Faith of the Fallen (27 page)

“All right, Richard. I won’t do anything rash to free you. I’ll wait for you. I’ll endure it.

“I know you. I know you won’t ever give up. You know I expect no less from you. When you get away—and you will—I’ll be waiting for you, and then we’ll be together again. We’ll never be apart in our hearts. As you said, our oath of love is timeless.”

Richard closed his eyes with relief. He tenderly kissed her brow. He lifted her hand from his chest and pressed soft kisses to her knuckles. She saw then how much her pledge meant to him.

Kahlan pulled her hand back and quickly removed her necklace, the one Shota had given her as a wedding gift. It was meant to prevent her from getting pregnant. She turned Richard’s hand over and pushed the necklace into his palm. He frowned in confusion at the small, dark stone hanging from the gold chain draped over his fingers.

“What’s this about?”

“I want you to take it.” Kahlan cleared her throat to keep her voice. She could only manage a whisper. “I know what she wants of you—what she will make you do.”

“No, that’s not what…” He shook his head. He said, “I’m not taking this,” as if turning it away would somehow deny the possibility.

Kahlan put her hand to the side of his face. His face wavered before her in a watery blur.

“Please, Richard. Please take it. For me. I couldn’t bear the thought of another woman having your child.” Or even the thought of the attempt at its creation—but she didn’t say that part of it. “Especially not after mine…”

He looked away from her eyes. “Kahlan…” Words failed him.

“Just do it for me. Take it. Please, Richard. I’m doing as you ask and will endure your captivity; please honor my request in return. I couldn’t stand the thought of that bewitching blond beast having your child—the child that should be mine. Don’t you see? How could I ever love something I hated? And how could I ever hate something that was part of you? Please, Richard, don’t let it come to that.”

The cold wind lifted and twisted her hair. Her whole life, it seemed, was twisting out of her control. She could hardly believe that this place of such joy, peace, and redemption, a place where she had come to live again, could be a place where it would all be taken away.

Richard held the necklace out to her, as if it were a thing that might bite him. The dark stone swung under his fingers, gleaming in the gloom.

“Kahlan, I don’t think that’s what this is about. I really don’t. But anyway, she could simply refuse to wear it and threaten your life if I didn’t…”

Kahlan pulled the gold chain from his fingers and laid it all in a small neat mound in his palm. The dark stone glimmered from its imprisonment behind the veil of tiny gold links. She closed his fingers around the necklace and held his fist shut with both of her hands.

“You’re the one who demands we not ignore those things that are painful to contemplate.”

“But if she refuses…”

Kahlan gripped his fist tighter in her trembling fingers. “If it comes to a time when she makes that demand of you, you must convince her to wear the necklace. You must. For me. It’s bad enough for me to think she might take my love, my husband, from me like that, but to also fear…”

His big hand felt so warm and familiar and comforting to her. Her words came choked with desperate tears. She could do no more than beg. “Please, Richard.”

He pressed his lips tight, then nodded and stuffed the necklace in a pocket. “I don’t believe those are her intentions, but if it should turn out to be so, you have my word: she will wear the necklace.”

Kahlan sagged against him with a sob.

He took her by the arm. “Come on. Hurry. I have to get whatever I need to take. I’ve only got a few minutes, or all this will be for nothing. I can take the shorter trail and still catch up with her at the top of the pass, but I don’t have much time.”

Kahlan was aware of Cara, wearing her bloodred leather, standing in the doorway to their bedroom watching Richard cram his things into his pack. Kahlan nodded as she and Richard exchanged brief, stilted instructions. They had already come to terms with the life-and-death issues. It seemed they both feared to say anything of consequence for fear of disturbing the delicate, desperate, difficult agreements they had reached.

The meager light coming in the small window did little to brighten the gloom. Cara, over in the doorway, blocked some of the light. The room had the feel of a dungeon. Richard, dressed in dark clothes, looked like a shadow. So many times, as she lay in bed recovering, Kahlan had thought of it that way—as her dungeon. Now it had the palpable sense of a dungeon, but with the clean aroma of pine walls instead of the stench of a stone cell from where trembling, sweating prisoners were taken to their death.

Cara looked forlorn one moment and the next like lightning seeking ground. Kahlan knew that the Mord-Sith’s emotions had to be as torn as her own, balancing on a knife’s edge with despair and grief on one side and rage on the other. Mord-Sith were not used to being in such a position, but then, Cara was now more than simply Mord-Sith.

Kahlan watched Richard pack the black trousers, black undershirt, black and gold tunic, silver wristbands, over-belt with its pouches, and golden cloak into his pack, where they took up a good portion of the available space. He was wearing his dark forest garb; he didn’t have time to change. Kahlan hoped a time would soon come when he would escape and again wear the clothes of a war wizard to lead them against the Order. They all needed him to lead the D’Haran Empire against the invading horde from the Old World.

For reasons that weren’t always entirely clear, Richard had become the linchpin of their struggle. Kahlan knew his feelings about that—that people must be willing to fight for themselves and not only for him—were valid. If an idea was sound, it had to have a life beyond a leader, or the leader had failed.

As he threw other clothes and small items into his pack, Richard told Kahlan that maybe she could find Zedd, that he might have some ideas. She nodded and said she would, knowing Zedd wouldn’t be able to do anything. This terrible triangle was not liable to be susceptible to influence by outsiders—Nicci had seen to that. It was just a hope Richard was giving her, the only bouquet he could offer in the desolate void of reality.

Kahlan didn’t know what to do with her hands. She stood twining her fingers together as tears dripped off her chin. There must be something to say, something important, some last words while she had the chance, but she couldn’t think of them. She supposed he knew what she felt, what was in her heart, and words couldn’t add anything to that. She pressed her fist against the aching knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

A sense of doom crowded in the room like a fourth person, a grim guard waiting to take Richard away. This was the heart of terror, being controlled by what you couldn’t see, couldn’t reason with, couldn’t persuade or battle. The doom waited, implacable, immune, indifferent.

As Cara vanished from the doorway, Richard pulled a fistful of gold and silver from an inside pocket in his leather pack. He hastily dropped roughly half back in the pack and then held out the rest.

“Take this. You might need it.”

“I’m the Mother Confessor. I don’t need gold.”

He tossed it on the bed for her anyway, apparently not wanting to argue with her in their last moments together.

“Do you want any of the carvings?” she asked. It was a stupid question and she knew it, but she had to fill the awful silence and it was the only thing to come into her head, other than a hopeless plea.

“No. I’ve no need for them. When you look at them, think of me, and remember I love you.” He rolled a blanket tight, wrapped it with a small patch of oiled canvas, and tied it with leather thongs to the bottom of his pack. “I guess if I were to want any, I could always carve some.”

Kahlan handed him a cake of soap.

“I don’t need your carving to remind me of your love. I’ll remember. Carve something to make Nicci see that you should be free.”

Richard glanced up with a grim smile. “I plan on seeing to it that she knows I won’t ever give in to her and the Order. Carvings won’t be necessary. She thinks she has this all planned out, but she’s going to find out I’m bad company.” Richard jammed a fist in his pack, making more room. “Very bad company.”

Cara rushed back in, carrying small bundles with the corners tied in knots at the top. She plopped them down one at a time onto the bed.

“I put together some food for you, Lord Rahl. Things that will keep for traveling—dried meat and fish and such. Some rice and beans. I… I put a loaf of bread that I made on top, so eat it first, while it’s still good.”

He thanked her as he put the small bundles into his pack. He put the bread to his nose for a deep whiff before packing it away. He gave Cara a smile of appreciation.

Richard straightened. His smile evaporated in a way that for some reason made Kahlan’s blood go cold. Looking like he was in the throes of committing himself to some last, grim deed, Richard pulled the baldric off over his head. He held the gold-and-silver wrought scabbard in his left hand and drew the Sword of Truth in his white-knuckled right fist.

The blade rang out with its unique metallic sound, announcing its freedom.

Richard drew his sleeve up his arm and wiped the sword across his forearm. Kahlan winced as she watched. She didn’t know if he cut deeply accidentally, or on purpose. With an icy sensation she recalled that Richard cut very precisely with any sharp steel edge.

He turned the blade and wiped both sides in gouts of vivid red blood. He bathed the blade in it, giving it a voluptuous taste, wetting its appetite for more. Kahlan didn’t know what he was doing or why he was doing it now, but it was a frightening ritual to witness. She wished he had drawn it before and cut down Nicci. Her blood, Kahlan would not fear seeing.

Richard picked up the scabbard and slammed the Sword of Truth home. Blood running over his hand left greasy red smears across the scabbard as he slid his hand down the length of it, to the tip, and then seized the sheathed weapon at its center point in his fist. His head bowed, his eyes on the dull silver and gold reflections lustrous even through his own blood, he loomed closer to her.

Richard looked up, and Kahlan saw the lethal rage of magic dancing in his eyes. He had invoked the sword’s terrible wrath, called it forth, and then put it away. She’d never seen him do such a thing before.

He lifted the sword in its scabbard to her. The tendons in the back of his fist stood out in the strain. The white of his knuckles showed through the blood.

“Take it,” he said in a hoarse voice that betrayed the struggle within.

Spellbound, Kahlan lifted the scabbard in her palms. For that instant, until he pulled away his bloody hand, she felt a jolting shock as if she were suddenly welded to the weapon by hot fury unlike anything she had ever experienced. She half expected to see a burst of sparks. She could feel such rage emanating from the cold steel that it nearly dropped her to her knees. She might have dropped the weapon itself in that first instant, had she been able to let go of it. She could not.

Once Richard removed his hand, the sheathed sword lost the passionate rage and felt no different from any other weapon.

Richard lifted a finger in caution. The dangerous magic still glazed his eyes. The muscles of his jaw tightened until she could see it standing out all the way up through his temples.

“Don’t draw this sword,” he warned in that awful hoarse whisper, “unless it’s a matter of your life. You know the ghastly things this weapon can do to a person. Not only the one under the power of the blade, but the one under the power of the hilt.”

Kahlan, arrested by the intensity of his gaze, could only nod. She clearly recalled the first time Richard had used the sword to kill a man. The first time he came to learn the horror of killing had been to protect her.

Using the weapon that first time, unleashing the magic the first time, had nearly killed Richard as well. It had been a struggle for him to learn how to control such a storm of magic as the Sword of Truth freed.

Without the rage of the sword’s magic, Richard’s eyes were capable of conveying menace. Kahlan could recall several times when his raptor’s glare, by itself, had brought a roomful of people to silence. There were few things worse than the need to escape the look in those eyes. Now, those eyes hungered to deliver death.

“Be angry if you must use this,” he growled. “Be very angry. That will be your only salvation.”

Kahlan swallowed. “I understand.” She nodded. “I remember.”

Righteous rage was the only defense against the crippling pain the sword exacted as payment for its service.

“Life or death. No other reason. I don’t know what will happen, and I’d just as soon you not find out. But I’d prefer that, to you being without this terrible defense if you need it. I’ve given it a taste of blood, it will come out voracious. When it comes out, it will be in a blood rage.”

“I understand.”

His eyes cooled at last. “I’m sorry to give you the terrible responsibility of this weapon, especially in this way, but it’s the only protection I can offer.”

With a hand on his arm to gently reassure him, Kahlan said, “I won’t have to use it.”

“Dear spirits, I hope not.” He glanced over his shoulder, taking a last look at their room, and then at Cara. “I have to get going.”

She ignored his words. “Give me your arm, first.”

He saw she had bandages left over from when Kahlan was still recovering. Without objection, he held out his blood-soaked arm. Cara used a wet cloth to quickly swab his arm before she wound it in clean bandages.

Richard thanked her as she was finishing. Cara split the end, put the tails around his wrists, and tied a quick knot. “We will come part of the way with you.”

“No. You will stay here.” Richard pulled down his sleeve. “I don’t want to risk it.”

“But—”

“Cara, I want you to protect Kahlan. I’m leaving her in your hands. I know you won’t let me down.”

Cara’s big beautiful blue eyes, glistening with tears, reflected the kind of pain Kahlan was sure Cara never allowed anyone to see.

“I swear to protect her as I would protect you, Lord Rahl, if you swear to get away and return.”

Richard flashed her a brief smile, trying to ease her misery. “I’m Lord Rahl—I don’t need to remind you that I’ve wiggled out of tighter spots than this.” He kissed her cheek. “Cara, I swear I’ll never give up trying to get away—you have my word.”

Kahlan realized he hadn’t really sworn to Cara’s words. He wouldn’t, she knew, want to make a promise he might not be able to keep.

Bending to the bed, he pulled his pack close. “I have to go.” He held the strap in a stranglehold. “I can’t be late.”

Kahlan’s fingers tightened on his arm, Cara laid a hand on his shoulder. Richard turned back and gripped Kahlan’s shoulders.

“Listen to me, now. I wish you would stay here, in this house in these mountains where it’s safe for you, but I don’t think anything short of my dying request could convince you to do that. At least stay for four or five days, in case I’m able to figure out what’s going on and can escape Nicci. She may be a Sister of the Dark, but I’m no longer exactly a stranger to magic. I’ve escaped powerful people before. I’ve sent Darken Rahl back to the underworld. I’ve gone to the Temple of the Winds in another world in order to stop the plague. I’ve escaped worse than this. Who knows—this might be simpler than it seems. If I do escape her, I’ll come back here, so wait for a while, at least.

“If I can’t get away from Nicci for now, try to find Zedd. He might have some idea of what to do. Ann was with him the last time we saw him. She’s the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light and knew Nicci for a very long time. Perhaps she knows something that, along with what Zedd might be able to come up with, could help.”

“Richard, don’t worry about me. Just take care of yourself. I’ll be waiting for you when you get away, so just be at ease about that much of it and put all your effort into escaping from her. We’ll wait here for a while—I promise.”

“I will watch over her, Lord Rahl. Don’t worry about the Mother Confessor.”

Richard nodded. He turned back to Kahlan. His fingers on her arms tightened. His brow drew down.

“I know you and I know the way you feel, but you have to listen to me. The time has not yet come. It may never come. You may think I’m wrong in this, but if you close your eyes to the reality of what is, in favor of what you would wish just because you’re the Mother Confessor and feel responsible for the people of the Midlands, then there is no reason for us to bother hoping we’ll be together again because we won’t. We will be dead, and the cause of freedom will be dead.”

His face loomed closer. “Above all else, our forces must not attack the heart of the Order’s army. It’s too soon. If they—if you—carry an assault directly into the heart of the Order thinking you can win, it will be the end of our forces, and the end of our chances. All hope for the cause of freedom, and all hope to defeat the Order, will be lost for generations to come.

“It’s the same way we must use our heads with Nicci, and not fight her in a direct attack, or we will both die. You promised you would not kill yourself to free me. Don’t throw that promise away by going against what I’m telling you now.”

It all seemed so unimportant at the moment. The only thing that mattered was that she was losing him. She would have cast the rest of the world to the wolves if she could just keep him.

“All right, Richard.”

“Promise me.” His fingers were hurting her arms. He shook her. “I mean it. You could throw it all away if you don’t heed my warning. You could destroy the hope of people for the next fifty generations. You could be the one who destroys freedom and brings a dark age upon the world. Promise me you won’t.”

A thousand thoughts swirled in chaotic turmoil through her mind. Kahlan stared up into his eyes. She heard herself say, “I promise, Richard. Until you say so, we’ll make no direct attack.”