"The first. "
"The second. "
"All questions have a different reason for being asked "
"Answer the question. " _
"It would seem you are."
"And if I answer it, will you promise to answer mine?"
Richard took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stared up at the void. "Yes. I enjoyed killing
him, because of the magic of the Sword of Truth. That is how it works. If I had killed him in
another manner, without the sword, I would not have enjoyed it."
"What?"
"Both. I killed him to protect a friend's life, and because of the sword, I enjoyed it."
Kahlan tensed at this question. She hesitated a moment before translating it.
"If the spirits think I was wrong in killing, or that the one I killed may have been justified, voiding
my right, then we have a disagreement. Some problems have no clear solution. Some problems
don't provide the time to analyze them. I had to act with my heart. As a wise man once told me,
every murderer thinks he is justified in killing. I will kill to prevent myself or a friend, or an
innocent, from being killed. If you feel that is wrong, tell me now so we can put an end to these
painful questions, and I may go in search of the answers I need."
The sound of their voices was painful; Kahlan felt as if it was burning her skin.
"If you wanted to, why have you not done so?"
"The five elders?"
"But you intended to. "
"Is this a case where the intent is as the deed?"
"So then we have not, it would seem, gotten what you said entirely out of context. "
"Why do you want the object of magic?"
"And how will getting this object stop him?"
"What you are really asking us, then, is, for our aid in killing another." There voices echoed around
her in the darkness.
"That is why we are asking you these questions. You are asking for our aid in killing. Do you not
think it fair we should know what kind of person it is we would be helping in his attempt to kill?"
Sweat was rolling off Richard's face. "I guess so." He closed his eyes.
"Many reasons."
"Because he tortured and killed my father. Because he has tortured and killed many others. Because
he will kill me if I don't kill him. Because he will torture and kill many more if I don't kill him. It is
the only way to stop him. He cannot be reasoned with. I have no option but to kill him."
Richard nodded.
Richard looked down and closed his eyes again. "Because," he whispered at last, tears running
down his face, "if I don't kill him, he will kill Kahlan."
"If Kahlan were not a factor, would you still try to kill this man? >,
"What is the object of magic you seek?" they asked suddenly.
"No. It means that for our own reasons, we have decided to answer your question. If we can. What
is the object of magic you seek? "
When Kahlan translated, the spirits suddenly howled as if in pain. "We are not allowed to answer
that question. The boxes of Orden are in play. This gathering is over. "
"You would let him kill your descendants? Your living flesh and blood? You aren't spirit ancestors
to our people, you are spirit traitors!"
"Then tell me!"
"Please! Don't leave us without your help. Let me ask another question?"
Richard sat down, pulling his knees up. He rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers. The
symbols painted all over him made him look like some kind of wild creature. He put his face in his
hands, thinking. His head snapped up.
"Yes. "
"Two. "
Silence.
Richard leaned forward like a dog on scent. "Can you tell me who knows where the last box is?"
"We know the name of the person who has the box, and the names of several other people nearby,
but we cannot tell you the names because that would be the same as telling you where it is. That is
forbidden. "
"There is one we can name. She knows where the box is. If we tell you her name, that would not
lead you to the box, only to her This is allowed. It will be up to you, not us, to get whatever
information you might. "
When they uttered the name, Kahlan froze with a jolt. She didn't translate. The elders shook at the
mere name, spoken aloud.
Kahlan looked up at him.
"Why? Who, is it?"
"And do you know where she is?"
Richard studied the visage of fear in her face, and looked to the elders as they shook.
"We wish you kind fates, " the spirits said, through the Bird Man. "The lives of our descendants
depend upon you. "
"You must use your head. That is Darken Rahl's way. Meet him on his terms, and you will lose. It
will not be easy. You will have to suffer, as will our people, as will other people, before you have
even a chance to succeed. And in all probability, you will still fail. Heed our warning, Richard With
The Temper. "
"Then we will test the truth of your pledge. There is something else we would tell you. " They
paused for a moment. "Darken Rahl is here. He looks for you. "
"What! He is here now? Where is he, what is he doing'?"
Fear raged through Kahlan. Richard took a step forward. '`I have to get out of here. I have to get my
sword. I have to try to stop him!"
Richard and Kahlan sank back down, looking wide-eyed at each other, clutching each other's
hands. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Hurry, then," Richard said.
"But I have to go out sooner or later!"
"The .symbols painted upon you open our eyes to you, so we may see you. They close his eyes to
you; he cannot see you. Unless you draw your sword. That, he will be able to see; then he would
nave you. As long as the symbols are upon you, and the magic of your sword remains in its
scabbard, while you are in Mud People territory he cannot find you. "
"Not if you wish to stop him. When you leave our territory, the power of the symbols will be gone,
and he will be able to see you again. "
"The choice is yours, " the spirits said. "Wait in here while he kills some of our people, and when
he is gone, go after the box, to kill him. Or go out now, and accomplish nothing." Richard closed
his eyes tight. His chest rose and fell with his labored breathing.
Kahlan threw her arms around his neck, putting her head against his, as they both cried. The circle
of elders began spinning around again.
The Bird Man pushed the door open to the cold night air, to a clear, starlit sky.
Dawn was less than an hour away, and already the eastern sky had a hint of color to it. A solemnfaced hunter handed them their clothes, and Richard his sword. Wordlessly, they dressed and went
out.
"Tell me what happened," he ordered in a quiet voice.
"The red demon came from the sky, carrying a man. He wanted you. " Fire in his eyes, he pushed
his spearpoint against Richard's chest. The Bird Man, stonefaced, put his hand on the spear, raising
the point away from Richard. "When he could only find your clothes, he began killing people.
Children!" His chest was heaving with anger. "Our arrows would not touch him. Our spears would
not touch him. Our hands would not touch him. Many of those who tried were killed by magic fire.
Then he became even more angry when he saw that we use fire. He made all the fires go out. Then
he climbed back on the red demon and told us that if we use fire again, he will come back and kill
every child in the village. With magic, he floated Siddin into the air,
and took him under his arm. A gift, he said, for a friend. Then he flew away. And where were you
and your sword!"
The man spat on Richard. Savidlin went for him, but Richard held his arm out, held Savidlin back.
Kahlan put her arms around Savidlin, and comforted him. "Be strong. We have saved him once
when it .seemed he was lost. We will save him again. "
"A lie," she answered, "to ease his pain."
"Show me the ones he killed," he said without emotion.
"So I will never forget why I am going to kill the one who did this."
"This is what you brought us, " the man hissed. "This is your fault!"
"If it eases your pain to think so, then blame me. I choose to blame the one whose hands have the
blood on them." He addressed the Bird Man and the other elders. "Until this is over, don't use fire.
It will only invite more killing. I swear to stop this man or die in the attempt. Thank you, my
friends, for helping me."
They had no choice, of course. But she knew of Shota.
They might as well go ask Darken Rahl to tell them where they could find the box.
"Remember me, " she whispered.
Savidlin stepped forward instantly. Without hesitation, a banc of ten of his best hunters came to
stand with him
Turning back to the shiny, polished wall of little wooden drawers, Princess Violet put her stubby
finger through a gold handle and slid open another drawer, taking out a sparkling silver necklace
studded with large blue stones.
She turned to the tall wood-framed mirror, admiring herself as her fingers hooked the clasp behind
her plump neck while Rachel held her long, dull, brown hair out of the way for her. Rachel eyed
herself in the mirror, inspecting the red mark on her face. She hated looking at herself in the mirror,
hated seeing her hair, how it looked when the Princess chopped it off short. She wasn't allowed to
let her hair grow, of course, she was a nobody,' but she wished so much it could at least be cut
even. Almost everyone else had their hair cut short, but it was even. The Princess liked chopping it
for her, liked making it all jagged. Princess Violet liked it when other people thought Rachel was
ugly.
The Princess looked down her nose and pointed to a blue stone ring on the floor. "Give me that
one."
Princess Violet's pudgy fingers reached up, pulling the gold jewel-encrusted box off its honored
resting place.
The Princess turned with an innocent expression, then tossec her the box. Rachel gasped, catching
the box, horrified it might crash against the wall. Terrified that she had it in her hands, she
immediately set it down on the floor as if it were a hot coal. She backed away, fearful of getting
whipped just for being caught near the Queen's precious box.
"I'm going down to the dining room," the Princess said, lifting her nose, "to watch the guests arrive,
and wait for dinner. Clean up this dreadful mess, then go to the kitchen and tell the cooks I don't
want my roast cooked like leather, like the last time, or I'll tell my mother to have them beaten."
The Princess held her big nose up. "And?"
"Well, it's the least I can do; you must get tired of looking at your ugly face in the mirror. My
mother says we must do kind things for the less fortunate." She reached in a pocket and brought out
something. "Here. Take the key and lock the door when you're finished putting everything back."
While the key was dropping into Rachel's outstretched hand, the Princess's other hand came out of
nowhere, slapping Rachel's face unexpectedly, and unexpectedly hard. She stood stunned as
Princess Violet walked out of the room, laughing a high, squeaky, snorting laugh. Princess Violet's
laugh hurt almost as much as the slap.
Rachel deliberately worked around the Queen's box, giving it sidelong glances, afraid to touch it,
yet knowing she would have to, because she had to put it back. She worked slowly, meticulously
laying the jewelry in its place, carefully pushing the drawers closed, hoping somehow she wouldn't
finish, so she wouldn't have to pick up the box, the Queen's favorite thing in the whole world.
When all the jewelry was put away, the last drawer closed, she looked out of the corner of her eye,
down at the box sitting on the floor. She felt as if it were looking back, as if it might somehow tell
the Queen. Finally, squatting down, eyes wide, she picked it up. Holding it at arm's length, she
carefully shuffled her feet over the edges of carpets, terrified she might drop it. She set the box in
its place as slowly as she could, carefully, gingerly, fearing a jewel might fall out or something. She
quickly drew her fingers away, relieved.
The wizard.
Rachel scrunched her eyes closed and shook as the wizard began sinking, lowering himself to the
floor.
She opened the other eye, just as cautiously. "You're not?" She didn't believe him. She saw with a
start that the big heavy door was closed, her only escape route blocked.
"We were playing. That's all, just playing. I was putting it back for the Princess. She's very good to
me, so very good, I wanted to help her. She's a wonderful person. I love her, she's so kind to me . . .'
He put a long finger over her lips, to gently silence her. "I get the point, child. So, you are the
Princess's playmate then?"
His grin got bigger. "That's a pretty name. Glad to meet you, Rachel. I'm sorry I frightened you. I.
was only coming to check on the Queen's box."
"Oh, dear, no," he laughed. He turned his head, peering at her with one eye. "Why are there red
marks on your cheeks?"
"Better?"
"So'? She is not so kind to you, then?"
He looked at her with sad eyes. "I'm sorry, dear child. The Princess and the Queen can be quite
cruel."
"Tell you what, I have something here that might help." A thin hand reached into his robes, and he
looked up into the air while his hand felt around.-Then his hand found what it was looking for. Her
eyes went wide as he pulled out a doll with short hair the same yellow color as hers. He patted the
doll's tummy. "This is a trouble doll."
"Yes." He nodded. There were deep wrinkles at the ends of his smile. "When you have troubles,
you tell them to the doll, and she takes them away for you. She has magic. Here. Try it out." Rachel
could hardly take a breath as she reached out with both hands, her fingers carefully clutching the
doll. She pulled it to her chest cautiously and hugged it. Then, tentatively, slowly, she held it out,
looking at its face. Her eyes got all watery.
The face on the doll smiled. Rachel's mouth dropped open.
Rachel gasped in surprise, she giggled in glee, she hugged the doll to her as tight as she could. She
laughed and laughed, swinging her body back and forth as she hugged the doll to her chest.
"I'm not allowed to have a doll. The Princess said so. She would throw it in the fire, that's what she
said. If I had a doll, she would throw it in the fire." She could hardly speak, because of the lump in
her throat.
"Most of the time, I sleep in the Princess's bedroom. She locks me in the box at night. I think that's
mean. Sometimes, when she says I've been bad, she makes me leave the castle for the night, so I
have to sleep outside. She thinks that's even meaner, but I really like it, because I have a secret
place, in a wayward pine, where I sleep.
The wizard tenderly cupped his hands around her face. It made her feel special. "Dear child," he
whispered, "that I could have been a party to this." His eyes were wet. Rachel didn't know wizards
could get tears. Then his big grin came back, and he held up a finger. "I have an idea. You know
the gardens, the formal gardens?"
"Well, as you walk down the central path of the garden, there are short urns, on both sides, with
yellow flowers in them." Rachel nodded. She knew where they were. "I will hide your doll in the
third urn on the right. I will put a wizard's web over it-that's magic-so no one but you will find it."
He took the doll and carefully tucked it away back in his robes as her eyes followed it. "The next
time you are put out for the night, you go there and you will find your doll. Then you can keep it at
your place, your wayward pine, where no one will find it, or take it from you.
Rachel threw her arms around him, hugging and hugging him as he patted her back. "Thank you,
wizard Giller."
"Thank you so much for my doll, Giller. No one ever gave me anything so nice before. I'll take the
bestest care of her. I have to go now. I'm to scold the cooks for the Princess. Then I have to sit and
watch her eat." She grinned. "Then I have to think of something bad to do so the Princess will put
me out tonight."
"I so hope we can talk again sometime," she said, looking up at him.
Waving back at him, she ran off down the long, empty hall, happier than she had been since she
first came to live at the castle. It was a long way, through the castle, down to the kitchen, down
stone stairs and halls with rugs on the floors and paintings on the walls, through big rooms with tall
windows hung with gold and red drapery, and chairs of red velvet with gold legs, long carpets with
pictures on them of men fighting on horseback, past guards who stood still as stone at some of the
big fancy doors or marched in twos, and by servants who rushed everywhere carrying linens, trays,
or brooms and rags and buckets of soapy water.
She was winded when she finally reached the kitchens, which were steamy and smoky and filled
with noise. Helpers were scurrying around carrying heavy sacks, big pots, or hot trays, all trying
not to bump into one another. People chopped things she couldn't see on the high tables and huge
chopping blocks. Pans clanged, cooks yelled orders, helpers took pans and metal bowls off hooks
overhead and put others back. There was a constant rapping of spoons mixing and whipping food,
the sharp hiss of oil and garlic and butter and onions and spices in hot pans, and everyone seemed
to be yelling at the same time. This chaotic place smelled so good it made her head spin.
The head cooks were standing over a big crock, waving their arms around, yelling at each other.
Suddenly, the crock fell to the floor with a big thunk, splitting in two, sending light brown liquid
flooding all over. Rachel jumped up on the stool so it wouldn't get on her bare feet. The cooks
stood still, their faces almost as white as their coats.
He put both hands to his face, squishing it together. Then he put both arms in the air.
"What ingredients!" the short one yelled, red-faced.
Rachel watched while they ran around snatching up things, pouring in bottles of liquid, adding
ingredients, stirring, tasting. At last they both smiled.
Rachel stepped tiptoed across the wet floor and tugged on his sleeve again.
"Princess Violet said not to make her roast dry again, or she would have the Queen make those men
beat you." She looked down at the ground. "She made me say that."
"Cooking? You don't want me to tell anyone I saw you cooking? All right," she said, a little
confused, and started tiptoeing across the wet floor again. "I won't tell anyone, I promise. I don't
like to see people getting hurt by those men with the whips. I won't tell."
She turned and nodded.
She didn't want to, but she tiptoed back anyway. He took out a big knife that scared her at first, then
turned to a platter on the table behind him and cut off a big, juicy piece of meat. She had never seen
such a piece of meat, without fat and gristle all over it, at least not up close. It was a piece of meat
like the Queen and the Princess ate. He handed it down to her, put it right into her hand.
She nodded and ran off to the stool with her prize, forgetting to tiptoe. It was the best, most
delicious thing she had ever eaten. She tried to eat it slowly while she watched all the people
running around, clanging pots and carrying things, but she couldn't. Juice ran down her arms and
dripped off her elbows.
This had been just about the best day she could ever remember. Two good things in the same day:
the trouble doll, and now the food. She felt like a queen herself.
She watched all the fine ladies and gentlemen dressed in pretty dresses and colorful braided coats,
sitting at the long tables, eating from the fancy plates, and for the first time she knew how the food
tasted. She still didn't understand, though, why they heeded so many forks and spoons to eat with.
One time when she had asked the Princess why there were so many forks and spoons and things,
the Princess had said it was something a nobody like her would never need to know.
She leaned forward and whispered, "Is your roast juicy enough, Princess Violet'? I told the cooks it
was mean to give you bad meat, and you said not to do it again."
Queen Milena sat at the table, as she always did, with her tiny little dog held in one arm. It kept
pushing its skinny little stick legs against her fat arm as it shook, making little dents with its feet.
The Queen fed it scraps of meat that were better than any Rachel had ever been fed. Before today,
that is, she thought with a smile.
While the Queen and her ministers talked about some kind of alliance, Rachel -sat jiggling her legs,
knocking her knees together, thinking about her trouble doll. The wizard stood behind and to the
right of the Queen, offering his advice when asked. He looked grand in his silver robes. She had
never paid much attention to Giller before; he had just been another one of the Queen's important
people, always there with her, like her little dog. People were afraid of him, too, the way she was
afraid of the dog. Now, as she watched him, he seemed like just about the nicest man she had ever
seen.
When the meal was finished, servers rolled out a cart with the crock she had seen the cooks mixing.
Goblets were filled from a ladle and carried to all the guests. Everyone seemed to think it was
pretty important.
Some people looked like they didn't want to, but only for a minute. Then they all drank. The Queen
drank, after she saw that everyone else had, then sat back down with a funny look on her face. She
leaned to a server, whispering. Rachel started to get worried; the Queen was frowning. When the
Queen frowned, people got their heads chopped off.
"This does not taste the same," she said in her mean voice. She didn't always talk in her mean
voice, but when she did, people got scared.
"Really," the Queen whispered in' surprise. "Well, I thought it was stronger."
"Indeed. But are you sure it isn't too powerful? I can feel the enlightenment sweeping through me
already."
She smiled at last, and nodded. "You are a wise and loyal cook. From now on, I put you,
exclusively, in charge of the drink of enlightenment."
He bowed a bunch of times and left. Rachel was glad he didn't get in trouble.
The people all smiled and nodded how pleased they were about this. Some told how they could
already feel the special insights the drink was giving them.
Guards brought in a man, and made him stand in the center of the room, directly in front of the
Queen, all the tables around him. He was big and strong-looking, but he was bound with chains.
The Queen leaned forward.
The man had an angry look on his face. Rachel wished he would change it, before he got in trouble.
The people laughed.
"Their crops would grow better if they would plant seeds in the ground first."
"My family starves! To feed others, to feed Rahl's army. To feed you fine lords and ladies, who do
nothing but discuss and decide what to do with my crop, how to divide the product of my labor
among others."
"And my family goes cold," he said, and his face looked even more angry, "because we aren't
allowed to have fire." He pointed at a few of the fireplaces. "But here there is fire, to warm the
people who tell me we are all equal now, how there will no longer be some put before others and I
must therefore not be allowed to keep what is mine. Isn't it odd, that the people who tell me how we
are to all be the same under the alliance with Darken Rahl and do no work other than to divide up
the fruit of my labors, are all well fed, and warm, and have fine clothes on their backs. But my
family goes hungry and cold."
"Lords and ladies," the Queen said, with a chuckle. "did I not promise you royal entertainment?
The drink of enlightenment lets us see what a selfish fool this man truly is. Just think, he actually
believes it is right to profit while others starve. He would put his profit above the lives of his fellow
man. For his greed, he would murder the hungry."
The Queen smacked her hand down on the table. Plates jumped and a few glasses fell over, spilling
a red stain across the white tablecloth. Everyone fell quiet, except the little dog, who barked at the
man. "This is the kind of greed that will be ended, when the People's Peace Army comes to help rid
us of these human leeches that suck us all dry!" The Queen's round face was as red as the stains on
the tablecloth.
The man's face was as red as hers. "Odd, isn't it, now that all the farmers, the workers in town, are
all working for the common good, that there isn't enough good to go around, like there used to be,
or enough food."
Princess Violet stood. Smiling, she looked around at the people.
Everyone cheered and clapped again. Guards dragged the man away as he called them names
Rachel didn't understand. She was sad for him, and for his family.
"You're really mean. You're really mean to say to chop off that man's head."
"But Princess Violet, it's so cold out tonight!"
Rachel started to say something else; then she remembered the trouble doll, and that she wanted to
go out. The Princess pointed at the archway toward the door.
Rachel looked at the ground, to pretend she was sad. "Yes, Princess Violet," she said, as she
curtsied.
When she got outside, she tried not to walk too fast, in case anyone was watching. The stone was as
cold as ice on her bare feet. Carefully, and with each hand under the other armpit to keep her
fingers warm, she went down the wide steps and terraces, taking them one at a time so she wouldn't
fall, at last reaching the cobblestone walk at the bottom. More guards patrolled outside, but they
ignored her. They saw her all the time. The closer she got to the gardens, the faster she walked.
There was no one watching, no one to see her take the doll. At the outer wall, more men were
patrolling the high walks, and the Queen's guards were at the gate, standing stiffly in their armor.
They wore their fancy uniforms over the armor, sleeveless red tunics with the Queen's mark, a
black wolf's head, emblazoned in the center. As they lifted the heavy iron bar and two of them
pulled the squeaky door open for her, they didn't even look to see what she had behind her back.
When she heard the clang of the bar dropping back in place, and turned around to see the backs of
the guards on the wall, then at last she smiled and started to run; it was a long way.
-+---
Furious, Zedd slapped his hand to the cold metal plate. The massive stone door slowly grated
closed. He had to step over the bodies of D'Haran guards as he walked to the low wall. His fingers
came to rest on the familiar, smooth stone as he leaned forward, looking out over the sleeping city
below.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
The intricate web of shields should have held, but they hadn't. He had been away too many years.
He had been a fool
"You don't know?" She looked a little surprised.
"So what was it?" he asked again.
"A dragon! There are dragons in the Midlands? I didn't think there really were such things!"
"I thought dragons were just legends, old tales." He flicked a pebble between his thumb and second
finger, watching it bounce off a boulder.
"They eat people!" Richard pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and gave a groan.
Richard remembered the red thing in the sky that flew over him in the upper Ven Forest, just before
he found Kahlan. He tossed another pebble at the boulder. "That must be how he covers so much
territory."
"They would simply fight until they killed, or were killed." She leaned a little toward him and
lowered her voice meaningfully. "The idea of one flying Rahl around on its back is very odd. It's
impossible for me to imagine anyone ruling a red dragon."
"Are these dragons a threat to us?" He felt stupid asking if a dragon was dangerous.
"We have already come upon a red one," he reminded her in a quiet voice, "and it was big trouble."
"Well, there you two are!" a stranger's voice called out.
"Sit, sit." The old man motioned with both hands as he walked down the path toward them. "I didn't
mean to give you a fright!" His white beard shook when he laughed. "It's just Old John, come
looking for the two of you. Sit. Sit."
"What do you mean you have been looking for us?" Richard asked in a not entirely friendly tone.
Richard jumped back to his feet. "Zedd! Zedd sent you?"
Richard smiled at that. "Well, how is he? Where is he, what's he want us for?"
"Where is he? How far?" Richard was excited about seeing Zedd again.
Richard grinned, then snatched up his pack, his weariness forgotten. Kahlan gave him one of her
special tight-lipped smiles as they followed Old John up a rocky trail. Richard let Kahlan walk
ahead of him as he watched the surrounding woods. She had told him that they weren't far from the
witch woman.
"So he's all right then?" Richard called ahead to Old John.
"He's recovered? He didn't lose any weight, did he? Zedd can't afford to lose any weight."
"Well, I hope he didn't eat you out of your larder."
Richard smiled to himself. Zedd might be all right, but he couldn't be fully recovered, or Old John
wouldn't have a scrap of food left.
"Which way to the witch woman?" he asked her.
Richard looked off down the left trail. It looked to be little traveled, and disappeared quickly into
the thick forest. Old John stopped and turned, his hands on his hips.
Richard looked back down the left trail. They had to get the last box before Rahl did. Even if Zedd
needed them, they had to find out where the box was. That was his first duty.
Old John shrugged, then pulled on his beard. "Don't know
Richard wished he didn't have to make this decision. He wished he knew if Zedd could wait. He
wished he knew what Zedd wanted. Stop wishing and start thinking, he told himself.
Old John looked up at the late-afternoon sun off through the trees as he tugged some more on his
beard. "If we don't stop early, and don't sleep late, we'll be there by midday tomorrow." He looked
back to Richard, waiting.
"You're right," he said to her.
Richard gave her a big grin. "I could hear you thinking. You're right. We'll go with Old John."
"If we don't stop at all," he called up to Old John, "we could be there before morning."
Richard laughed a little as he let Kahlan walk ahead of him. She strode fast to catch up with the old
man, who was already on his way. He watched her absently as she walked, watched as she pulled a
spiderweb off her face, spit some of it out of her mouth. Something nagged at him; something was
wrong. He wished he could figure out what it was. He tried for a minute, but all he could think
about was Zedd, how much he wanted to see him again, how he couldn't wait to talk to him. He
ignored the feeling that there were eyes watching him
Rachel had been telling her doll her troubles for most of the day. All her troubles she could think
of. When she got tears, the doll said she loved her, and it made her feel good. Sometimes it made
her laugh.
"That was when I lived in that place I told you about. With the other children, before the Queen
came and picked me. I liked it there a lot better than living with the Princess. They were nice to me
there." She looked over at the doll to see if she was listening. "There was a man, Brophy, who came
sometimes. People said mean things about him, but he was nice to us children. He was nice, like
Giller. He gave me a doll, too, but the Queen wouldn't let me take it with me when I went to live at
the castle. I didn't care, though, because I was so sad my brother died. I heard some people say he
got murdered. I know that means he got killed. Why do people kill children?"
She thought about the new little boy she had seen the Queen having locked up. He talked funny,
and looked funny, but his presence still had reminded her of her brother. That was because he
seemed so afraid. Her brother was always getting afraid, too. Rachel could always tell when her
brother was getting afraid because he would fidget and squirm. She felt so sorry for the new boy;
she wished she was important so she could help him.
"Maybe the Queen will be nicer when she gets her alliance, whatever that is. That's all she talks
about, how she wants her alliance. Maybe she'll be happier then, and won't say to chop off people's
heads. The Princess makes me go with her, you know, but I don't like to watch, I close my eyes.
Now even Princess Violet says to chop off people's heads. She gets meaner every day. Now I'm
afraid that she'll say to chop off my head. I wish I could run away." She looked over at her doll. "I
wish I could run away and never come back. And I'd take you with me."
She picked up the doll and gave it a long hug, then kissed it on its head.
"I love you, Rachel."
"You're the bestest friend I ever had. You and Giller."
She started to worry, to worry what would happen to her doll, all alone here in the wayward pine.
The doll would be lonely. What if the Princess never sent her out again; what if she somehow
found out that she wanted to be sent out, and kept her in the castle just to be mean?
"Help Giller," the doll said
The doll nodded. "Help Giller."
Even though it was getting cold, neither Richard nor Kahlan wore their cloaks, being warm from
the exertion. of the pace Old John was setting. Richard kept trying to think about Zedd, but his train
of thought was constantly being interrupted by having to lope to keep up. The realization that he
was getting winded finally made him push Zedd from his mind. But one thought wouldn't leave
him: something didn't feel right.
For a while, he watched Kahlan walking ahead of him. She, too, was having difficulty keeping up.
She pulled another spiderweb off her face, then trotted to keep up. He could see that, like him, she
was breathing hard. For some reason, Richard's caution was igniting into foreboding.
He turned his attention back to Old John. The path was wide in some places, narrow in others with
branches that reached in tight. When Kahlan and Richard went past, they both sometimes brushed
against them, or simply pushed them out of the way. Not the old man. He stayed to the center of the
trail, avoiding any errant limb, his arms clutching his cloak tightly to him.
The sweat on his face instantly turned ice cold against his skin.
He looked up and saw a branch, its tip sticking out in the path. The old man skirted it. But not the
tip. The tip passed through his arm as it would pass through smoke.
Richard's left hand shot forward, seized a fistful of Kahlan's shirt, and yanked her behind him,
causing her to cry out in surprise. He tossed her backward as his right hand pulled the sword free.
"What is it, my boy? See something?" His voice came like the hiss of a snake.
Old John gave a slow, sly smile, appraising him with one eye. "Did you not expect that an old
friend of a wizard would have special talents?"
"Why, it's Zedd." His eyebrows lifted. "How else would I know, if he weren't my old friend." His
cloak was pulled tightly around him. His head had sunken into his shoulders.
With a sudden roar that made Richard flinch, the old man turned, his cloak flinging open. In the
time it took to complete the turn, he mushroomed to twice his previous size.
A creature of snarl and snap.
All at once, it came for him. Richard didn't have a chance to swing the sword. He tripped on a root,
falling backward, sprawling across the ground. He couldn't get his breath. Instinctively, he brought
the sword up to impale the thing, expecting it to fall on him.
It picked up a rock twice the size of Richard's head, put its blunt snout high in the air, took a deep
breath, and with a roar squeezed the rock in its claw. Corded muscles tightened. The rock split with
a loud crack that reverberated through the forest. Dust and flakes of rock tilled the air. The beast
looked about, turned, and swiftly slipped into the trees.
Before he could scramble fully to his feet, something ashen, with long arms, leapt on him, knocking
him to his back again. It screamed with rage. Powerful gnarled hands gripped his, trying to pry the
sword from his grip. One of the arms backhanded him across the jaw, nearly slamming him
senseless. Bloodless white lips curled back, exposing sharp teeth, as it howled. Bulging yellow eyes
snatched glances back at him. It tried frantically to kick his face. Richard held on to the sword with
all his strength, trying to twist away from the painful grip of the long fingers.
Locked desperately together, the two of them rolled across the ground, leaves and sticks flying.
One of the powerful hands reached back, grabbing Richard by the hair, whacking his head on the
ground, aiming for a rock. With a grunt, suddenly it reached again for the hilt, pulling one of
Richard's sweating hands from the sword, slapping its own hand to the hilt with Richard's other. Its
shrill screams split the forest quiet. Sinewy fingers started clawing his left hand off the hilt; sharp
nails dug into the flesh.
"Gimme," it hissed, in a flash turning its pallid head back to his, snapping, trying to bite his face.
Spaces between its teeth were packed with spongy, gray debris. Its heavy breath reeked of rot. Dark
splotches covered the hairless, waxy head.
"Please!" it howled. "No kill! No kill!"
The thing slowly, reluctantly, released its grip. Richard was on his back, the putrid-smelling
creature on his chest. It went limp against him.
Richard untangled himself from the disgusting creature, laying it on its back. He put the point of
the sword hard against its chest. Its yellow eyes went wide.
"If I even think you're about to do something I don't like" Richard jabbed-"I'll push. Understand?"
It nodded vigorously. Richard leaned closer. "Where did your friend go?" "Friend?"
"The Calthrop. Not friend," it whined. "Lucky man. Calthrop kills at night. Was waiting till night.
To kill you. It has power in the night. Lucky man."
"No," it winced. "1-only followed. Till it kills you."
Bulging eyes went to the sword. "My sword. Gimme. Please?" "No!"
"Mistress has the pretty lady."
"Mistress. She took pretty lady." Richard pushed the sword harder, indicating that he wanted to
hear more, and right now. "We were following you. Watching the Calthrop play with you. To see
what would happen." His bulging yellow eyes went to the sword again.
"Not steal! Mine! Gimme!" Its hands started to go for it again until Richard pushed the sword a
little, making the creature freeze.
"Mistress!" it shook, pleading for rescue. "Mistress is Shota."
The creature nodded vigorously.
"Don't know. Maybe, to play with her. Maybe, to kill her." The thing peered up at him. "Maybe, to
get you." "Turn over," Richard said. The creature cringed. "Turn over, or I'll run you through!"
"Do you have a name?"
Richard pulled him to his feet; leaves stuck to the gray skin of his chest. "Well, Samuel, we're
going after your mistress. You're going to lead the way. If you make one wrong move, I'll snap
your neck with this rope. Understand?"
"If you take me there, to your mistress, and if the pretty lady is all right, I won't kill you."
"Here, you carry the pretty lady's pack."
Richard gave a sharp tug on the rope. "That doesn't belong to you. Keep your hands out of it!"
"If I don't eat you first," Richard sneered. "I'm pretty hungry. Maybe I'll have a little Samuel stew
along the way?"
Richard couldn't begin to imagine what sort of creature Samuel was. There was something familiar,
unsettling, about him. He wasn't very tall, but he was powerfully strong. Richard's jaw still
throbbed from where Samuel had hit him, and his neck and head ached from having his head
pounded on the ground
Keeping a sharp eye on both the woods and Samuel, Richard followed the companion, prodding
him to move faster. He was afraid for Kahlan, and he was furious at himself. Old John, or the
Calthrop, whatever it was, had completely taken him in. He couldn't believe how stupid he had
been. He had fallen for the story because he had wanted to believe, had wanted so badly to see
Zedd. The very thing he had always told others not to do. And there he was, giving the monster the
information it then repeated back to him as proof. He was furious at how stupid he had been. He
was also painfully ashamed.
Once again he reprimanded himself. He was letting his imagination get away from him. If Shota
wanted to kill her, she would have done so on the spot. She wouldn't be taking her back to Agaden
Reach. But why take her back to the Reach? Unless, as Samuel put it, she wanted to play with her.
Richard tried to put that thought out of his mind. It had to be him she wanted, not Kahlan. That was
probably why the Calthrop left so quickly; the witch woman had scared it off.
In the moonlit snow, Richard could see two sets of footprints, one of them Kahlan's. A good sign,
he thought; she was still alive. It didn't look like Shota intended to kill her. At least not right away.
"This belongs to the pretty lady. You may wear it, for now, to keep warm."
"If you're going to be like that, then I won't let you wear it." Richard pulled the rope taut and
yanked the cloak back.
Richard handed it back. This time the companion took it slowly, and put it around his shoulders.
The little creature made Richard's skin crawl. He took out a piece of tava bread and ate it as they
walked along. Samuel kept looking over his shoulder, watching Richard eat. When he could stand it
no longer, Richard offered Samuel a piece.
Samuel made small talk as he they trudged through the snow. He had eaten the bread in one bite.
Richard knew if given the chance, Samuel would slit his throat without a second thought. He
seemed to be a creature devoid of any redeeming qualities.
He looked back over his shoulder, his yellow eyes. set in a puzzled frown. "Samuel companion."
"And won't your mistress be angry with you for leading me to her?"
-+---
Near dawn, at the edge of a descent into a dark wood, Samuel's long arm pointed downward.
"Agaden Reach," he gurgled. He looked back over his shoulder with a taunting grin. "Mistress."
As the light of dawn slowly suffused the wood, Richard could begin to see large trees all about,
trailers of moss wafting down, boggy patches with vapor rising from the black, murky water, pairs
of eyes that watched and blinked from the shadows. Hollow calls echoed through the mist and
vapor as he stepped carefully over the tangle of roots. The place reminded him a little of the Skow
Swamp. It smelled just as rank.
"Close." Samuel grinned.
The grin faded from the bloodless lips.
Samuel skirted off the, path, around the twisted roots of a squat, fat-trunked tree.
Samuel grinned back at him. "Watch." He picked up a stout stick, big as his wrist, and threw it with
an underhand swing into the roots of the tree. The roots whipped out, knotting around the stick,
pulling it under the tangled mass. Richard heard it snapping apart. Samuel gurgled with laughter.
Richard remembered what Kahlan had said: they were going to die. He tried to put the thought out
of his head. She had told him she had never met the witch woman, only heard others speak of her.
But what she had heard had terrified her. Those who went in never came out. Not even a wizard
would go into Agaden Reach, she had said. But still, it was secondhand knowledge; she hadn't ever
met Shota. Maybe the stories were exaggerated. His eyes scanned the menacing, forbidding woods.
And maybe not.
Spread out far below was a long valley, green, bright, lit by the sun. Gigantic rocky peaks soared
almost straight up all around it. Fields of golden grasses among stands of oak, beech, and maple set
in rich autumn colors rippled in the breeze. In the dark forest where they stood, it felt like standing
in night, looking out on day. Water tumbled off the rocks beside them, down the vertical drop,
disappearing soundlessly through the air until it reached the clear pools and streams below, where it
made a distant roar and a hiss. Spray drifted up past them, wetting their faces.
Richard nodded and had him move on. Samuel led them through a labyrinth of brush, tight trees,
and fern-covered boulders, to a place Richard would never have found without his little guide: a
trail hidden behind rocks and vines, at the edge of the precipice, leading down the wall of the
valley. As they descended, the trail offered panoramic views of the beautiful country below: the
trees looking small in patches over the gentle hills, the streams meandering among the fields and
banks, the sky a bright blue overhead.
Richard stood silent for a moment, mouth agape, staring, hardly able to believe what he was seeing.
He loved his home of Hartland, but there was no place there to compare to this. This was, quite
simply, the most beautiful place he had ever seen. He never would have imagined that a vision of
such exquisite loveliness even existed.
At the bottom, in the sunlight, a road led off through the tree dotted hills and warm grass fields.
Samuel bounded along in his odd gait, gurgling to himself. Richard took in the slack once in a
while to remind him who still held the other end of the rope
They entered a shady, still, enveloping cathedral of trees.
Samuel's arm stretched out. Richard looked where he pointed, to the center of the open, sheltered
place. There sat a rock; water bubbling up from a spring in its center ran down the sides into a little
stream dotted with rich, green, mossy rocks. A woman in a long white dress, soft brown hair, with
her back to him, sat on the edge of the rock, in the dappled sunlight, running her fingers through the
clear water. Even from the back, she looked somehow familiar.
Richard could see Kahlan standing stiffly. There was something odd about her. Something was on
her, moving. Samuel turned his blotchy head back, pointing a long gray finger at the rope. He
looked up at Richard with one yellow eye.
Richard untied the rope, took Kahlan's pack off the companion's shoulder, and laid it on the ground.
Samuel curled his bloodless lips up at Richard, hissing, then abruptly skittered off into the shadows,
sitting in a squat to watch.
Snakes.
Small snakes squiggled, tunneling through her thick hair, flicking their tongues out; others curled
around her neck; still more slithered down the front of her shirt, poking their heads out between the
buttons. He struggled to control his breathing as he approached her. His heart was pounding. Tears
ran down Kahlan's cheeks, and she shook the slightest bit.
"No!" she whispered back. Her eyes, wide with panic, met his. "If you touch them, or if I move,
they will bite me."
"Richard," she said in a pleading whisper, "I'm dead. Leave me. Get out of here. Run."
"Please, Richard," she whispered hoarsely, "for me, before it's too late. Run."
"I'm going to die. You can't save me now. Please, Richard, save yourself. Please. Run. Run while
you still have a chance."
"No. I came here to find out where the box is. I'm not leaving until I know. Now be still."
"Kahlan, just hold on. Try to think of something else."
When he reached her, she stood and gently turned to him, speaking his name in a voice he
recognized.
"Richard." She smiled sadly at him, showing in that smile how much she loved and missed him.
"Mother?" he breathed in a whisper.
"Oh, Richard," she said soothingly, "how I've missed you." She ran her fingers through his hair,
gentling him. "How I've missed you so."
"Richard, why have you come to me?"
His finger went to the little scar above her left eyebrow, tracing the familiar bump. A scar he had
put there. He had been at swordplay with Michael, with their wooden swords, and had just jumped
off the bed, taking a foolish and wild swing at his older brother, when his mother came through the
door. His sword had caught her across the forehead. Her cry had terrified him.
"Not as much as it hurts you," the woman in front of him whispered.
"Richard," came an even, cautioning voice from behind him, jolting him again. "Stand away from
her." It was Zedd's voice.
"Richard," came Zedd's voice again. "Do as I say. Stand away from her. Now."
He took her wrists, pulled her hands from his waist, and stepped back from her. Near tears, she
watched him move away.
Zedd's hands were already up. Wizard's fire shot from his curled fingers. It shrieked as it came,
tumbling through the air with howling fury.
The ball of liquid flame harshly illuminated the shady area with intense blue and yellow light.
The fire wailed as it expanded, heading right for Shota. She stood motionless.
The magic raced through him. Wrath took him. The fire was upon him. The roar filled his ears. He
turned his face, closed his eyes, held his breath and gritted his teeth, fully expecting that he might
die. But there was no choice. The witch woman was their only chance. He couldn't let her be killed.