should have done."

  Richard reached around her and held her trembling shoulders.

  He felt her muscles slowly relax. Her breathing finally slowed as she slipped into sleep.

  If he was to find Kahlan, Richard had to get the rest he needed. He closed his eyes as another tear leaked out. He missed her so much.

  His thoughts lingered on that first day he saw Kahlan in the white, satiny smooth dress that he only much later found out distinguished her as the Mother Confessor. He remembered the way it hugged her shape, the way it made her look so noble. He remembered the way her long hair cascaded down around her shoulders, framing her in the dappled forest light. He remembered looking into her beautiful green eyes and seeing the gleam of intelligence looking back at him. He remembered feeling, from that first instant, from that first shared gaze, as if he had always known her.

  He told her that there were four men following her. She asked, "Do you choose to help me?"

  Before his mind could form a thought, he heard himself say, "Yes."

  He had never for an instant been sorry that he said yes.

  She needed help now.

  His last thoughts as he drifted into tormented sleep were of Kahlan.

  CHAPTER 9

  Ann hurriedly hung the simple tin lantern on the hook outside the door. She focused her Han into a bud of heat and it bloomed into a small flame in the air above her upturned palm. As she stepped into the small room, she gently sent the little flame flitting onto the wick of a candle on the table. As the candle came to life she closed the door.

  It had been quite a while since she had a received a message in her journey book. She was impatient to get to it.

  The room was sparse. The plain plastered walls had no windows. A small table and a straight-backed, wooden chair that she had asked to have' brought in almost filled the space not used by the bed. Besides its use as a bedroom, the room also made a suitable sanctuary, a place where Ann could be alone, where she could think, reflect, and pray. It also provided privacy for when she used the journey book.

  A small plate of cheese and sliced fruit sat waiting for her on the table. Jennsen had probably left the plate before going off with Tom to stare at the moon.

  No matter how old Ann got, it invariably brought her a sense of warm inner satisfaction when she saw that look of love in a couple's eyes. They always seemed to think they did a fine job of hiding their feelings from others, but, as obvious as it usually was, they might as well be painted purple.

  At times, Ann privately regretted that she had never had a time like that with Nathan, a time to indulge in complete, simple, extravagant attraction. Expressions of feelings, though, were deemed unbecoming for the Prelate.

  Ann paused. She wondered exactly where she had come to have such a belief. When she had been a novice they didn't exactly hold classes in which they said, "Should you ever be appointed Prelate, you must always mask your feelings." Except disapproval, of course. A good prelate, with no more than a look, was supposed to be capable of making people's knees tremble uncontrollably. She didn't know where she had learned that, either, but she had always seemed to have had the knack.

  Maybe all along it had been the Creator's plan for her to be the Prelate and He had given her the appropriate disposition for the job. How she sometimes missed it.

  More than that, though, she had never allowed herself to consciously consider her feelings for Nathan. He was a prophet. When she was Prelate of the
Sisters of the Light and sovereign authority at the Palace of the Prophets, he had been her prisoner—although they dressed it up in less harsh terms, trying to put a more humane face on it, but it had been no more complicated than that. It had always been believed that prophets were too dangerous to be allowed to run free in the world, among normal people.

  In confining him from a young age they had denied the existence of free will, preordaining that he would cause harm even though he would never been given the chance to make a conscious choice in his own actions. They had pronounced him guilty without benefit of a crime. It had been an archaic and irrational belief that Ann had unthinkingly adhered to for most of her life. At times, she didn't like considering what that said about her.

  Now that she and Nathan were both old and found themselves together—however improbable that might have seemed at one time—their relationship could not be described as extravagant attraction. Indeed, she had spent the vast majority of her life enduring her displeasure with the man's antics and seeing to it that he never escaped either his collar or his confinement in the palace, thereby insuring his intractable behavior, thereby incurring the ire of the Sisters, which made him more unruly yet, round and round in a circle.

  No matter the uproar he had been able to ignite, seemingly at will, there had always been something about the man that made Ann smile, inwardly. At limes he was like child. A child who was nearly a thousand years old. A child who was a wizard. A child who carried the gift for prophecy. A prophet had but to open his mouth, but to utter prophecy to the uneducated masses, and it would ignite riots at the least, war at the worst. At least, that had always been the fear.

  Although she was hungry, Ann pushed the plate of cheese and fruit aside. It could wait. Her heart fluttered with the anticipation of what news the message from Verna might bring.

  Ann sat and scooled her chair close to the simple wooden table. She pulled out the little leather-covered journey book and thumbed through the pages until she again spotted the writing. The room was small and dark. She squinted to help her better make out the words. She finally had to pull the fat candle a little closer.