Having spent most of his life in the woods, Richard knew all the plants-if not by name, by sight.
From when Richard was very small, his friend Zedd had taken him along, hunting for special herbs.
He had shown Richard which ones to look for, where they grew and why, and put names to
everything they saw. Many times they just talked, the old man always treating him as an equal,
asking as much as he answered Zedd had sparked Richard's hunger to learn, to know.
From a young age, Richard had liked to spend time with Zedd while his father was away. Richard's
brother, Michael, was a few years older, and having no interest in the woods, or in Zedd's rambling
lectures, preferred to spend his time with people of means. About five years before, Richard had
moved away to live on his own, but he often stopped by his father's home, unlike Michael, who was
always busy and rarely had time to visit. Whenever his father went away, he would leave Richard a
message in the blue jar telling him the latest news, some gossip, or of some sight he had seen.
Of magic.
Grief and depression overwhelmed him, and even though he still had his brother, he felt abandoned.
That he was grown into manhood offered him no sanctuary from the forlorn feeling of being
orphaned and alone in the world, a feeling he had known before, when his mother died while he
was still young. Even though his father had often been away, sometimes for weeks, Richard had
always known he was somewhere, and would be back. Now he would never be back.
Finally, against his better judgment, he gave in to the whispers in his mind, and went to the upper
Ven Forest, close to the boundary. The whispers haunted him with the feeling that he somehow
knew something of why his father had been murdered. They teased him, tantalized him with
thoughts just out of reach, and laughed at him for not seeing it. Richard lectured himself that it was
his grief playing tricks, not something real.
Richard looked up at the big fir tree in its agony of death. He thought again of his father's death.
The vine had been there. Now the vine was killing this tree; it couldn't be anything good. Though
he couldn't do anything for his father, he didn't have to let the vine preside over another death.
Gripping it firmly, he pulled, and with powerful muscles ripped the sinewy tendrils away from the
tree.
One of the pods struck out and hit the back of his left hand, causing him to jump back in pain and
surprise. Inspecting the small wound, he found something like a thorn embedded in the meat of the
gash. The matter was decided. The vine was trouble. He reached for his knife to dig out the thorn,
but the knife wasn't there. At first surprised, he realized why and reprimanded himself for allowing
his depression to cause him to forget something as basic as taking his knife with him into the
woods. Using his fingernails, he tried to pull out the thorn. To his rising concern, the thorn, as if
alive, wriggled itself in deeper. He dragged his thumbnail across the wound, trying to snag the
thorn out. The more he dug, the deeper it went. A hot wave of nausea swept through him as he tore
at the wound, making it bigger, so he stopped. The thorn had disappeared into the oozing blood.
Richard squatted down and poked a hole in the ground with his finger, placed the aum in it, and
fixed moss about the stem so it might regrow itself.
The vine was trouble, he thought again; this thing in the sky could be no less. He remembered what
people always said, "Trouble sires three children," and knew immediately that he didn't want to
meet the third child.
Looking up as he ran, trying for another glimpse, he headed for the path that skirted the hillside.
Richard knew that the ground dropped off sharply on the other side of the trail, and he would be
able to get an unobstructed view of the sky. Tree branches wet with rain from the night before
slapped at his face as he ran through the forest, jumping fallen trees and small rocky streams. Brush
snatched at his pant legs. Dappled swatches of sunlight teased him -to look up but denied him the
view he needed. His breath was fast, ragged, sweat ran cold against his face, and he could feel his
heart pounding as he ran carelessly down the hillside. At last he stumbled out of the trees onto the
path, almost falling.
Winded, Richard slumped down on a granite boulder at the side of the trail, absently snapping off
dead twigs from a sapling beside him while he stared down at Trunt Lake below. Maybe he should
go tell Michael what had happened, tell him about the vine and the red thing in the sky. He knew
Michael would laugh at the last part. He had laughed at the same stories himself.
Richard snapped off another twig and in frustration threw it at a flat rock. He decided he shouldn't
feel singled out. After all, Michael was always telling everyone what to do, even their father.
That afternoon there was to be a ceremony and big celebration at Michael's house. Important people
were going to be there, come from the farthest reaches of Westland. Richard was supposed to be
there, too., At least there would be plenty of good food. He realized he was famished:
His eyes locked on something. There was movement. Unsure what it had been, he stared hard at the
spot on the far side of the lake. When he saw it again, on the path, where it passed behind a thin
veil of trees, there was no doubt; it was a person. Maybe it was his friend Chase. Who else but a
boundary warden would be wandering around up here?
Other movement snatched his attention. Richard's eyes searched the shade and shadows. Behind
her, there were others. Three, no, four men, in hooded forest cloaks, following her, but hanging
back some distance. They moved with stealth, from tree to rock to tree. Looking. Waiting. Moving.
Richard straightened, his eyes wide, his attention riveted.
He knew immediately: this was the third child of trouble
What chance did the woman have?
If he could reach her before the men caught her, and before the cutoff, he could take her up the
right fork. That trail led up out of the trees onto open ledges, away from the boundary, and toward
the town of Hartland, toward help. If they were quick, he could hide their tracks. The men wouldn't
know that the two of them had taken the side trail. They would think she was still on the main trail,
at least for a while, long enough to fool them and lead her to safety.
After a time, driving himself headlong down the path, he started looking for the side trail. He
couldn't be sure how far he had gone; the forest offered no view for a fix, and he didn't remember
exactly where the cutoff was. It was small and would be easy to miss. With every bend bringing
new hope that this would be the place he found the cutoff, he pushed himself on. He tried to think
of what he would say to the woman when he finally reached her. His mind raced as fast as his legs.
She might think he was with her pursuers, or be frightened by him, or not believe him. He wouldn't
have much time to convince her to go with him, that he wanted to help.
Just before a sharp bend to the right, he came at last to the cutoff, almost missing it. He made a
quick search for tracks to --if she had been there and taken the small path. There were none. Relief
washed over him. He dropped to his knees and sat back on his heels in exhaustion, trying to catch
his breath. The first part had worked. He had beaten her here. Now he had to make her believe him
before it was too late.
He looked down at the bite on the back of his hand.-It was red and throbbed painfully. He
remembered the thing in the sky. He thought about the way she had been walking, with a sense of
purpose, not like a child at play. It was a woman, not a girl. He remembered the cold fear he had
felt when he saw the four men. Four men warily shadowing a woman: the third strange thing to
happen this morning. The third child of trouble. No-he shook his head-this was no game, he knew
what he had seen. It was no game. They were stalking her.
His eyes fell on the young woman as she came around the bend in front of him. His breath caught
for an instant. Her brown hair was full, lush, and long, complementing the contours of her body.
She was tall, almost as tall as he, and about the same age. The dress she wore was like none he had
ever seen: almost white, cut square at the neck, interrupted only by a small, tan leather waist pouch.
The weave of the fabric was fine and smooth, almost glistening, and bore none of the lace or frills
he was used to seeing, no prints or colors to distract from the way it caressed her form. The dress
was elegant in its simplicity. She halted, and long graceful folds regally trailing her gathered about
her legs.
The intensity of her gaze relaxed, loosening its hold on him. In her eyes he saw something that
attracted him more than anything else. Intelligence. He saw it flaring there, burning in her, and
through it all he felt an overriding sense of her integrity. Richard felt safe.
"I was up there"-he pointed toward the hill he had been on "and I saw you." She looked where he
pointed. He looked, too, and realized he was pointing to a tangle of tree limbs. They couldn't see
the hill, because the trees blocked the view. He dropped his arm dumbly, trying to ignore the
miscue. Her eyes returned to his, waiting.
She betrayed no emotion, but continued to hold his gaze. "How many?"
The color drained from her face.
"Do you choose to help me?" Except for her color, her exquisite features gave no hint as to her
emotions.
Her countenance softened. "What would you have us do?"
"And if they don't? If they follow our trail?"
"If they do?" she cut him off. "Then what is your plan?" He studied her face a moment. "Are they
very dangerous?"
The way she spoke the word made him have to force himself to breathe again. For an instant, he
saw a look of blind terror pass across her eyes.
"Do you have a weapon?" '
She nodded. "Let's be quick then."
After a time, the ground started rising and becoming rockier, and the trees thinned, offering a more
open view. The trail twisted along deeply shaded cuts in the terrain and across leafstrewn ravines.
Dry leaves scattered at their passing. Pines and spruce gave way to hardwood trees, mostly white
birch, and as the limbs swayed overhead, little patches of sunlight danced on the forest floor. The
birches' white trunks with black spots made it look as if hundreds of eyes were watching the two
pass. Other than the raucous racket of some ravens, it was a very quiet, peaceful place.
The intensity of her gaze relaxed, loosening its hold on him. In her eyes he saw something that
attracted him more than anything else. Intelligence. He saw it flaring there, burning in her, and
through it all he felt an overriding sense of her integrity. Richard felt safe.
"I was up there"-he pointed toward the hill he had been on "and I saw you." She looked where he
pointed. He looked, too, and realized he was pointing to a tangle of tree limbs. They couldn't see
the hill, because the trees blocked the view. He dropped his arm dumbly, trying to ignore the
miscue. Her eyes returned to his, waiting.
She betrayed no emotion, but continued to hold his gaze. "How many?"
The color drained from her face.
"Do you choose to help me?" Except for her color, her exquisite features gave no hint as to her
emotions.
Her countenance softened. "What would you have us do?"
"And if they don't? If they follow our trail?"
"If they do?" she cut him off. "Then what is your plan?"
Seeing no sign that they were being followed, Richard wished they could stop for a rest, as his hand
was throbbing, but she gave no sign that she needed or wanted a break. She kept pushing on. as if
the men were right on their heels. Richard remembered the look on her face when he had asked if
they were dangerous, and quickly rejected any thought of stopping.
The path took them to the south face of small Blunt Mountain, where it crossed a sheer cliff face
for which the mountain was named. Crossing the cliff near midheight, the trail offered a panoramic
view of the southern Ven Forest and, to their left, in cloud and mist, almost hidden behind the cliff
wall, the high, rugged peaks belonging to the boundary. Richard saw brown, dying trees standing
out against the carpet of green. Up closer to the boundary the dead trees were thick. It was the vine,
he realized.
As it neared the far side of the cliff face, the path started to broaden from its treacherous, narrow
width to a space wide enough for two to walk side by side. Richard trailed his right hand along the
rock wall for reassurance while looking over the side to the boulder fields several hundred feet
below. He turned and checked behind. Still clear.
In the trail ahead, that only a moment earlier had been empty, stood two of the men. Richard was
bigger than most men; these men were much bigger than him. Their dark green hooded cloaks
shaded their faces but couldn't conceal their heavily muscled bulk. Richard's mind raced, trying to
conceive of how the men could have gotten ahead of them.
Richard wheeled back to the first two. They calmly pushed their hoods back. Each had thick blond
hair and a thick neck; their faces were rugged, handsome.
Richard had never been in a situation like this before. He never allowed himself to lose his temper,
and could usually turn scowls to smiles with his easy manner. If talk didn't work, he was quick
enough and strong enough to stop threats before anyone was hurt, and if need be he would simply
walk away. He knew these men weren't interested in talking, and they clearly weren't afraid of him.
He wished he could walk away now.
He leaned closer, and kept his voice low, but firm. "I won't leave you." Relief washed over her
face.
"Be on your way, boy." The leader's voice was harder. His fierce blue eyes glared. He gritted his
teeth. "Last time offered." . j'
He tried to sound sure of himself. "We will both be passing." He heart felt as if it were coming up
into his throat.
The man to his side pulled a short sword clear of the scabbard . strapped across his back. With a
depraved grin, he drew it across the inside of his muscled forearm, staining the blade red. From
behind, Richard could hear the ring of steel being drawn. He was paralyzed with fear. This was all
happening too fast. They had no chance. None.
And then, just before the man reached him, there was a hard impact to the air, like a clap of thunder
with no sound. The violence of it made every joint in his body cry out in sharp pain. Dust lifted
around them, spreading outward in a ring.
To Richard's shock, he saw one of the other two men from behind him falling through space, too,
his chest ripped and bloody. Before Richard could give it a thought, the leader with the curved
knife charged past, intent on the woman. He hammered the heel of his free hand into the center of
Richard's chest. The jolt knocked the wind out of him and flung him hard against the wall,
smacking his head against the rock. As he fought to remain conscious, his only thought was that he
had to stop the man from getting to her.
In that instant he knew he was about to die.
Richard stood stunned, staring over the edge. Reluctantly he turned to the woman, afraid to look,
terrified he would see her gashed open and lifeless. Instead, she was sitting on the ground, leaning
against the cliff wall, looking drained but unhurt. Her face had a faraway look. It was all over so
fast he couldn't understand what had happened or how. Richard and the woman were alone in the
sudden silence.
He couldn't believe they were alive. It didn't seem possible. What was the thunder without sound?
And the pain he felt when it had happened? He had never felt anything like it before. He shuddered
recalling it. Whatever it was, she had something to do with it, and it had saved his life. Something
unearthly had occurred, and he wasn't at all sure he wanted to know what it was.
He thought maybe she was about to cry and looked over at her. She wasn't, but he felt that he
might. He nodded his understanding of what she said about the men.
Her green eyes studied his as he looked at her. The light breeze carried wisps of hair across her
face.
To his intense displeasure Richard felt his face flush. She looked away, pulling the strands of hair
off her face, and pretended not to notice his blushing.
He looked into her eyes a long moment. "You too are a very rare person, Kahlan Amnell. There are
not many who would have stood as you did."
Richard reached behind, felt the painful lump on the back of his head, and checked his fingers for
blood. There was none, though he thought that by all rights there should have been. He looked back
at her, again wondering what had happened, wondering what she had done, and how she had done
it. There was that thunder with no sound, and he had knocked one of the men off the cliff; one of
the two behind him had killed the other instead of her, and then killed the leader and himself.
She looked at him, in surprise. "Do you mean that?"
Richard shrugged. "Sure. You just said I stood with you. That's the kind of thing a friend does, isn't
it?" He gave her a smile.
He felt the pain in her voice. "Well, you have one now," he said in his most cheerful tone. "After
all, we just went through something pretty frightening together. We helped each other, and we
survived." .
He gave her a sideways glance. "So what about the other part? The part about us being alive. How
did that happen?"
Richard didn't believe a word of it. But as much as he wanted to know the answers, it was against
his nature to force someone to tell something she didn't want to. His father had raised him to
respect another person's right to keep his own secrets. In her own time she would tell him her
secrets, if she wanted to, but he would not try to force her.
"Kahlan," he said, trying to make his voice sound reassuring, "being a friend means you don't have
to tell me anything you don't want to, and I'll still be your friend."
Richard got to his feet. His head hurt, his hand hurt, and now he realized his chest hurt where the
man had hit him. To top it off he remembered he was hungry. Michael! He had forgotten about his
brother's party. He looked at the sun and knew he was going to be late. He hoped he wouldn't miss
Michael's speech. He would take Kahlan, tell Michael about the men, and get some protection for
her.
Richard smiled. "Never had a friend give you a hand up before?"
Richard could tell she felt uncomfortable, so he changed the subject.
"Two days ago," she said without emotion.
Her green eyes turned hard. "They are called a quad. They are, well, they are like assassins. They
are sent to kill . . ." She caught herself again. "They kill people." Her face regained the calm
countenance it had when he first saw her. "I think that maybe the fewer people who know about
me, the safer I will be."
He looked hard into her eyes, expecting the truth this time. "Kahlan, where did the quad come
from?"
Richard's skin went cold, and prickles bumped up along his arms in a wave that rolled up to the
back of his neck, making the fine hairs there stand stiffly out. An anger deep within him awakened
and his secrets stirred.
No one.
The Midlands was a land of magic
People in fine clothes strolled the lawns and gardens, making Richard feel suddenly out of place.
He knew he must look a mess in his dirty, sweat-stained forest garb, but he hadn't wanted to waste
the time going out of his way to his house to get cleaned up. Besides, he was in a dark mood and
didn't much care how he looked. He had more important things on his mind.
had been up on Blunt Cliff, he was surprised that she didn't have any on her. She had somehow
managed to stay clear while the men killed each other.
"Does your house have a fireplace?" she had asked.
"Do you use it?"
She had merely shrugged as she looked off to the countryside. "I just miss sitting in front of a fire,
that's all."
"Invitation, sir?" someone called in a deep voice from the shade beside the entry.
Chase was a big man, clean-shaven, with a head of light brown hair that showed no sign of
receding but instead gave way to age by going gray at the sides. Heavy brows shaded intense brown
eyes that stole slowly about, even as he talked, and saw everything. This habit often gave people
the impression-a seriously mistaken impression-that he wasn't paying attention. Despite his size,
Chase was, Richard knew, frighteningly quick when there was need. Chase wore a brace of knives
to one side of his belt, and a six-bladed battle mace to the other. The hilt of a short sword stood
above his right shoulder, and a crossbow with a full complement of barbed, steel-tipped bolts hung
from a leather strap on his left
The grin left Chase's face. "Not here as a guest." His gaze settled on Kahlan.
"Chase, this is my friend, Kahlan." He gave her a smile. "This is Dell Brandstone. Everyone calls
him Chase. He's an old friend of mine. We're safe with him." He turned back to Chase. "You can
trust her, too."
Chase nodded once to her, the matter settled, Richard's word being all the reassurance he needed.
His eyes scanned the crowd, lingering on various people, checking their interest in the three of
them. He pulled them both away from the sunlit openness of the steps and into the shade off to the
side.
"What! That doesn't make any sense!" Richard was incredulous. "He has the Home Guard, and the
army. What does he need a few boundary wardens for?"
Richard looked around, but didn't see any. He knew that didn't mean anything. If a boundary
warden didn't want to be seen, he could be standing on your foot and you wouldn't be able to find
him.
Chase gave his finest look of disgust. "I know every little slime in Westland. There's no plot. Might
be a bit of fun to be had if there were, but I think I'm just part of the decoration. Michael said I
should `stay visible.' " His expression sharpened. "And about your father's murder, well, George
Cypher and I go way back, way back to before when you were born, back to before the boundary.
He was a good man. I was proud to call him friend." Anger heated in his eyes. "I've twisted a few
fingers." He shifted his weight, taking another look around before bringing his fierce expression
back to Richard. "Twisted hard. Hard enough to cause their owners to spit out their own mother's
name if it had been the right one. No one knows a thing, and believe me, if they did they would
have been happy to have shortened our conversation. First time I've ever chased anyone and not
been able to get even a whiff." He folded his arms, and his grin came back as he eyed Richard up
and down. "Speaking of slime, what have you been about? You look like one of my customers."
Chase raised an eyebrow. "Anyone I would know?"
Chase frowned. "So where did these four fellows go after they jumped you?"
"Of course."
Chase unfolded his arms and stared at the two of them. "I'll have a look." His eyebrows knitted
together. "How'd you manage it?"
Chase shot them each a suspicious glare. "That so? Well, better not to tell Michael about this right
now. I don't think he believes in good spirits." He studied both their faces. "And if you think there's
a need, you two come stay at my place. You'll be safe enough there."
"We better get in there. Michael is sure to be missing me."
Richard looked up over his shoulder and saw the same strange snakelike cloud. "I think I need to
see him, too." He turned and started to leave.
Richard didn't shy away. "Same as you. Trying to get a whiff."
Richard nodded as he held up his red, sore left hand. "And it bites." .
People Richard recognized greeted him, getting only a wooden smile or quick handshake. Since
Kahlan was from a strange land, Richard was a little surprised to see how comfortable she was
around all the important people. It had already occurred to him that she, too, must be someone
important. Gangs of assassins didn't hunt down unimportant people.
Until now.
Zedd might know what to do. He used to live in the Midlands before the boundary, though he
would never talk about it. And then there was the unsettling feeling he had that all of this had
something to do with his father's death, and his father's death had something to do with his own
secrets, the secrets his father had placed upon him and him alone.
With the frightening events of the day he had almost forgotten about it until Chase had brought it
up.. Almost. He gave a little shrug. "Thanks." He waited a moment as a woman in a blue silk dress
with ruffles of white lace at the neck, cuffs, and down the front walked past. He looked down at the
floor as she moved by so he wouldn't have to return her smile if she gave him one. "It was three
weeks ago." He told Kahlan a little of what had happened. She listened sympathetically.
He forced himself to smile. "No, it's all right. I've been alone enough. It helps to have a friend to
talk to."
Even though he had lost his appetite, he knew Kahlan hadn't eaten in two days. With all the
tempting food around, he decided she must have remarkable self-control. The delicious smells were
starting to change his mind about his appetite.
"Very."
Kahlan scrutinized them. "Some of the serving girls have long hair. That is allowed?"
She lifted an eyebrow to him. "No. No one has ever asked me to cut my hair. It is simply that where
I come from, the length of a woman's hair has a certain social significance."
She gave him back a small smile, devoid of joy. "Some think so. I could only expect that after this
morning, the thought had entered your mind. We all can be only what we are, nothing more, or
less."
Her smile brightened into the same tight-lipped one she had given him before. The smile of sharing.
It made him grin.
"Try these first. They're my most treasured."
She relaxed, brought the plate close, and ate the meat. He ate a half dozen himself, savoring every
bite.
Her suspicion flared anew. "What are they made of?"
"Some kinds," she said noncommittally before eating a sausage. "May I have some spice soup,
please?"
A smile came to her face. "It's good, just like I make. I don't think our two homelands are as
different as you fear."
"Please get me a piece of cheese?"
She scanned the throng. "Any kind."
"Wrong kind?"
Richard frowned. "Then why did you ask for it?" There was a hint of irritation in his voice
Richard put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to see for himself. He scanned over the heads
of the crowd, to the far side of the room. "They're just two of Michael's aides. They know me.
They're probably wondering where I've been and why I look such a mess." He looked into her eyes
and spoke softly so that no one would hear. "It's all right, Kahlan, relax. Those men from this
morning are dead. You're safe now."
"There is no way another quad could track you now, not once you have come here, to Hartland. It's
impossible." He knew enough about tracking to feel confident that he was telling her the truth.
Her voice came in a slow, harsh whisper. "When I left my homeland, five wizards cast spells over
my tracks so none could know where I went, or follow, and then they killed themselves so they
could not be made to talk!" Her teeth were gritted in anger, and her eyes were wet. She was starting
to tremble.
"Richard, I am scared to death!" She was trembling more now. "If you hadn't been there today, you
don't know what would have happened to me. The dying would have been the best of it. You don't
know about those men." She shook uncontrollably, giving herself over to her fear.
"What you did," she said struggling to get the words out, "was enough to make a difference. It was
enough to save us. No matter how little you think it was, it was enough. If you hadn't helped me . . .
I don't want my being here to bring you to harm."
She turned to see Chase outside a tall, round-topped window. The boundary warden glanced back
over his shoulder and gave her a wink and a heartening grin before resuming his scan of the area.
- That brought a small smile, but it quickly faded.
"We'll deal with that tomorrow. For now, you are safe. Be- sides, it would take another quad days
to get here, wouldn't it?
She gave a nod. "Thank you, Richard Cypher. My friend. But know that if I bring danger to you, I
will leave before it can harm you." She took her hand back and wiped the bottom lids of her eyes.
"I am still hungry. Could we have more?"
"Some more of your little treasures?"
Whispers rippled through the crowd as heads turned to the far side of the room. It was Michael.
Richard took Kahlan's hand and moved to the side of the room, closer to his brother, so they could
watch.
Not only was he shorter than Richard, but heavier and softer. Sunlight lit his mop of unruly hair.
His upper lip proudly displayed a mustache. He wore baggy white trousers, and his white tunic with
bloused sleeves was cinched at the waist by a gold belt. Standing there in the sunlight, Michael
positively gleamed, casting the same cold, eerie glow the marble did when struck by the sun. He
stood out in stark relief against the shadowed background.
"Ladies and gentlemen, today I accepted the position of First Councilor of Westland." A roar went
up from the room. Michael listened without moving, then thrust his arms suddenly into the air,
calling for silence. He waited until every last cough died out. "The councilors from all of Westland
selected me to lead us in these times of challenge because I have the courage and vision to take us
into a new era. Too long we have lived looking to the past and not to the future! Too long we have
chased old ghosts and been blind to new callings! Too long we have listened to those who would
seek to drag us into war and ignored those who would guide us on a path to peace!" .
Michael held up his hands again and, not waiting for quiet this time, went on. "I will not stand by
while the Westland is put into peril by these traitors!" His face was red and angry. The crowd
roared again, this time with fists jabbing the air. They chanted Michael's name. Richard and Kahlan
looked at each other.
Murmurs swept across the assembly. Richard was stunned. Could it be true? A conspiracy? His
brother hadn't gotten where he was by not knowing what was going on. Men in high authority. That
would certainly explain why Chase didn't know anything about it.
"But that is past history. Today we look to our new course. One reason I was chosen as First
Councilor is because being a Hartlander, I have lived my life in the shadow of the boundary, a
shadow that has shaded all our lives. But that is looking to the past. The light of a new day always
chases the shadows of the night away, and shows us that the shape of our fears is only the ghost of
our own minds.
"Should we be wasting our resources, preparing to do battle with a people we have been long
separated from, a people who were the ancestors to many of us here? Should we be ready to do
violence to our brothers and sisters simply because we don't know them? What a waste! Our
resources should be spent eliminating the real suffering around us. When the time comes, maybe
not in our lifetime, but it will come, we should be ready to welcome our long-separated brothers
and sisters. We must not join only the two lands, but all three! For someday, just as the boundary
between Westland and the Midlands will fade away, so too will the second boundary between the
Midlands and D' Hara, and all three lands shall be one! We can look to a day when we can share the
joy of reunion, if we have the heart! And that joy will spread from here, today, in Hartland!
Michael swept his hand out over the crowd. "We in this room are the future. It is your
responsibility as councilors of Westland to carry the word throughout the country! Take our
message of peace to the good people. They will see the truth in your hearts. Please help me. I want
our children and our grandchildren to be the beneficiaries of what we lay down here today. I want
us to set a course for peace to carry us into the future, so when the time comes, future generations
will benefit and thank us."
Richard was stunned. He had never heard his brother speak with such conviction or eloquence. It
all seemed to make such sense. After all, here he stood with a woman from across the boundary,
from the Midlands, and she was already his friend.
He was starting to see his bother in a new light. People had been moved by Michael's words in a
way Richard had never witnessed. Michael was pleading for peace and friendship with other
peoples. What could be wrong with that?
"And now, to the other part," Michael continued, "to the real suffering around us. While we have
worried about the boundaries that have not harmed a single one of us, many of our families, friends,
and neighbors have suffered, and died. Tragic and needless deaths, in accidents with fire. Yes, that
is what I said. Fire."
At Richard.
Tears, glistening in the sunlight, ran down Michael's cheeks. "I am sorry, friends, please forgive
me." He wiped the tears with a handkerchief he had handy. "It's just that only this morning I heard
of another fire that took a fine young mother and father, and left their daughter an orphan. It
brought my own pain back to me and I couldn't remain silent." Everyone was now solidly back
with him. Their tears flowed freely. A woman put her arm around Richard's shoulder as he stood
numb. She whispered how sorry she was.
"There, my friends," he said hoarsely, spreading his arms wide, "there is the suffering among us.
We need look no further than this room."
That, his father had told them a thousand times, was the result of a man losing his temper. Michael
shrugged it off; Richard took it to heart. It had instilled in him a dread of his own anger, and
whenever it threatened to come out, he choked it off.
Arms hanging limply at his side, head bowed, Michael spoke softly again. "What can we do about
the danger to our families from fire?" He shook his head sadly. "I do not know, my friends.
"And now my friends, please excuse me, and allow me to go comfort my brother, as I am afraid
bringing out our personal tragedy was a surprise to him, and I must ask his forgiveness."
Richard stood and glared as his brother strode to him. The crowd moved away. Only Kahlan stayed
at his side, her fingers lightly touching his arm. People went back to the food and began talking
excitedly among themselves, about themselves, and forgot him. Richard stood tall and choked off
his anger
Richard looked down at the patterns on the marble floor. "Why did you bring her death into it?
Why did you have to tell everyone about it? Why did you use her like that?"
"And what did you mean about the boundaries?"
Richard changed the subject. "What have you found out about Father's murder? Have the trackers
picked up anything?"
"That's not true! And you know it!" Richard hated the way Michael called their father "George."
"lie never stole anything in his life!"
"How do you know all this?" Richard demanded. "What have you found out?"
Richard let out a deep breath. It made sense; someone was looking for something. He shouldn't be
angry with Michael be- cause he couldn't find out who. Michael had tried. Richard wondered how
there could be no tracks.
Michael waved his hand. "No, no, no. It had nothing to do with that. That problem has been taken
care of. Don't worry about me, I'm safe, everything is all right."
"So, little brother, how come you're such a mess? Couldn't you at least clean yourself up? It's not
like you didn't have notice. You have known about this party for weeks."
"Please forgive your brother, it was not his fault. He came to guide me into Hartland and I was late
in coming. I pray he is not dishonored in your eyes because of me."
Her back stiffened as she stood tall. "I am Kahlan Amnell."
"It is a small place, far away. I am sure you would not know of it."
"No. I have to go see Zedd. He's been looking for me."
"I have other arrangements," she said warily.
"Change them." His smile was as cold as a winter night.
Richard was dumbfounded. He couldn't believe what his brother was doing. "Michael! Stop it!"
"You feel good," Michael whispered. "I think I could fall in love with you."
When he did not, she slowly placed the fingernail of her first finger on his chest, just below the
hollow at the base of his neck. As they glared at each other, she slowly, ever so slowly, began to
drag her nail downward, ripping his flesh open. Blood ran down skin in rivulets. For a brief
moment, Michael didn't move, but then his eyes could not disguise the pain. He flung open his arms
and staggered back a step.
Richard gave his brother an angry glare he could not suppress, and followed her out
As he touched her shoulder, she turned, her calm face showing no emotion.
She cut him off. "Do not apologize. What your brother did, he was not doing to me, he was doing
to you."
"Your brother is jealous of you." Her face softened. "He is not stupid, Richard. He knew I was with
you and he was jealous."
"That's no excuse. He's First Councilor; he has all anyone could want. I'm sorry I didn't put a stop
to it." "I did not want you to. It was for me to do. What he wants is whatever you have. If you had
stopped him, having me would be a contest he would have to win. This way he has no more interest
in me. Besides, what he did to you, about your mother, was worse. Would you have wanted me to
have stepped in on your behalf?"
As they walked, the houses became smaller, closer together, but remained clean and well kept.
Some of their owners were out taking advantage of the good weather to make repairs before winter.
The air was clean and crisp, and Richard knew by the dryness of it that it would be a cold night; the
right kind of night for a fire of birch logs, fragrant but not too hot. The white-fenced yards gave
way to larger garden plots in front of small cottages set farther back from the road. As he walked,
Richard plucked an oak leaf from a branch hanging close to the road.
She shrugged. "I guess."
She looked over as they walked, and when his eyes came to her, she answered. "They hunt me
because they fear truth. One reason I trust you is because you do not."
A grin came to her face. "You are getting close." She thought a moment, the smile fading, and went
on. "I am sorry, Richard, but for now you must trust me. The more I tell you, the greater the danger,
to both of us. Still friends?"
She nodded. "If I can, I promise I will."
Kahlan jerked to a halt, grabbed his shirtsleeve, and spun him to face her wide eyes.
"What? You mean `seeker of truth'? That's what Zedd calls me. Ever since I was little. He says I
always insist on knowing the truth of things, so he calls me `seeker of truth.' " He was surprised by
her agitation. His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
Somehow, he seemed to have broached a sensitive subject. His need to know the answers started to
shoulder its way around in his mind. They hunted her because they feared truth, he thought, and she
became upset when he said he was a "seeker of truth." Maybe she had become upset, he decided,
because it made her fear for him, too.
She continued to watch the road as she walked next to him. He didn't know if she was going to
answer him, but at last she did.
Darken Rahl. So, now he knew the name.
By a stand of birch he turned her up the small trail that would lead past his house. He watched her
walking in front of him on the narrow path, picking spiderwebs off her face and arms as she broke
the strands strung across their way.
His father had made him the guardian of a secret, made him the keeper of a secret book, and had
given Richard something to keep always, as proof to the true owner of the book, that it was not
stolen, but rescued for safekeeping. It was a triangular shaped tooth, three fingers wide. Richard
had strung a leather thong to it so he could wear it around his neck, but like his knife and backpack
he had stupidly left the house without it. He was impatient to have it back around his neck; without
it, he couldn't prove his father wasn't a thief.
"Let me go first," he said quietly. She looked at him and obeyed without question. For the next half
hour he slowed the pace, studying the ground and inspecting every branch close to the trail. Richard
stopped at the base of the last ridge before his house and squatted them down beside a patch of
ferns.
He shook his head. "Maybe nothing," he whispered, "but someone has been up the trail this
afternoon." He picked up a flattened pinecone, looking at it for a short time before tossing it away.
"Spiderwebs." He looked up the hill. "There aren't any spiderwebs across the trail. Someone has
been up the trail and broken them. The spiders haven't had time to string more, so there aren't any."
"No. It could be just a traveler, passing through. But this trail isn't used much."
"That's what I'm talking about," he whispered. "No one had been up that part of the trail all day, but
since the open place we came through, there haven't been any more."
He shook his head. "I don't know. Either someone came out of the woods back by the clearing, and
then went up the trail, a very hard way to travel"-he looked her in the eyes-"or they dropped in out
of the sky. My house is over this hill. Let's keep our eyes sharp."
At the top of the rise they crouched behind a big pine and looked down on his house. Windows
were broken, and the door, which he always locked, stood open. His possessions were scattered
about on the ground.
She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and hauled him back down.
She was right, of course. He ran his forgers through his hair, thinking. He looked back toward the
house. Its back sat hard up against the woods with its door facing the clearing. Since it was the only
door, anyone inside would expect him to come running in that way. That's where they would wait,
if they were inside.
Richard would have preferred not to take her, but he didn't want to leave her waiting on the trail,
alone. They made their way through the woods, through the tangle of brush, skirting the house,
giving it a wide berth. When he reached the place where he would have to approach the back of the
house, he motioned her to wait. She didn't like the idea, but he would take no argument. If there
was anyone in there, he didn't want them getting her as well
At the weathered back of his house, he gently put his hand on the bare wooden frame of the
window and raised his head high enough to look inside. Most of the glass was broken out, and he
could see that his bedroom was a mess. The bedding was slashed open. Prized books were torn
apart and their pages strewn about the floor. To the far side of the room the door to the front room
was opened partway, but not enough to see beyond. Without a wedge under it, that was the spot the
door always swung to on its own.
There was a squeak from the front room, a squeak he knew well. He went cold with fright. It was
the squeak his chair made. He had never fixed the squeak because it seemed a part of the chair's
personality, and he couldn't bring himself to alter it. Soundlessly, he dropped back down. There
could be no doubt: someone was in the front room, sitting in his chair, waiting for him.
Richard let out his breath, and raised himself back up to look in the window again. The door still
stood as it had before. Quickly he reached inside and carefully lifted the pack and leather thong
with the tooth off the bedpost, listening wide-eyed all the time for the slightest sound from beyond
the door. His knife was on a small table on the other side of the bed. There was no chance of
retrieving it. He lifted the pack through the window, being careful not to let it bump against any of
the remaining shards of broken glass.
Kahlan waited where he had left her. When she saw him, she sprang to her feet. He crossed his lips
with his finger to let her know to keep silent. Slinging the pack over his left shoulder, he put his
other hand gently on her back to move her along. Not wanting to go - back the way they had come,
he guided her through the woods to where the trail continued above his house. Spiderwebs strung
across the trail glistened in the last rays of the setting sun and they both breathed out in relief. This
trail was longer and much more arduous, but it led where he was going. To Zedd.
Coldly, he wondered if whoever was in his house could be the same person who had murdered his
father. His house was torn up just like his father's had been. Could they have been waiting for him
as they had waited for his father? Could it be the same person? Richard wished he could have
confronted him, or at least seen who it was, but something inside him had strongly warned him to
get away.
Still, he wished he could have seen who it was, been sure there was no connection. Why would
someone tear his house apart, as his father's had been torn apart? What if it was the same person?
He wanted to know who had killed his father. He burned to know.
"Well?" Her voice jolted him out of his thoughts.
"Well, did you get whatever it was you went to get?"
"So what was it?"
She turned to face him with both hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. "Richard Cypher, you
expect me to believe you risked your life to get your backpack?"
Her head was cocked to the side, and she continued to give him a sideways look, but his remark
had taken the fire out of her. "Fair enough, my friend," she said gently, "fair enough."
-|---
As the light faded and colors muted into grayness, Richard started thinking of places to spend the
night. He knew of several wayward pines along the way that he had used on many occasions. There
was one at the edge of a clearing, just off the trail ahead. He could see the tall tree standing out
against the fading pinks of the sky, standing above all the other trees. He led Kahlan off the trail
toward it
And his father . .. and himself . . . and the thing the tooth came from. The thought was too
farfetched to consider, so he decided he wouldn't. He tried very hard not to.
Kahlan grabbed his wrist in midswat.
He went rigid.
Her eyes held him as hard as her hands. Continuing to watch his eyes, she put her face so close to
his he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek.
With a flick of her eyes she indicated for him to look across the clearing. He slowly moved his head
just a little so he could see. There was nothing. She kept her hand over his mouth. He heard a few
grunts, like those of a wild boar.
He flinched involuntarily. She clamped her hand harder against his mouth.
He looked back to her eyes. She had not looked at the beast; she knew what waited across the
clearing. Instead she continued to watch him, waiting to see if he would react in a way that would
betray them. He nodded again to reassure her. Only then did she remove her hand from his mouth
and put it over his wrist, holding it to the ground. Trickles of blood ran across her neck as she lay
motionless on the soft moss, letting the flies bite. He could feel each sharp sting as they bit his
neck. Grunts cane short and low, and both turned their heads slightly to see.
To keep from shrieking in terror, Richard concentrated on the pain of the biting flies. They could
not sneak away, or run; the thing was that close and, he knew, that fast.
A rabbit, its ears covered with flies, bolted right in front of them, screaming again, and was swept
up and torn in half in a blink. The front half went down in one swallow. The beast stood right over
them and tore at the insides of the rabbit, taking some of the gore and smearing it on its pinkskinned chest and stomach. The flies, even the ones biting Richard's and Kahlan's necks, returned
to the creature to feast. The rest of the rabbit was taken by each hind leg, ripped in half, and eaten.
Large wings spread from its back. Against the failing light, Richard could see the veins pulsing
through the thin membranes that were its wings. The beast took one last look around and skittered
sideways across the clearing. It straightened, hopped twice, and flew off, disappearing in the
direction of the boundary. The flies were gone with it.
Something in his pack was poking him in the back, and when he could stand it no longer, he rolled
onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He was drenched in sweat, and it now felt like ice
in the cold evening air. Kahlan still lay on her back with her eyes closed, breathing rapidly. A few
strands of her hair stuck to her face, but most of it flowed out over the ground.
an overwhelming sense of sadness for her, for the terrors in her life. He wished she didn't have to
face the monsters she seemed
"Kahlan, what was that thing?"
Her hand came up and hooked some of her hair behind her ear;;
"It was a long-tailed gar."
"This is a blood fly. Gars use them to hunt. The flies flush out the quarry, the gar grabs it. They
smear some on themselves, for the flies. We are very lucky." She held the blood fly right in front of
his nose to make her point. "Long-tailed gars are stupid. If it had been a short-tailed gar, we would
be dead right now. Shorttail gars are bigger, and a lot smarter." She paused to make sure she had his
full attention. "They count their flies."
"Kahlan, I'm your friend. After those men attacked us, and you didn't want to tell me more about
what is going on, I didn't press you." His eyes were closed. He couldn't bear the scrutiny of her
eyes. "Now someone is after me, too. For all I know, it could be the same person who murdered my